The chamber remained completely silent for a long moment after Rylan's sudden collapse. Not a single sound disturbed the stillness, and a strange quiet hung in the air, heavy and unbroken. No one dared to move, as if even the smallest shift might upset a fragile balance. It was as if the very atmosphere had shifted, gone dry and motionless, like the grove above was holding its breath in awe or fear. The flickering light from their lanterns seemed strange, casting uneven shadows that danced along the rough stone walls. It was almost as if those shadows were alive, moving with a purpose of their own, breathing along with whoever was inside this dark chamber. The flicker wasn't just caused by the flames; it felt more like a ripple spreading through the air, touching every corner and crevice as though something unseen had taken a breath deep within the room itself.
Rylan sat slumped on the cold, uneven floor, leaning back against a cracked pedestal that looked like it hadn't been used in ages. The trembling in his hand hadn't stopped, and the warmth that still lingered inside his chest refused to fade. It was a strange warmth — not from real heat, but from the memory of that vision he had just experienced. That voice — that same voice he recognized — echoed in his mind. It wasn't a scream or a plea for help. No, it was something different. It carried acceptance, calm and steadier than he'd felt in days. It was as if, in that moment, Rylan understood something he hadn't fully grasped before. That voice, deep and familiar, seemed to hold secrets hidden in the silence.
"I saw them fall," he finally managed to say, his voice hoarse from disuse. His eyes remained fixed on the ground or perhaps on a memory only he could see. "The Circle. All of them. They died here." His words hung in the air, heavy with sorrow and a strange sense of finality. It was like he was revealing a dark truth that the walls refused to hide. The Circle — a group of trusted magic users, or perhaps advisors — had once stood here. And they had fallen, not in some distant place or future event, but right at this very spot. The words felt hard to say, but they dripped with certainty, like he carried the weight of decades on his shoulders.
Lina, who had been crouching nearby, gently lowered herself to sit beside him. She placed her hand softly on his shoulder, offering comfort without asking questions. Her gaze was serious, filled with worry, but also with resolve. "You mean this exact place?" she asked, her voice soft yet urgent.
He nodded slowly, his expression serious. "Not exactly in this room," he explained carefully. "But close. Nearby. The stone basin here — it was different back then. It was full, glowing with an intense light. Not a fire made of wood or anything simple like that. It was something deeper, more primal. I could feel it, a kind of power, a ritual at work. It was a sealing, a way to lock something dangerous away. The ritual required a basin, filled with a strange, flickering flame. Not normal fire, but something that burned through metal and stone. Something that connected to the very fabric of the place. It was used to contain or bind something, perhaps a curse or a fallen spirit, or even a dark force no one dared name out loud. But that was then. Now, the basin's been drained. Its magic vanished, leaving the stone cold and empty. Still, I can feel the echoes, the residual weight of what happened here."
Ash, standing a few steps away, kicked a loose stone across the rough floor. It skittered loudly, clattering against other stones, echoing strangely in the silence. He looked grim, as if the thought of standing on a grave made him uneasy. "So... you're saying," his voice cracked slightly, "we're standing on their grave?" His words edged with a kind of dark irony.
Rylan looked up, meeting his gaze. "Not a literal grave," he replied slowly. "But their memory. Their essence. Whatever remains of them, in a way, is buried here — not in soil, but in the stories we tell, in the room's silent witnesses… and perhaps in the very stones beneath our feet." His voice was low, almost reverent.
Ash frowned. "That's not much better. A grave is meant to mark the end. A memory is just an echo, a ghost that never really dies." He paused, then looked back at the empty basin, as if expecting it to reveal more secrets. The room seemed to hum with unspoken stories, with shadows that stretched beyond the limits of the flickering lantern light.
Meanwhile, Mira had wandered to the very edge of the chamber, her gaze fixed on something unseen. She was silent, staring at nothing in particular — her face distant, as if tuned into a sound no one else could hear. Her focus was so intense that it seemed as if she could listen to the whispers of the stone itself. Then, suddenly, her body stiffened. A shiver ran through her, and she spun around sharply.
