Darkness closed in one step at a time.
The board slid back into place above me, cutting off the thin forest light, sealing Santiago on the other side. The stairs swallowed sound fast.
My breathing steadied automatically—slow, measured, trained by fear and repetition.
Four minutes.
I didn't rush.
The Veil brushed the edge of my awareness as I descended—confused, searching—then thinned. By the tenth step it dulled. By twenty it loosened. By thirty it vanished completely.
Not quiet.
Absent.
The difference hit me so hard I had to grip the stone wall to steady myself. My shoulders dropped without permission, like my body had been holding something up for far too long.
I reached the shallow notch Santiago had carved into the stone earlier and stopped.
Time check. I counted heartbeats.
Steady. Clear. No pull. No pressure.
That was when I realized something was wrong.
The dark wasn't empty anymore.
It hadn't been empty before either, but this was different—structured, aware. The air felt shaped, as if the space itself had adjusted to my presence.
I swallowed and forced myself to stay still.
"Observation only," I whispered, anchoring myself in Santiago's rules. No reaching. No calling. No emotional surge.
The Veil didn't respond.
Instead—
Something else did.
A soft pressure brushed the back of my skull. Not invasive. Not hostile.
Curious.
Like a fingertip testing water from below the surface.
My pulse jumped.
This wasn't the Veil.
I focused inward, folding my intent the way Santiago had taught me—edges smoothed, attention contained. The pressure withdrew slightly… then returned, clearer this time.
A presence.
Old. Patient. Not hungry.
Awake.
Understanding landed with a sickening clarity.
The Veil wasn't absent here because it couldn't reach.
It was absent because something else already occupied the space.
My breath caught.
Above me—far above—I felt Santiago tense.
Not through the Veil.
Through me.
Three minutes.
I shifted my weight carefully. Stone scraped softly beneath my boot.
The presence reacted immediately—not alarmed, not aggressive. Attentive. As if noting the change.
A thought pressed gently into my awareness—not words, not sound, but meaning.
You are not meant to be singular.
I staggered back half a step.
"No," I whispered. Not denial. Recognition.
The pressure deepened—almost approving.
Nor is he.
My chest tightened painfully. "You know him."
A pause.
Then something like quiet amusement.
I know the ones who stand between.
Two minutes.
This was beyond latency. Beyond testing. Santiago hadn't planned for this.
The presence didn't push further. It waited—calm, certain—like it knew I was already leaving.
The Veil is not the first. Nor the last.
Cold spread through my limbs. "What are you?"
Silence.
Then, carefully:
A root.
The pressure receded, withdrawing with deliberate restraint. The space felt vast again—blank, untouched—
—but changed.
The Veil brushed my awareness faintly now—irritated, sharpening, realizing something had slipped past it.
One minute.
I turned and climbed fast—not panicked, but urgent. The blankness thinned with each step, the Veil snapping closer, attention tightening like a net being drawn.
By the time I shoved the board aside and broke back into the surface air, my head was pounding.
"Eliza!"
Santiago was already there.
Not cautious.
Not controlled.
His hands caught my shoulders hard enough to ground me, thumbs digging in, real and solid.
The Veil slammed back into place around us—angry now—but he didn't let go.
"What happened," he demanded quietly, every word locked down, lethal with restraint.
I looked up at him, breathless.
"There's something else down there," I said. "And it knows you. Us."
That—
That was the moment Santiago went completely still.
Not fear.
Recognition.
And somewhere beneath the forest floor, far deeper than the Veil had ever dared to reach—
Something ancient listened.