The night in Ashreign never ended. It just turned heavier.By the time they emerged from the tower, it felt like the whole city was leaning closer, listening, breathing with them.
Cassiel led the way.Ilyan staggered between Mirae and Bastion, pale but stubbornly upright.Elior muttered soft incantations under his breath, fingers tracing sigils against his palms, ready for anything.
Their destination was clear: a safehouse rumored to still exist, hidden deep beneath the ruins of the old Cathedral of Echoes.
But the path wasn't.
"I don't like this," Bastion grunted, adjusting the strap of his axe. "City feels... different."
"It's always felt wrong," Mirae said grimly. "Now it just feels awake."
Ilyan gave a strained chuckle. "You're not wrong."
Above them, twisted statues watched from their alcoves.Their faces weren't carved — they were melted into expressions of agony, mouths half-formed and reaching for prayers that would never be answered.
The group crossed a crumbling bridge.Beneath it, the fog thickened into something tangible, something that clawed at their ankles.
"We're close," Ilyan muttered. "Past the Whisper Market."
"The what now?" Bastion asked.
"You'll see," Ilyan said, and limped forward.
The Whisper Market was a graveyard pretending to be a bazaar.Broken stalls lined the alleyways, manned by things that might have been human once. Shrouded figures whispered offerings as they passed:
"Trade your name for a shield.""Sell your memory of pain — keep only the scars.""A kiss for a weapon that cuts through lies..."
Mirae tightened her grip on her blades.Cassiel kept his hood low.
No one dared answer the vendors.
At the far end of the market stood the Cathedral — or what was left of it.It looked like a carcass, ribs of shattered stone arching into the sky, black banners fluttering in a breeze that smelled like burnt parchment.
"This used to be sacred ground," Elior said softly.
Ilyan smiled bitterly. "Ashreign has no more sacred ground."
They stepped inside.
The Cathedral's interior was a labyrinth of ruined pews, fallen chandeliers, and melted icons.But at its heart stood the real prize: a massive, chained bell, half-buried in rubble.
The Bell of Remembrance.
According to the old legends, ringing it could peel back the layers of memory, forcing the city itself to recall what had been hidden.
"We need it to find the path," Ilyan said. "Without it, we'll be blind."
"Then why's it chained up?" Mirae asked, voice low.
Ilyan didn't answer.
Cassiel approached cautiously.The chains were enormous — thick as his thigh, etched with runes that buzzed faintly under his skin.
"Looks cursed," Bastion muttered.
"Everything here is cursed," Elior said grimly. "Question is, what kind of curse?"
A tremor rippled through the cathedral floor.Dust spiraled from the broken rafters.
Then they heard it: the sound of chains tightening.
And from the shadows behind the bell, something moved.
It wasn't a creature, not exactly.It was a mass of hands — dozens, maybe hundreds — all fused together at the wrists, scrambling and grasping forward blindly.
Cassiel barely managed to throw himself aside as the thing lunged.Mirae slashed at it, severing fingers that twitched and grew back almost immediately.
"We can't fight it!" Elior shouted. "It's not meant to die!"
Ilyan stumbled toward the bell.
"You don't fight it!" he gasped. "You wake the bell before it drags you under!"
Cassiel gritted his teeth.
He charged forward, the swarm of hands clawing at his boots, dragging at his cloak.At the last second, he ripped free and slammed both fists against the cold iron of the bell.
BOOM.
The sound wasn't like a bell ringing.It was like the world inhaling sharply.
The chain snapped.
The thing of hands shrieked — a sound like a thousand unfinished prayers — and recoiled.The city itself seemed to jerk backward, as if reality had skipped a beat.
For a heartbeat, the ruins around them remembered being whole.Stained glass reassembled itself midair. Statues turned pristine.The altar blazed with a brief, blinding light.
Then it shattered again.
Cassiel gasped, clutching his chest.
Ilyan grabbed him by the arm, steadying him.
"Now we move," he rasped.
They slipped through a new door — one that hadn't existed before the bell had rung.
It led into tunnels.Deep tunnels, older than Ashreign, older than the Eclipse.
The walls were covered in murals — twisted depictions of the city's fall, hidden histories no one had dared remember.
Mirae caught flashes:
A king crowned in thorns.A tower swallowing itself.A chained sun.
At the end of the hall waited an archway — and beyond it, a corridor where the air tasted clean.
Hope. Real hope.
Cassiel almost let himself believe they'd made it—
Until the figure stepped into view.
A man — or something wearing the shape of one — cloaked in ash-grey robes, his face obscured by a broken porcelain mask.
He carried no weapon.He didn't need one.
Because behind him, the shadows themselves twisted into blades.
"Who is that?" Mirae hissed.
Ilyan's face went pale.
"The Hound of Ashreign," he whispered. "He doesn't guard the city. He hunts those who try to escape it."
Cassiel tightened his fists.
"So we fight?"
"We run," Ilyan said.
"And if we can't?"
Ilyan smiled grimly.
"Then we die very quietly."
They ran.Boots pounding against stone.Breathless gasps ripping from their throats.
The Hound didn't hurry.He moved like inevitability, closing the distance with cruel patience.
Elior tossed spells over his shoulder — fire that fizzled uselessly against the Hound's cloak. Mirae threw daggers that shattered midair.Bastion swung his axe, cracking walls into barriers.
Nothing slowed him.
Cassiel gritted his teeth.
"We need an exit!"
"There!" Ilyan shouted, pointing to a spiraling staircase that coiled upward, into the bowels of another abandoned tower.
They took it without hesitation, the Hound's whispering steps following.
At the tower's peak, they found the door — a rusted gate overlooking the rooftops of Ashreign.
The city sprawled beneath them, bridges arcing between towers like spiderwebs.
Cassiel kicked the gate open.
"We jump!"
"You're insane," Mirae snapped.
"Maybe," Cassiel grinned fiercely. "But we'll live."
They jumped.
One after another, flinging themselves onto the narrow rooftop bridge, rolling hard and scrambling upright.
Behind them, the Hound stepped through the shattered gate—and paused.
He watched them flee.
And then, very deliberately, he raised his hand.
The bridge beneath them shuddered.Cracks raced along the stone.
Cassiel shouted, "RUN!"
They sprinted across the bridge, the stone falling away behind them.
Breathless.Bleeding.Alive.
For now.