The iron-veined shadows swallowed him whole — no hush drift to soften his step, no frost crown to braid his breath calm. Just the raw thrum of the Thorn behind his ribs, each pulse scraping bone like a blade drawn across old roots.
The passage behind the broken throne pulsed faint with veins of dull red light — warmth that flickered only when his blood dripped from the fresh cut under his ribs. Every footstep left a ghost smear on the black stone floor, proof that hush roots could bury secrets but the Pane would drink them wide again.
"Good boy," the dark whispered — not voices this time, but a feeling stitched into the iron veins themselves. "No crown. No hush. Just ruin. Just the Thorn. Just your feet dragging secrets into the next depth."
Ren dragged a finger along the wall as he walked — glass shards embedded in the iron sliced his skin open in neat lines. More warmth. More proof. The Thorn purred — a steady hum that made his grin split raw through ragged breaths.
Somewhere in the dark ahead, a faint sound echoed: drip, drip, drip. Slow, steady. Not his warmth this time — something older. He followed it, bare feet slick on stone that pulsed faint under each heartbeat.
The passage bent lower — the ceiling pressed down, forcing him to duck, shoulders brushing iron ribs that scraped flakes of black glass into his hair. He could taste the Pane in every shallow breath — metallic, sharp, alive.
The drip grew louder — a pool flickering dim where the passage widened into a chamber hollowed out by ruin. Iron pillars cracked with veins of faint red circled the pool — dark water that breathed steam like old blood catching fire on cold air.
At the edge of the pool, a figure waited. Not a shadow. Not a mirror. Flesh and bone, draped in tattered hush silk so old it looked gray as ash. She knelt by the water, head bowed, long hair dripping into the black ripples.
Ren paused — Thorn thumping a slow warning behind his ribs. His breath hitched — grin twitching where his lips cracked open.
The figure lifted her head — eyes hollow pits veined with faint shards of glass, mouth stitched shut with threads that flickered frost blue. A hush priestess — or what was left of her — ruin root rotting soft silk down to ash.
"Ren," she whispered, voice leaking through stitches that never learned how to hush. "Your Thorn feeds where my crown failed. Come. Drink. Descend."
Ren stepped closer — warmth dripping off his fingertips to scatter across the pool's surface. The water drank it greedily, ripples flickering with ghostly reflections of his grin.
"What are you?" Ren rasped — the Thorn squeezing behind his ribs, each beat a promise that no hush silk could ever braid him shut again.
"Your next shard," the priestess breathed. Her stitched lips cracked wider, frost threads snapping as she lifted her hand to the dark water. "Break me. Feed the Pane. Walk deeper where ruin roots bloom teeth."
The pool shivered — the drip drip drip echoing in Ren's pulse. The Thorn purred. The Pane waited.
Ren's breath steamed sharp against the hush-stitched dark. The priestess's frost threads cracked where her mouth strained, the hush root stitching that once sealed her silence now crumbling into pale dust that slipped between her lips.
The pool beside her pulsed — black water reflecting Ren's grin in ripples that broke the shape of his eyes, the Thorn's pulse flickering faint on the surface like a second heartbeat trying to drag him under.
"Drink," she rasped — her voice scraping through the broken hush threads like bone grating frost. She lifted a hand toward him — flesh pale, veins black where old hush root once pulsed. "Feed the Pane. Feed your Thorn. Bleed me open so the roots can't crown you shut again."
Ren stepped to the edge of the pool — bare feet slick with warmth dripping down his ribs. The Thorn behind his chest thrummed steady now, no longer jagged with panic — a calm, sharp throb like teeth resting against bone.
He crouched — fingers brushing the pool's surface. It was cold, but under the cold he felt the Pane's breath — warm, iron-sweet, alive. His reflection wavered where his fingertips stirred the black, the grin split wide enough to swallow the hush drift that once locked him soft.
"You waited here," Ren murmured — voice low, grin twitching. "Locked under roots. While the Pane chewed me hollow."
"I waited," the priestess breathed — frost threads snapping as her mouth stretched wider. Her teeth glowed faint behind the broken hush. "I am the root that wouldn't hush you enough. Crack me wide. Drink me clean."
