The ladder groaned under his weight.
Evin paused, gripping the metal rung so tight his knuckles went white beneath the grime. The lantern in his other hand swayed, its light cutting a thin golden arc through the darkness and casting warped shadows across the walls of the shaft.
He took another breath—slow, steady, controlled.
Then another step down.
Rung by rung, the iron ladder carried him deeper beneath the Sanctum. The air grew colder the farther he descended. His breath fogged in front of his lips. Each inhalation scraped at his throat like he was breathing winter air laced with dust.
The remnants quieted.
Not in peace.
Not in retreat.
In attention.
The silence inside him was more terrifying than their screaming had ever been. It was the hush before something enormous moved.
Evin swallowed. His tongue felt thick.
Another rung.
Another creak.
His arms shook from the effort. The muscles in his forearms burned, something between fatigue and the lingering aftershock of the Veil eruption. Sweat dripped down from his hairline, cold against his cheek before it slid to his jaw.
He wished the ladder didn't shake every time he breathed.
Halfway down, he paused.
Not because he needed rest—though he desperately did—but because something shifted beneath him. The metal rung flexed a fraction, then settled back into place with a soft metallic whine.
Someone had climbed this ladder not long ago.
Dust was disturbed.
Rust scraped thin.
The faint imprint of a boot on the stone below.
Evin clung to the ladder, heart hammering.
Someone else used this.
Someone is still using it.
He wasn't alone.
He didn't know whether that should comfort him or terrify him.
Slowly, he resumed his descent.
When his boot finally touched uneven stone, he sagged with relief. His legs buckled. He caught himself on the wall, breathing hard. His shadow pooled out beneath him like ink, stretching unnaturally far before recoiling back into place.
The remnants stirred softly.
A low hum.
Cautious.
Alert.
This new chamber was small—little more than an alcove with a cracked floor and walls stained by time. A tunnel carved out of the rock stretched ahead, narrow and uneven. The air smelled of dust, rust, and something faintly metallic underneath.
He lifted the lantern.
The tunnel swallowed the light immediately.
Still, he stepped forward.
The walls closed around him as he moved deeper, the tunnel narrowing until he had to turn sideways to squeeze through one section. The lantern scraped the stone, sending sparks of reflected light dancing in front of him.
As soon as he emerged on the other side, the structure changed again.
The tunnel widened just enough for him to straighten. The ceiling curved overhead, creating a rounded echo chamber where every sound bounced strangely.
His footsteps came back to him distorted:
step
Step
StEp
STEP
Evin flinched at the overlapping rhythm, unsure which sound was real.
He paused.
Held his breath.
Listened.
Only the soft, distorted echo of his own breathing returned.
He kept walking.
Twenty paces deeper, carvings appeared.
Not scripture.
Not doctrine.
Older.
More primal.
Symbols spiraled across the stone walls—loops, intersecting lines, incomplete circles. Many were chiseled away, scraped raw, gouged with deliberate anger. Evin raised the lantern higher to study one spiral that remained intact.
The remnants murmured at the sight of the carvings.
Forgotten… forbidden… before her…
The whispers faded before they could take shape.
His fingers twitched.
He wanted to touch them.
To feel what memory or presence these symbols might hold.
He reached out—
"Do not touch the walls."
Evin froze.
The voice did not come from his own head.
Not from remnants.
Not from hallucination.
It came from the tunnel ahead.
Old.
Grounded.
Calm.
Dry as stone.
He lifted the lantern higher, sweeping it across the curved corridor.
"Where are you?" he whispered, voice shaking.
Silence.
Then:
"Here."
But the acoustics twisted the word, scattering it so thoroughly that he couldn't tell where it originated.
His shadow twitched violently, jerking sideways for a moment before settling.
Evin swallowed.
"Did you leave the lantern?" he asked. "The water?"
The voice answered without hesitation.
"I did."
"Why help me?"
Two breaths of silence.
Then:
"Because you are not the first."
Evin's heart lurched.
Not the first.
How many before him?
How many had descended this far only to vanish?
"What do you mean?" he rasped.
The voice didn't answer directly.
Instead:
"You carry echoes of another. A boy. Loyal to a fault. Fearful for you. Not of you."
Evin stiffened, stomach dropping.
"You… You're talking about Rell."
His voice cracked painfully.
"You didn't know him."
"No," the voice agreed. "I did not."
Evin gripped the lantern harder.
"Then how do you know anything about him?"
The reply came softly, without cruelty or pity:
"Because the pieces of him you carry still scream."
Evin staggered back a step.
"No—No, that's not—"
"It is not shameful," the old voice said. "He died before he broke. That is rare."
Evin's teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached.
"Stop talking about him like that."
"I speak only what is true," the voice answered. "You all carry your dead differently. You most of all."
The remnants inside him churned, uneasy—yet listening.
Like they respected this voice.
Or feared it.
Or both.
Evin forced himself to steady.
His voice was rough when he asked:
"What do I do now?"
The reply came instantly, as if the old man had been waiting for that question:
"Walk forward. And do not look behind you."
Evin's breath caught.
"Why not?"
A long pause.
Then:
"Because it is not me behind you."
The lantern flickered violently.
Evin refused to look back.
He forced his shaking legs forward instead, one step at a time.
Something behind him made a sound—a soft, broken hum of a hymn, warped and barely human.
His entire body tensed.
But he did not turn around.
"That's right," the old man's voice murmured. "Good. Keep going."
The hum faded.
The remnants trembled.
Evin walked deeper into the dark.
Only when the tunnel curved and the sound behind him died entirely did he let out the breath he'd been holding.
He didn't dare look back.