The chamber's glow faded, leaving only the flicker of the candle-bearer's light. The shattered orbs hung in pieces above them, drifting like broken stars across the void.
Kaelen slumped against the wall of the stair, his fire dim but steady, his skin damp with sweat. He could still feel the heat of his shadow's touch lingering on his chest. Lyra sheathed her molten blade, though her hands trembled as if they hadn't stopped fighting.
The candle-bearer cradled their flame, staring into it with wide eyes. "It… it didn't go out," they whispered. There was awe in their voice, as if realizing for the first time that their fragile light had teeth.
"Because it was never small," Kaelen said hoarsely, forcing himself to stand. "You kept us alive in there."
The candle-bearer flushed, ducking their head. "Then maybe… maybe I matter after all."
Lyra knelt beside them, her tone soft but firm. "You matter more than you think. Sometimes the faintest light is the one that keeps the shadows away."
For a rare moment, silence wasn't heavy. It felt almost like peace.
But it didn't last.
The walls of the stair began to hum, a low vibration that shivered through their bones. Faint carvings shimmered into view across the stone—spirals of alien script, pulsing faintly with light.
Kaelen frowned, running his fingers across one. The glyphs burned faintly under his touch, not painful, but alive. "These weren't here before."
Lyra's gaze narrowed. "Or we weren't meant to see them until now."
The symbols shifted as they watched, rearranging themselves into patterns that seemed to pulse in rhythm with their heartbeats. Each time Kaelen blinked, they looked different—as though the stair were trying to speak.
The candle-bearer's flame bent toward the carvings, flickering wildly, almost pulled. "It's calling…" they murmured.
Kaelen stiffened. "Calling what?"
The stair shuddered violently, a sound like grinding stone echoing deep below.
The silence shattered.
From the darkness above, a ripple of force rolled down the steps, sweeping through them like a cold wind. The glyphs flared, and a deep, resonant voice whispered—not from outside, but inside their skulls:
"Step deeper, or turn back. The stair remembers those who falter."
Lyra's hand tightened around her sword hilt. Kaelen's fire surged reflexively.
The candle-bearer's flame sputtered, but didn't die. Their wide eyes lifted toward the spiraling steps above.
No one spoke, but all three knew: the stair had woken up.
And it was watching.