"Did anyone… say my name?" she asked softly, her voice trembling just a little.
The others looked over at her, puzzled. "No," Lina replied carefully. "Why do you ask?"
Mira's hands trembled now, and her voice remained steady but quiet. "Something whispered it. I heard my name — from beneath the floor." Her eyes searched theirs for some sign of recognition or perhaps understanding.
They all froze in place as her words sank in. The air grew thick with unease, and a strange silence settled again. After a moment, Ash was the first to speak, trying to keep his voice light. "Probably just the walls echoing weird sounds," he said, though his tone lacked conviction. "Happens sometimes in old places."
But even Varyon looked unsettled, his face tight with concern. "There are no echoes here," he said slowly. "This room was built to contain sound — no whisper can slip through without us hearing it. That wasn't just an echo. It was something more. Something alive underneath."
Rylan, who was now standing upright again, fixed his gaze toward the center of the basin, where the faint glow once faintly flickered. His mind raced, trying to piece together the strange clues. He could feel it. The room was speaking, in its own way, through the tiny cracks and gaps in the stone. It was whispering secrets to anyone willing to listen — secrets about the past, about their future, or perhaps about something even darker buried deep below.
"What is it saying?" Lina asked gently, her eyes narrowing with suspicion and curiosity.
Rylan hesitated, unsure. He looked at the basin again, the place where the ritual had once taken place. Whatever lay beneath the surface — the whispers, the voices, or perhaps the echoes of the fallen — they all seemed to be trying to tell him something. But he didn't have the words yet. For now, he could only stand there, listening to the silence and feeling the strange tremors in the air, knowing that whatever this place was hiding, it was far from finished.
Mira stepped toward the basin now, her footsteps slow, deliberate. As she reached the edge, she looked down—and gasped.
"There's something carved beneath it."
Ash moved to her side, holding a lantern over the rim. Sure enough, barely visible beneath the fractured stone floor, something had been inscribed. A symbol. No—not just one. A ring of symbols, scorched into the foundation beneath the basin.
They weren't the five they knew.
They weren't even the seven from the old Circle.
They were older.
Wrong.
Twisted, broken imitations of the ones Rylan had seen in his dreams. They spiraled inward, and at the very center was a jagged, unaligned glyph that hurt the eye to look at.
Varyon narrowed his eyes. "Those aren't Veilborn symbols."
"They're from something older than the Veil," Mira said.
Lina's voice dropped to a whisper. "Something behind it."
Rylan reached toward the center glyph.
The moment his hand crossed into the basin, the stone flared with red-orange light.
He cried out, clutching his chest as the burning sensation returned—no longer warmth, but a warning. Flames flared beneath his skin, not destructive, but desperate.
A voice rose from the crack.
Not in words.
Not in a scream.
In memory.
"You burned us to keep it sealed. And now you burn again."
Rylan fell to his knees.
The chamber darkened.
Mira turned toward the entrance, eyes wide.
The whisper came again.
This time, clearly. Sharper. Cold.
"Mira of Light."
Lina grabbed her arm, pulling her back.
"No one told it your name," she said, eyes searching Mira's face. "Nothing should know that."
Mira was pale. "I didn't say anything. I never said anything out loud."
Varyon stepped between them and the basin. "It's testing us. It remembers Rylan. It knows him."
Ash looked toward the glyphs again. "Then what the hell are these?"
Rylan stood shakily, wiping sweat from his brow. His voice was unsteady.
"They're what we tried to seal away."
The chamber pulsed once more—stone groaning under unseen pressure. Then silence returned, thick and absolute.
But the symbols beneath the basin did not dim.
They glowed brighter than before.
And one of them had changed.
It now bore Mira's mark.
Burned in alongside the rest.