The cavern seemed to breathe. Mist drifted like slow smoke, seeping in and out of cracks in the stone as though the mountain itself were inhaling. Kaelen stood at the edge of the chasm, one hand on the cold rock, eyes fixed on the darkness below. He could still feel the echo of that voice reverberating through his ribs.
Behind him, Lira's ward-light flickered. "This is no longer a tunnel," she murmured. "It's a vein. A passage carved for something to travel through."
Serenya snorted, hefting her axe. "Then let's follow the blood in the vein and see where it leads."
Kaelen straightened. "Ralk, Jessa — rig a line down. No torches, only mage-light. We descend in pairs." He touched the mark on his arm; it burned but steadied, a reminder of his oath. "We're not here to fight unless forced. We're here to find out what's moving below."
They moved with the practiced quiet of soldiers and survivors. Ralk hammered pitons into the stone and dropped a coil of woven cord into the mist. The line disappeared after a dozen feet, swallowed by grey. The chasm exhaled a damp wind that smelled faintly of ash and roses.
Lira muttered a binding charm over each knot. "If you feel the line twitch, climb. If it warms, cut it and fall back. Nothing from down there should be able to follow you up the same way."
Kaelen descended first. The cord was slick with condensation; cold bit his fingers. His own shadow climbed beside him, sticking to the rock like a second body. The shard hummed in time with his pulse.
After thirty feet, the mist thinned, revealing a cavern floor littered with shards of obsidian. They glimmered like stars under Lira's silver glow. Carvings lined the walls, older and deeper than the murals above — spirals, teeth, hands pressed palm-outward as if trying to escape the stone.
One by one the others landed. The chamber was vast, domed, with seven tunnels leading outward like the spokes of a wheel. In the center, a black pool lay perfectly still.
Neren whispered, "This… this is on no map. This is below the lowest shafts. We shouldn't be able to stand here."
Kaelen knelt at the pool's edge. The surface reflected nothing — no faces, no light. Only depth.
A ripple spread across the water though nothing had touched it. Then another. A pattern, like a heartbeat.
"Step back," Lira said sharply. She raised her staff. Runes lit the cavern walls, echoing the pulse. The shard in Kaelen's chest responded, thrumming so hard he winced.
The pool bulged upward and broke. Something rose, slowly, silently: a figure shaped like a man but built of stone and shadow, its features unfinished, its eyes twin voids. Chains of black crystal hung from its wrists and trailed into the pool.
Bearer… it said without sound. The crown is false. The throne is hollow. We waited…
The veterans lifted their weapons, but Kaelen raised a hand. "What are you?"
The shape tilted its head, a childlike gesture. We are the first Ashborn. Bound. Betrayed. Fed to stone. You carry the key.
Kaelen's stomach turned. "The shard."
The figure extended an unfinished hand. Give it. Free us.
The shard's hunger surged, urging him to comply. His fingers twitched toward the figure's palm. Lira's hand shot out, gripping his wrist.
"Kaelen," she hissed. "Look at me. Not it."
He blinked. The cavern spun. The figure's void eyes brightened.
If you refuse… the Hollow Crown will break your bones and wear your skin.
Serenya stepped forward, axe ready. "Enough riddles. You're either ally or enemy."
The figure shuddered; cracks spread across its body, leaking a faint white light. We are… both.
Chains tightened. A tremor shook the cavern. From the seven tunnels, more shapes began to emerge — smaller, half-formed, crawling on all fours, their mouths open in soundless screams.
"Back!" Kaelen barked. "Circle!"
The veterans closed ranks. Lira slammed her staff down, wards flashing. Neren scribbled runes in the dust, his hands shaking.
Kaelen drew his blade. The shard roared inside him, shadows swirling up his arms. He felt the temptation to unleash it fully, to sweep the chamber clean.
He forced a breath. "No. Not yet."
Instead he raised his sword and planted it in the stone. His shadow leapt outward, forming a barrier around the group. The crawling things struck it and recoiled, hissing like boiling water.
The unfinished figure watched, void eyes flickering. You are stronger than we dreamed. Come deeper, bearer. Come to the Maw and learn the truth.
The floor under the pool cracked open. Water — or something like it — poured down into a newly revealed shaft, a spiral leading even further into darkness. The smaller shapes fell back, vanishing into the tunnels. The figure sank into the pool, chains dragging it down.
Silence returned.
Kaelen straightened, sweat dripping down his face. His shadow shrank back to normal. The shard quieted, though it pulsed like a heartbeat under his ribs.
Lira touched his shoulder. "That was an invitation."
"Or a trap," Serenya muttered. She kicked a fragment of obsidian; it skittered across the floor like a beetle.
Kaelen stared at the new shaft. Deep below, faint light pulsed — a rhythm like the shard's own.
He sheathed his blade. "Either way, we're going. This is what the Crown is afraid of. This is what they're fighting to reach. We get there first."
Behind him, the others exchanged uneasy glances. None of them spoke. The mountain's breath moved around them, damp and cold, like a whisper too low to understand.
Kaelen stepped to the edge of the spiral. "Stay close," he said. "And whatever you see down there… don't listen unless I say."
And then, without waiting for an answer, he began the descent into the Maw of the Mountain.