They found refuge in the hollow bones of a cathedral—once sacred, now swallowed by time and sorrow.
Its roof had partially collapsed, letting starlight spill across broken pews. Vines crept through shattered stained glass, curling around pillars like desperate hands. The air hung heavy with grief, each breath thick with memory.
Caelen's curse flared the moment he crossed the threshold. The pain here was ancient. Enduring.
A thousand voices whispered from the stone.
Elira sat near a fallen pillar, her back resting against its cold surface. Her eyes were open, yet distant, staring into something Caelen couldn't see.
"They're trapped," she murmured. "Like I was."
He knelt beside her, his heart aching. Her presence within the curse was stronger than before—but still frayed. Faint threads of sorrow held her like chains.
"We'll free them," he said gently. "And you."
She didn't respond.
Caelen stood, moving toward the altar. Shadows writhed around it—vague outlines of the long dead, their cries woven into the cathedral's stone. He could feel them reaching, their agony a chorus of despair.
The Weeping Blade pulsed in his grip.
"I'll take your pain," he whispered, stepping into the gloom. "Let me carry it."
The spirits surged.
A flood of grief crashed into him—centuries of death, betrayal, longing. His legs buckled. Regret tore at his soul. He felt their last thoughts, their forgotten names, their unfinished prayers.
His curse screamed.
But he held on.
Channeling their pain into the blade, he let it flow through him. The Weeping Blade glowed, runes igniting with ghostlight. Its edge wept silver tears that fell to the stone and vanished.
One by one, the voices faded.
And then—silence.
The cathedral grew still.
The dead were gone. Their pain now his.
Caelen collapsed to his knees, gasping, sweat clinging to his skin. But a warmth touched his shoulder—a hand, light and trembling.
Elira.
She knelt beside him, her voice a cracked whisper. "Thank you."
He looked up.
Her eyes held something more than sorrow now—a spark, fragile but real. The fire hadn't returned. But it had flickered.
And for Caelen, that was enough.