He looked at Veyra again. Her past weighed heavily, filled with betrayals and layered truths. Yet she stood here, unafraid, bathing her soul in these cursed waters.
Perhaps she was already beyond saving, and perhaps he was too. He reached down. His fingers hovered above the surface. Then stopped.
"No," he said, stepping back. "Not like this, if I gain power, it will be through my choices, not through these temptations.
Veyra smiled faintly. "Wise or cowardly, only time will tell us."
The Voice's approval was silent but palpable. A low tremor rolled through the cavern.
The Tides pulsed in response, rippling outward, forming a glowing path of stepping stones across the lake, leading into a black tunnel on the far shore.
Aelric didn't speak as he stepped onto the first stone. The Whispers grew quieter now, as if disappointed. But the visions lingered in his mind.
As they crossed, Veyra finally broke the silence. "You know, some part of you wants what they showed you."
"I know," Aelric said, not looking back. "But that part doesn't get to decide who I am."
Behind them, the lake shimmered, then stilled, returning once more to its endless vigil.
And ahead, the Abyss deepened. As the last of the shimmering stones gave way to solid ground, Aelric stepped into a narrow isle of blackened slate at the center of the Whispering Tides.
The air was heavier here, thick with a silence that felt intentional, like a breath held by some great and unseen entity.
The Whispers that had accompanied them across the lake ceased completely, as though even the lost souls feared what lay ahead.
Veyra remained a pace behind him, her steps tentative for once, her gaze flicking around the obsidian chamber like a wary cat.
Aelric could feel we tension; whatever power ruled this place, even she didn't take it lightly. What could it be? He was very curious.
The Voice broke the silence first.
[We are not alone.]
The moment the thought passed through Aelric's mind, the waters began to churn, quietly at first, like a sign.
Then slowly, the surface of the lake fractured inward, forming a spiral whirlpool of luminescent mist and ghostly shapes.
From its heart, something rose: a throne. It emerged not with grandeur, but with inevitability.
Formed from woven kelp and broken bone, fused with rusted chains and fading royal sigils, the throne hovered just inches above the water's surface.
Upon it sat a figure that defied logic. She wore a veil of mournful silk, long as rivers, flowing endlessly into the lake behind her.
Her limbs were thinking and graceful, but where her skin should have been, there was only glistening ichor, like obsidian lacquered in mourning.
No face was visible beneath her hood, only a pale crown that floated, unanchored, above her head, half-formed, as if made from regret itself.
She did not move nor did she speak, but her presence alone was commanding.
[The Silent Monarch.] Voice whispered. [Warden of this layer. Judge of the drowned. She governs the border between memory and oblivion.]
Veyra bowed slightly, and even Aelric found himself lowering his head instinctively. The stillness in the chamber pressed against his ribs like cold hands. Forcing him to bend.
Aelric straightened himself. "You summoned me?"
The monarch lifted one hand, not by motion, but by intention. The air around her rippled. Words did not pass her lips, but her voice echoed directly into his mind; regal, emotionless, encompassing.
"You have trespassed into my dominion, mortal vessel of the chains. The Tides have tasted you. You sound stirred with contradiction, power, Defiance and hunger."
Aelric narrowed his eyes. "You know, I seek."
The Monarch's presence intensified. "You seek passage to descend further into the Abyss's next veil. But nothing below is given freely. All descent must be earned."
"I have already bled to get here."
"But it is still not enough."
With that, a wave of energy surged outward from her throne. The water shimmered, and from its depths rose silhouettes: humanoid, massive, yet malformed. Ten of them, the remaining guardians of the ruined city.
They encircled the island like specters of war. Each born mark of nobility; tattered cloaks, broken create, shattered blades fused to arms of stone and sinew.
Their bodies were grotesque, partially fossilized, and bound in chains that whispered with the same maddening sorrow as the weeping statues before.
"They once ruled this city. I sealed them in regret, bound to protect the balance of my lake. But their corruption festers still. Smat then, and the path shall open." She said.
Aelric's fingers clenched around the Soulbound Shackles. "What do you gain from this?"
The Monarch did not answer. Instead, her gaze or the sense of it pierced him. She spoke slowly.
"You only have two options to choose from. Fight for the right to descend, or stagnate and decay with the lost."
The Voice spoke within him. [She plays a long game, Aelric. Monarchs of the Abyss do not make an offer. They make wagers.]
"Understood."
Aelric turned to face the first of the guardians. It's hollow eye sockets flared with blue fire, and it lunged forward with unnatural speed.
The battle began. Aelric twisted his body, the Soulbound Shackles bursting to life; writhing like serpents of blackened iron, snapping around the guardian's wrist mid-swing.
He yanked, unbalancing it, and drove his palm against its torso. The Devourer's Bloom activated with a pulse, tendrils of shadowy energy burrowing into the creature and siphoning its essence. But the guardian roared; not in pain, but in challenge.
From the rear, another charged, massive blade raised. Before it struck, Veyra intervened, casting a mirage that split Aelric's form into five illusions. The blade passed through the air, crashing into the stone.
Aelric leapt over the stunned guardian, landing on its back, and drove both his chains into its spine. The energy siphon intensified, and with a cracking howl, the guardian crumbled into ash and ichor.
"That's one," Aelric said. Nine remained.