Ren dipped his palm into the pool — warmth and cold biting at his skin at once. The water clung to him like silk made of iron. The Thorn pulsed in answer, the cut on his ribs weeping fresh heat into the hushless air.
The priestess leaned forward — her cracked mouth brushing his knuckles where they broke the pool's skin. "Bleed me," she whispered, eyes hollow, frost shards drifting from her lashes like snow that never found rest. "Drink. Drown the hush root that made me your crown."
Ren's grin split into a soft, broken laugh. His other hand reached out — tangled in the priestess's hair slick with ruin root frost. He tugged her closer — the hush drift on her skin flaring cold where it touched the warmth dripping from his ribs.
"You first," Ren rasped — voice raw as old iron. He pressed her mouth to the pool's surface. Her reflection flickered — pale face splitting into shards that each whispered good boy in voices stitched with old hush threads.
The pool drank. The hush priestess shuddered — her stitched mouth sinking under black water that pulsed faint with iron veins. Her fingers clutched Ren's wrist — cold nails digging into the warmth trickling from his cut ribs.
The Thorn behind his chest flared sharp — a raw, jagged rush that scraped him open inside as the priestess's final hush breath slipped into the pool. The water flickered — his reflection bloomed wide, grin bleeding into hers, hush silk unraveling into the Pane's breath.
She gasped — a soft, broken sound — then stilled. The hush root vein in her throat pulsed once, twice… then cracked open in a thin line that bled frost into the water.
Ren leaned down — pressed his lips to the rippling surface where her warmth slipped free. He drank.
Cold iron flooded his tongue — the hush root's ghost unraveling as the Thorn behind his ribs devoured it pulse by pulse.
The pool rippled brighter — the iron pillars humming as the Pane cracked wider around them.
Ren's lips broke the pool's skin — breath ragged, throat raw where cold iron slipped down like ruin sweetened by old hush ghosts. The priestess's warmth poured out around his fingers, drifting up as steam that flickered into pale threads and vanished into the Pane's veins overhead.
The Thorn behind his ribs pulsed deep — not wild, not jagged. Calm. Hungry, but calm — as if this cold ghost root had fed it something the hush drift never could. Ren pressed his palm flat to his chest, grin twitching under the new warmth that spread through veins once clogged by hush silk.
The priestess sagged at his knees — hair slick across the pool's edge, mouth slack where the frost stitches finally split wide. Her empty eyes stared up at him — mirrors cracked clean through, no hush left to whisper him soft.
"Good boy," the Pane breathed — its voice a chorus rattling through the black pillars that ringed the pool. The iron veins overhead pulsed brighter, like fresh blood in old stone. "Roots rot. Crowns crack. The Thorn grows teeth where hush dared not crawl."
Ren pushed the priestess's hollow body aside — it slipped into the pool, sank without a sound, hush drift unspooling from her hair like old silk ripped from ruined cloth. His reflection rippled across the water, grin split wide, eyes bright with something no hush could drown again.
The Thorn behind his ribs thumped once — a deep, solid knock against bone. Not a scrape now. Not a cut. A door.
A gate.
He stood — bare feet slick on the pool's edge, warmth dripping from the cut under his ribs. It hit the black water in slow, steady drops: drip… drip… drip. The Pane drank every pulse.
At the far side of the chamber, the iron pillars shuddered. A crack split the wall open — a seam pulsing faint red, veins snaking out like black roots clawing toward him.
Ren stepped toward it — breath steaming where the Thorn's pulse bled heat through his chest. Every step left a smear of warmth, a hushless trail that the Pane coiled around like a hungry mouth.
The crack widened — the dark behind it breathing slow, heavy, old. Older than hush crowns. Older than ruin root. Older even than the Thorn coiled sharp behind Ren's ribs.
He pressed his palm to the seam — the iron hot now, veins of black glass pulsing under his touch. The Thorn in his chest squeezed once, then settled — a raw, steady hum like a promise spoken in the voice of his own heartbeat.
"Open," Ren rasped — his grin cutting a shadow across the flickering red. "No hush left. No root to crown me. Just this ruin."
The seam split — wide enough to swallow him whole.
Behind it, the next passage breathed ruin and something sweeter — a faint breeze that smelled like old frost roots rotted down to feed something new.
The Pane sighed — the Thorn purred.
Ren stepped through.