The tunnel narrowed the deeper we went.
Not physically. If anything, the stone walls seemed to stretch wider, arches rising higher overhead— but the space felt tighter. Like the air itself was pressing inward, urging us to slow, to think, to hesitate.
The carvings changed.
At first they'd been orderly. Rows of repeating symbols, careful script etched with ritual precision. Now they grew uneven. Lines overlapped. Words trailed off mid-sentence, only to resume again a few feet later in a different hand, a different style.
Mira slowed, running her fingers just above the stone without touching it. "These weren't all carved at the same time."
Theo frowned. "You're saying this thing had… renovations?"
"No," she said quietly. "I'm saying people kept adding to it. Over years. Maybe decades."
I swallowed.
That meant devotion. That meant choice.
[Ah, yes…] Aetherion murmured, voice smooth and pleased in my head.
[The architecture of desperation. Everyone leaves a little of themselves behind.]
'You're enjoying this way too much.'
[I appreciate good craftsmanship. Especially when it involves ruin.]
A few steps later, the air shifted.
Not colder. Not warmer.
Just… familiar.
The faint scent of paper and ink brushed my nose. Old books. Libraries. Late nights hunched over notes I swore I'd finish tomorrow. For a heartbeat, I could almost hear the soft scratch of a pen, the quiet comfort of knowing exactly what I was supposed to be doing.
I stumbled.
Theo caught my arm instantly. "Hey— what was that?"
"I—" I shook my head. "Nothing. Just dizzy."
It was a lie. I knew it the second the words left my mouth.
Because for half a second, I hadn't been here.
I'd been somewhere else. Somewhere easier.
Mira glanced between us, jaw tight. "This tunnel is messing with perception. If either of you feel off, you say something. Immediately."
Theo nodded. "Yeah. No heroics. No zoning out."
[Wise rules,] Aetherion said lightly.
[Though I doubt you'll manage to follow them.]
We continued.
The carvings grew more elaborate—figures now, not just words. People kneeling. Hands raised. Faces tilted upward in rapture. And beneath each figure, etched so faintly it was almost missed, were single phrases.
Stay.
Listen.
You are safe here.
Mira scoffed. "Creepy motivational quotes. Love that."
But her steps slowed anyway.
Then she stopped.
"Hold on," she muttered, patting her jacket. "Did I bring my lighter?"
Theo turned sharply. "Mira."
"What?" She frowned, genuinely confused. "I swear I had it. I just—" She gestured back the way we'd come. "I'll run back real quick. Two minutes."
"No," I said, voice flat. "You will not."
Mira blinked. "Why not?"
'Because this place wants you to leave the path' I thought.
'Because it wants you to wander.'
[Interesting choice,] Aetherion observed.
[Not fear. Not panic. Habit. Small comforts. Very clever.]
'It's testing us.'
[No, my friend.]
His tone sharpened, just slightly.
[It's rehearsing.]
Theo stepped in front of Mira, meeting her eyes. "You don't smoke right now. You quit. Remember?"
Mira stared at him.
Then laughed, a little too loud. "Right. Yeah. Stupid thought. Sorry about that."
But the laughter didn't quite reach her eyes.
We moved again, closer now— close enough for our shoulders to touch.
The pulse beneath our feet grew steadier the farther we went.
It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. It matched the rhythm of my steps so perfectly that I didn't notice when I stopped walking and it kept going anyway.
The tunnel opened gradually, stone walls peeling back into something closer to a corridor than a passage. Pillars emerged from the darkness, each wrapped in layered script—prayers written over prayers, scratched out, corrected, rewritten again as if the stone itself had been arguing with its authors.
The air smelled heavier now. Wax. Dust. Something faintly metallic.
Theo muttered, "Please tell me you guys hear that too."
"Hear what?" Mira asked.
He frowned. "Exactly."
I opened my mouth to answer—and nothing came out.
For a moment, I forgot why that mattered.
I stood still as the others moved a few steps ahead, their figures blurring slightly at the edges. The tunnel stretched onward, widening into a vaulted space ahead where dim light pooled against the floor like spilled milk.
Ah.
Relief washed over me.
This was it, then. The end. The place where answers waited. Where things finally made sense.
I felt a tug in my chest—not pulling me forward, but inward. Toward a memory that wasn't a memory yet.
A desk. A quiet room. No alarms. No missions. No weight.
Just focus.
[You're drifting,] Aetherion said, voice unusually sharp.
'No,' I thought back lazily. 'I'm just… thinking.'
[You have stopped moving.]
That seemed wrong. I took a step.
The tunnel lurched.
Stone bent, walls curving inward like ribs, carvings peeling themselves free and rearranging into new shapes—symbols I recognized without knowing how. Lines of script rearranged themselves into words I could almost read, if I'd just stop and look properly.
You already understand.
You don't need them.
"Yuwon."
Mira's voice sounded distant. Concerned.
I turned toward her—and saw something else instead.
A version of myself standing alone at the center of a vast chamber, hands clean, heart steady. No voices. No presence pressing against my thoughts. Just silence. Control.
Choice.
I took another step toward it.
Hands grabbed my shoulders.
"Yuwon!" Theo shook me hard. "Hey—look at me!"
The illusion cracked.
The chamber vanished, replaced by stone and shadow and Theo's pale face inches from mine. My heart slammed painfully into my ribs.
"I—" My throat felt tight. "I was just—"
"Gone," Mira finished quietly. She stood close now, one hand braced against a pillar etched with overlapping prayers. "You stopped responding."
[That was close,] Aetherion said softly.
[It offered you absence. That is… a dangerous gift.]
'You could've warned me sooner.'
[I did. You didn't listen.]
Theo swallowed. "This thing's targeting us individually. It's not just atmosphere anymore."
As if in response, the tunnel exhaled.
The space ahead fully opened into a vast chamber carved deep into the earth. The ceiling arched impossibly high, lost in darkness, while the floor sloped gently downward toward a circular dais at its center—empty, yet waiting.
Every surface was covered in writing.
Not just prayers now, but confessions. Pleas. Names carved over and over until the stone had worn smooth beneath them.
Mira whispered, "This is a sanctuary."
"No," Theo said hoarsely. "It's a reliquary."
The pulse beneath us intensified, syncing with my heartbeat again—but this time I recognized the trick.
I clenched my fists.
[Good,] Aetherion murmured approvingly.
[Awareness is resistance.]
We stood at the threshold of the chamber, none of us crossing it yet. Whatever lay deeper—whatever heart beat beneath this place—was close enough now that it didn't need to chase us.
It could wait.
After all, it knew what we wanted.
And it was very patient.