The deeper they went, the quieter it became—not silence in the literal sense, but a hushed resonance. It was a stillness that felt shaped, deliberate. The sort of silence that formed after words had failed.
The tunnels sloped downward at an angle too even to be natural. Occasionally, shallow steps emerged in the stone, not carved by tools but pressed flat as if a larger body had walked the same path a thousand times. Riku took each shift in texture as evidence: someone—or something—had lived here long before them, and had kept these halls intact.
After two hours of descent, the tunnel split. One path opened to what looked like a collapsed root-arch, the air inside thick with amber-colored mist. The other led into a narrow chamber where the walls shimmered slightly, as if coated in thin film.
Riku led them into the shimmering corridor.
As they entered, Kael muttered, "Temperature shift. Up two degrees. No source."
Riku paused and touched the stone. It was smooth. Smoother than glass, but warmer than bone. Behind him, Ilven grunted as his glaive scraped the wall, but the sound never echoed. It just absorbed, as if the very tunnel consumed noise.
They emerged into a low chamber—circular, no wider than ten meters. At its center stood a solitary object: a broken mask, half-buried in a nest of webbed roots.
Not metal. Not bone.
Molded bark—like the kind used in ancient ceremonial rites of the frontier tribes. Its surface was curved, scored with faint glyphs. But no eyes.
No mouth.
It had never been meant for breathing.
Sira crouched near it but didn't touch. "Ceremonial," she murmured. "But not for display. This was worn for… transformation."
Kael's brow furrowed. "Transformation into what?"
She didn't answer.
Riku took a step closer and felt the shift.
Not physical—mental. Like memory washing over skin.
Then something spoke.
Not aloud. Not in language. Not in the system.
Just pressure. A pressure that brushed against thought like fingertips in fog.
Ilven stiffened. "Did you feel—?"
But before he finished, Veit stumbled back.
His eyes were wide. His mouth open—but no words.
"Veit!" Sira caught his arm.
"I—" he gasped, "I heard… singing."
They froze.
Riku turned toward the mask.
The roots behind it had begun to move—imperceptibly, but undeniably. Slowly retracting into the floor as if breathing out. The mask slid forward half an inch. Beneath it, something shimmered.
A hollow channel.
Riku knelt, brushing the earth aside. A pattern revealed itself—shallow, geometric, symmetrical. A disc again—but far larger than the one in the stump above. This one wasn't made of metal or stone.
It was bark.
Layered, lacquered bark polished into mirror finish. Etched into it were three figures: one with a root emerging from its chest, one with its head replaced by flame, and one with no limbs—only threads.
All bowed to a crown that had no top.
It was inverted.
A hollow crown.
Riku stood slowly. "This chamber isn't meant to be found."
Kael watched the roots pull further into the ground. "Then why is it opening?"
Veit exhaled shakily. "Because it remembers us."
His voice was low, distant. Not vacant, but reverent.
Riku looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?"
Veit's gaze lingered on the mask. "The song I heard… wasn't new. I knew it. From before the fall. From my dreams in the dark—when I was young. Before the Calling. Before the flames."
Sira's hand went to her glaive.
Kael stepped between them.
"It's echo. Not madness. Something below is pulling from us. Not feeding. Not invading. Mimicking."
The mask shifted again. The roots had fully withdrawn.
Riku stepped forward and picked it up.
It was light. Dry. And warm.
He turned it in his hands, then slowly—without speaking—placed it against his face.
Nothing happened.
No power. No light.
Just stillness.
But inside, he heard the singing too.
Faint. Distant. Like a memory carried in root-thread.
He removed the mask and looked back at the team. "This place doesn't want to be worshipped."
Ilven swallowed. "Then what?"
Riku's eyes narrowed. "It wants to witness."
He dropped the mask into his satchel. "Let's move. The Hollow isn't finished showing us its face."
As they turned toward the next descent, Veit lingered.
Behind him, the wall of the chamber shimmered again, and this time, it did echo—softly, repeating his voice back to him in perfect clarity.
Only his.
"It remembers us."
Then the echo stopped.
And didn't come again.