The ground shifted under us as we left the crumbling bridge behind.
What opened up ahead made my stomach drop—even in this tiny baby body. A massive chasm stretched out before us, dark and endless. The air turned cold, heavy with something that made my skin crawl.
"Fuck," Lucien muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on his sword.
The floor looked like it had been through a war—cracked stone, jagged edges, streams of that same red light bleeding through the walls like open wounds. Ancient murals covered every surface, faces carved deep into the rock. Past hosts, all of them. Their stone eyes followed us, filled with the kind of sadness that got into your bones and never left.
Mira hit the ground first.
Her legs just gave out, and she collapsed onto the cold stone, still clutching me. I felt her whole body shake as she stared at the murals.
"They all died here," she whispered, her voice cracking. Tears dripped into my hair. "Every single one of them."
Lucien stepped closer, his eyes scanning the carved faces like he was reading a history book written in blood. His jaw clenched. The storm behind his eyes was getting worse.
"The Redthorn legacy," he said, voice flat. "Generations of sacrifice."
Charlotte shifted beside him, wincing as her injured arm twitched. "How many?" she asked.
"Too many." Lucien's response was clipped, final.
The ground shook again, harder this time. Cracks split wider beneath us, and I swear I heard something—whispers, maybe screams—coming from deep inside the stone.
My arm burned in response, that crack pulsing with heat that made me whimper.
Ahead, a giant fissure glowed with weird light. The air around it buzzed like static electricity, pulling at something inside my chest. It felt like a warning and a challenge rolled into one.
The bridge we had to cross looked like it was held together by sheer stubbornness. Stone slabs barely wide enough for one person, slick with moisture and age. Red light bled along the edges, making the whole thing look cursed.
Mira followed, holding me so tight I could barely breathe. Every step made the bridge creak and groan like it was about to give up and dump us into whatever hell waited below.
That's when the shapes started appearing.
At first, just shadows in the red mist. Then they got clearer, more human. Figures from the past stepped out of the fog, hollow eyes locked on us.
*"You failed."*
*"You can't carry this."*
*"The legacy is too heavy."*
Their voices filled my head, even though I knew the others couldn't hear them. The Spectral Echo pulsed in my mind, translating their ghostly whispers into words that cut deep.
Mira stumbled, her breath hitching. "Do you see them?"
"See what?" Lucien asked, not turning around.
"The... the people. In the mist."
Charlotte's face went pale. "There's no one there, Mira." Trying to let her be at ease.
But I could see them. Dead anchors, failed hosts, all the souls this place had chewed up and spat out. They crowded around us, their presence heavy with regret and accusation.
Each step on that bridge was torture. The crack on my arm throbbed with every spectral whisper, every ghostly touch. Mira's grip got tighter with each phantom that materialized, her whole body shaking.
"Keep moving," Lucien commanded, his voice cutting through the supernatural bullshit like a blade.
But the spirits weren't done with us.
As we reached the middle of the bridge, they pressed closer. I felt their cold touch, their desperate need to drag us down with them.
"Join us," they whispered. "End the cycle."
The system flickered in my head:
[The legacy of pain is the path to strength. Embrace what was lost.]
Cryptic as always.
"Almost there," Charlotte called back, though her voice was strained.
The far end of the bridge opened into another chamber, this one even more fucked up than the last. The walls were covered in more murals—faces twisted in agony, hands reaching out in desperation, children clinging to hope in the middle of despair.
Lucien stopped at the edge of the chamber, surveying the room like a general planning a battle. "This is our next trial."
A massive fissure had opened in the center of the floor, swirling with dark energy that made my skin crawl. The path down was narrow, jagged stone steps that spiraled into blackness.
"Down we go," he said.
Mira's eyes locked onto mine, and I saw everything in her gaze—fear, determination, desperation, love. "I won't lose you," she whispered, so quiet only I could hear.
The system pulsed again:
[Step into the abyss. Embrace the legacy of pain. Only then shall the path to strength be revealed.]
Lucien took the first step into the fissure. The sound of crumbling stone echoed through the chamber as he disappeared into the darkness. Charlotte followed, her face set in grim determination despite the obvious pain.
Mira hesitated at the edge, her whole body trembling.
"Mira," Lucien's voice drifted up from below. "Now."
She took a shaky breath and stepped forward.
The descent was a nightmare. The walls pulsed with that bleeding light, and the air hummed with voices of the dead. Every step felt like walking deeper into the estate's diseased heart.
Halfway down, Mira's grip on me faltered. She stumbled, panic flashing across her face.
Lucien was there instantly, steadying her with one hand while keeping his sword ready with the other. "Stay focused."
"I can't—" she started.
"You can."
And with his words anchoring her, Mira pushed on. Step by step, trembling but determined, she forced herself downward.
- - -
The walls around us shimmered with ghostly images—more dead anchors, more failed attempts, more proof that this place was a graveyard of ambition and hope.
Their eyes followed us down, filled with accusation and desperate warning. I felt their weight pressing against my mind, their silent screams mixing with my own fear.
Finally, the narrow passage opened into a vast chamber. The floor was littered with stone fragments, and the air felt thick with the weight of forgotten promises and broken dreams.
Lucien stopped in the center, turning to face us. His eyes were hard, unwavering. "This is it."
The system flashed one more time:
[The legacy of pain is the key. Embrace it to unlock your strength.]
In that moment, something clicked. The ghosts, the failures, the endless cycle of sacrifice—it all connected. Every dead anchor had fought against the pain, tried to resist it, tried to stay whole.
Just like I'd learned with the Obelisk—that wasn't the answer.
You had to let it in. Accept it. Make it part of you.
The chamber shuddered, and another fissure opened in the center—darker, deeper, more terrifying than the last.
"The final trial," Lucien said, his voice echoing off the ancient stone.
I let out a soft cry—the only voice I had in this cursed place—and felt the weight of generations pressing down on my tiny shoulders.
Lucien stepped toward the new fissure, his determination unwavering. Charlotte followed, silent prayer written across her face. And Mira, tears streaming down her cheeks, carried me forward into whatever hell awaited us next.
The abyss swallowed the light, and I felt its cold embrace waiting.