The four moved with newfound certainty.
For the first time since the siege began, they did not walk as prey — but as predators. The night before had tested them, burned them, stripped them bare. And yet they still stood. Two out of four were Sentinels: Kaelith, whose soul burned as an Eclipse devouring its own light, and Seris, whose Unyielding Blaze refused to falter even against despair itself.
Confidence thrummed in their steps, though none dared call it hope.
The temple awaited.
They reached Ashvale's heart at dawn. The mist still hung low, curling through the dead trees like lingering spirits. The old temple loomed at the edge of the village — silent, watching. Its doors gaped open, and inside, the candles still burned.
"Hours later," Varen murmured, "and the candles barely melted."
The air was thick with incense, so strong it stung the throat. Each breath felt heavy, as though they were inhaling smoke rather than air. The sweet, cloying scent coiled through their lungs like silk.
Kaelith stepped forward, his claymore gleaming faintly. "No wind. No decay. It's as if time stopped here."
"Or something's keeping it from moving," Seris said softly. Her voice carried a strange resonance now — like fire whispering through steel.
Riel trailed a few paces behind, eyes darting between the shadows. The walls were etched with murals — holy figures, saints, and beasts kneeling in reverence. But their faces were wrong. Each one was stretched, mouths open in silent screams, eyes gouged out or replaced by gems that glowed faintly red.
"Varen," Riel said. "You're sure your ritual will work?"
"No," the scholar admitted without hesitation. He knelt, unrolling a scroll and removing three small vials of silver dust. "But I'd rather tear down the illusion than keep guessing what hides behind it."
Seris stood watch by the entrance. Her aura flickered like an ember in a breeze, defiant, refusing to dim. "Do it."
Varen drew the sigils on the cracked stone floor. The lines glimmered faintly, threads of pale light forming an intricate lattice of interwoven circles and runes. He muttered words, of an old tongue.
The sound crawled through the air like the hiss of something waking.
A vibration ran through the floor. The candles flickered violently, their flames bending toward the circle. Kaelith's hand tightened around his sword. Riel's chain rattled. Seris's flame rose higher, shadows stretching long behind her.
Then — a sound like breaking glass.
The temple cracked.
Walls splintered as if they were brittle shells, shattering outward in shards of smoke and memory. The illusion peeled away layer by layer until only what truly lay beneath remained.
A tower of black crystal reached high above them, jagged and beautiful, like a monument carved from frozen shadow. The ceiling was gone — or perhaps there had never been one. The sky above was pitch-black, filled with twisting lights like veins crawling across the void.
The air hummed. It wasn't mere sound, but resonance — a low, throbbing vibration that seeped into their bones. The crystal walls pulsed faintly, alive, thousands of runes slithering beneath the surface like veins of molten silver.
Riel's breath caught. "This isn't stone. It's alive."
"No," Varen said, voice barely audible. "It's a construct. A memory. A piece of the ritual itself made solid."
At the chamber's center stood a Heart.
A crystal lattice suspended in midair — pulsing like an actual organ. Its shape was unmistakable: a heart, beating slowly, rhythmically, each pulse sending waves of black mist through the air. The mist dripped like tar, congealing on the ground in slick puddles that hissed when they touched light.
Within the crystal, faint shapes moved.
Faces.
Mouths open in endless, soundless screams. Hands pressed against the inner walls, as though clawing for escape. Some were human. Others were not.
The crystal bled. Thick black fluid seeped from its seams, dripping to the ground in slow, deliberate beats. Each drop hit the floor with a soft scream.
Kaelith took a step closer, voice hoarse. "Varen… what is this?"
"The Heart of the Ritual," the scholar whispered. "Every prayer, every offering, every drop of faith poured into this place—compressed, twisted, and given form. It shouldn't be possible."
Riel's eyes narrowed. "Then why can I hear them?"
"Hear who?" Seris asked.
"The ones inside." His chain trembled as he spoke. "They're… calling. Begging."
The Heart pulsed faster, its rhythm accelerating until it became a steady thrum that shook the floor. The runes carved into the walls flared alive, burning crimson and gold.
A sound followed.
Not one voice — hundreds. A choir of agony, rising in layers, building into a crescendo. The air screamed, filled with words that weren't words, prayers that had long since rotted into madness.
The black mist poured thicker, crawling up their boots.
"Varen," Kaelith barked, "what did you do?"
"It's not me," he said through gritted teeth. "It's reacting to us—our auras, our souls!"
The runes ignited fully, cascading across the crystal surfaces like wildfire. Their glow spiraled upward, converging at the Heart's peak.
The screams grew louder. Louder.
Until they were no longer screams at all — but a single, unified sound.
A note of despair so pure it bordered on divine.
The light burst.
From the runes, darkness poured forth — a shadow so dense it devoured the glow. It gathered at the temple's core, coalescing into something vast, formless. The air warped, bending space and thought alike.
And then, it stood.
A being made of night.
A giant shadow given form, towering nearly to the height of the crystalline spire. Its limbs were long and shifting, made of smoke and liquid glass. Veins of burning gold and red traced across its body, pulsing in rhythm with the dying Heart. Within its chest, faint faces flickered and vanished, as though the screams had been given flesh.
The Ebon Shade.
Its presence pressed down on them like gravity made flesh. The candles that had survived until now guttered out, leaving only the weak shimmer of the runes and the reflection of their fear in the black glass.
Seris's hand instinctively rose, flames whispering across her fingertips. "It's… neither demon nor godspawn," she said, voice trembling. "Then what—?"
Kaelith's eyes were locked on it, his aura flaring with restrained light. "Something older."
Varen's voice was faint, reverent and terrified at once. "A distortion of our world's faith. A memory of belief so strong it refused to die. It's not a creature—it's a reflection."
Riel's breath came shallow. His mark burned faintly under his eye, golden veins pulsing beneath his skin. "Then why is it looking at us?"
The Shade's head tilted, the motion deliberate.
A ripple ran through the air — not sound, but the echo of it. A thousand voices whispering over one another, too fast to comprehend, too human to ignore.
Its body shifted, growing taller, broader, as though drawing breath from their fear. The black blood dripping from the Heart began to flow faster, connecting to the creature's feet like roots.
The screams returned — one final, endless crescendo.
The Ebon Shade opened its chest, revealing the hollow cavity where its heart should be. Inside was only darkness, deeper than shadow, deeper than night.
Kaelith took a step back. "Everyone—"
The ground split.
Light and dark clashed in an explosion of soundless force. The temple shuddered, veins of crystal splitting open to reveal writhing runes beneath.
And then — silence.
The Ebon Shade stared down at them, its presence so vast it eclipsed thought itself. The glow of the runes painted its body in streaks of dying gold.
Riel couldn't move. His hand trembled at his side, his dagger intensively materialising whispering against his hand like it, too, remembered this kind of presence.
Kaelith raised his blade.
Seris's flames roared to life beside him.
Varen whispered a prayer that had no god to hear it.
The Ebon Shade leaned forward, shadow stretching across the entire chamber. Its faceless head lowered, the weight of its unseen gaze pressing into their very souls.