The path ahead grew steadily quieter, the echo of chains and distant orders fading until only the hollow whisper of our steps remained. The corridor had narrowed into a throat of polished sandstone, its surfaces smooth and gleaming faintly in the dim light. This felt like the right place to begin.
Luna, I murmured inwardly, rolling my shoulders as the core within me shifted—the golden one rising to command. Help me circulate my force.
Power began to seep, thin and deliberate, from my fingertips. Luna sensed my intent at once. Here? she asked, her tone edged with doubt. You’re certain?
Here, I affirmed.
There was a pause before Wyrem’s deep voice joined her. You’ve hardly practiced this technique. It could—
This way is the least obvious, I cut him off, leaving no space for argument. It’s the choice I’ve made. Please understand.
My words came out firm but not harsh, steady enough to quiet both of them. Energy stirred through me. Fire Force without intent, flowing in a thick, invisible current. A strand would only generate a spark, so I gave the it weight.
The effort drained me, but necessity outweighed fatigue.
Heat now bled softly from my palms as we advanced.
After a few steps, Hurau’s demeanor shifted sharply. Her feathers pressed tight against her frame, her eyes narrowing. Not in curiosity or amusement, but in acute awareness. Her gaze locked on me, then flicked behind.
She knows, Luna warned, though I hardly needed telling.
As long as the rotting ones don’t, Wyrem rumbled, lending his quiet support. And considering there’s been no reaction...
Time carried us downward to another level. The air grew heavier, and the shuffling of Nikmen was gone. Not a single one moved here. Even the undead had changed.
The staggering husks and creaking remnants were absent. Gone were the strands of loose flesh and reeking decay. The figures before us—each stationed in its own alcove—were something else.
Their flesh looked almost preserved, the skin drawn tight and dry as parchment. Faint firelight pulsed beneath their shriveled hides, and in some, a trace of humanity had begun to return: ghostly pale faces, eerily restored, watching in silence as we passed deeper in.
Each one emanated its own domain with a pressure so thick it smothered the air. Behind each, a tiny room. Some empty, some… occupied.
Bristle’s claws scraped across the stone with the curse settling deeper into us.
Then, without a word, Hurau stopped.
For the first time since I had met her, she bowed her head low, folding her wings tight, and spoke in a clear, resonant voice stripped of its usual airiness.
“If the great Giant would be pleased—”
“HOW DARE YOU!” my guide roared a little too loud, stepping forward as though to posture. “A USELESS—”
“Silence,” I commanded, my voice cutting through his. The sound stunned him and the others around us. “She said it’s to please me. Would you stand in the way of that?” My eyes narrowed with pointed accusation.
He faltered, offering no reply.
I smiled, a slow, haughty curve of satisfaction. “Good,” I said, turning back to Hurau. “Continue.”
She raised her head slowly, eyes burning with quiet resolve. “If you truly wish to witness the strength of your allies,” she said, her tone reverent yet unwavering, “then surely seeing their collective power would be just as vital as beholding the might of a single one.”
“Sir, please forgive her insolence—” my guide began, voice trembling.
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“Wouldn’t it?” I interrupted, calm and deliberate, letting my voice ripple through the chamber.
The guide froze mid-protest. Around us, the others—more appealing in both appearance and attire—exchanged low, rustling murmurs, their unease mixing with curiosity.
Hurau stepped forward. “Let them display it upon us, all of us.”
My brow arched. “You would offer yourself and your people as the demonstration?”
Her feathers quivered, betraying a moment of false hesitation. “If it pleases you,” she answered softly.
The guide’s hollow sockets flared with pale fire. “It would be dangerous,” he protested. “The energies—”
I cut him short by seizing his mouth and slamming him back against the wall with one hand. The impact rang out sharply, reverberating through the corridor. My fingers pressed against his jaw, silencing him as my gaze shifted toward the most preserved among them who stood directly before the double doors of stone.
“Leaving your lord unguarded would be improper,” I said, my tone measured. “That much I can understand. But…” I paused deliberately, gauging the shifting expressions of those who seemed swayed by Hurau’s proposal. “Her suggestion carries merit. Take only who you must. The fewer it takes to command the slaves, the stronger your claim of dominion.”
The corridor came alive with whispers, and I could feel their vanity stirring. Finally, the one at the far end turned to me after a hushed exchange with the nearest guard.
“We will remain,” he declared, his voice cracking with both conviction. “The rest,” he shouted, “leave with your tribute. Do not overestimate your power!”
I adopted a faint smirk. “You don’t need to consult your lord on this matter.”
His desiccated lips twisted into a chilling grin. “He is already aware.”
Without flinching, I released the former guide, letting his body crumple to the floor. Then I turned to Brislte. “Go back up and recover for the return trip.”
He whimpered low in his throat but did not disobey, limping toward the stairs. Each step faster than the last as he ascended out of sight.
Moments later, commands rang out, and the remaining guards left their positions. Soon, only I and the two stationed before the doors remained.
“Please enter,” they intoned in eerie unison as the massive doors groaned open of their own accord.
The low grind of stone against stone filled the corridor, long and drawn out. Beyond the widening gap stretched pure darkness, swallowing all light before it.
With a steadying breath, I stepped through.
When my vision adjusted, faint flickers of crystal light shimmered along the walls, ghostly and soft. Behind me, the doors had already sealed shut, trapping the glow inside.
The throne room—if it could even be called that—bore none of the splendor one might expect.
There were no banners, no gilded sigils or ornaments. It was a circular crypt, its walls polished to a seamless sheen, every surface unbroken and cold. A ring of silent figures flanked a single stone chair at the far end—four on each side.
Their eyes burned with a cold, heart-stealing blue flame. Their faces were disturbingly human. Fully shaped and symmetrical, marred only by the faint, unnatural perfection of their features. Wisps of hair had begun to grow from some, and lips of pale blue traced their forming expressions.
But the one upon the throne—
She was different.
Her skin gleamed like porcelain, untouched by decay or time. A faint, liquid shimmer moved beneath her flawless complexion, like light trapped beneath glass. Her smile was gentle, almost kind, yet utterly void of warmth. And her eyes were like two polished rubies that glowed steadily, unblinking.
No, not rubies. Stars. Blazing red suns in the making.
Her posture was regal but motionless. Impeccable. Perfect. A doll, sculpted not to imitate humanity, but to mock it.
And all of what she was—was familiar. The white hair, the serene, cruel beauty, every bit was impossible to forget. I knew that face better than almost any other. It was seared into me through hatred. Not because she was him, but because she was like him.
Not the one with golden eyes full of arrogance and the restless heart of an adventurer, but the being whose cruelty could birth calamity disguised as blessing. The one who’s blazing red eyes reveled in suffering.
She bore his likeness, yes, but the feeling she stirred was different. There was no terror upon glancing at her face. No unbearable pain when meeting her eyes. Whatever she was, she was not him.
“Welcome, Giant,” she said, her voice melodic and smooth, yet each word pressed against the inside of my skull. “It has been so long since anyone has volunteered themselves to me. If an accident were to occur, enduring the wrath of your people might prove… troublesome.”
I drew a quiet breath, holding my tone steady. “There’s no need for hostility. It’s not that I doubt you, but—”
“If you wish to avoid hostility,” she cut in, her sweetness laced with venom, “then strip the false kindness from your words.”
I blinked once, then stepped forward.
At once, every guard turned to face me. Spears of blackened onyx gleaming as they shifted in unison.
“Fine,” I said evenly, giving a false confession. “I doubted your power. None of this was an accident. The only mission I was ever given was this one. I—and others—merely despise the thought of allying with a race as putrid as yours.”
I let the silence stretch before softening my tone. “But… even the sight of you has changed my view. Unlike the incomplete rot you call followers, you are—”
“Perfect?” she finished for me, still smiling.
“Adequate,” I corrected.
She rose, the motion slow, deliberate. The faint light rippled across her as she descended the steps, her smile unbroken. Her white hair slid over one shoulder like liquid silver, and with a graceful flick of her pale hand, she stopped before me.
“Are you ready?” she asked, the other hand on her hips.