Alsira lay still beneath a moonless sky. The capital—once vibrant, ever-beating—now pulsed with a quiet tension, as if the city itself had drawn in a breath and dared not release it. Few knew what stirred beneath its foundations.
Fewer still dared speak of the Cathedral Below.
But Asher, Emilia, Liaen, and the fading spirit of Elira descended willingly.
The entrance lay buried beneath a collapsed soulforge in the eastern district—a forgotten place where soulsteel had once been shaped and sanctified. Now it stood corrupted, warped by the Cult's touch. Beneath shattered anvils and rust-worn runes, a spiral staircase twisted down into silence.
Elira hovered beside Emilia, her glow flickering with each step into the deep.
"The farther we go," she whispered, "the less I can protect you."
Emilia gave a soft nod. "You've given me enough to fight with."
Ahead, Asher's hand gripped the hilt of his sword. His gaze never wavered.
"No turning back," he said.
The cathedral was not built.
It was grown.
Veins of blackstone coiled through the subterranean vault like roots of a long-dead god. At its core stood a dome fashioned from petrified bone, etched in soul-wards long defiled. From the cathedral's vaulted ceiling hung dozens of soul-lanterns—each one glowing faintly, each one housing a screaming face.
"The Choir's voices," Liaen muttered. "They're trapped souls. Used like instruments."
Asher's jaw tightened. "We end this. Tonight."
They moved along the cathedral's edge, cloaked in shadow. At the center, cloaked figures chanted in low, vibrating tones that made the very air hum. At their center stood a man—or what had once been one—on a raised dais. His face shifted constantly. One moment, the laughing grin of a child. The next, a soldier's scream.
"That's a High Cantor," Emilia whispered. "One of the original founders."
Elira's voice floated faintly, like a memory. "His name is unspoken. Say it aloud… and your soul breaks."
Asher gave a single nod. "Then we kill him without words."
The assault began with light.
Elira, summoning the last of her fading power, erupted into soul-flame—blinding the chamber in a radiant flash. Liaen followed with bolts of radiant force, fracturing the cultists' chant. Asher charged straight toward the High Cantor, blade raised in both hands.
Emilia turned toward the soul-lanterns.
Her voice was calm. Commanding.
"Return to silence. Return to rest."
She lifted her arms. One by one, the lanterns shattered. The imprisoned souls—faces twisted in eternal anguish—faded into light, their screams softening into sighs.
The Cult howled in fury.
The High Cantor struck back.
A single word—spoken in a voice that crawled through marrow—hurled Asher across the cathedral. He slammed into the stone with a sickening crack. Blood splattered the wall behind him.
"ASHER!" Elira screamed, her form unraveling at the edges.
The Cantor raised his hands, and threads of broken soullight lashed through the air.
And then—Emilia stepped forward.
No longer a girl.
A Warden.
A flare of soulfire ignited from her chest, brighter than anything Elira had ever manifested. Her body lifted inches from the floor, suspended in stillness. Her voice rang out—filled with strength, grief, and power.
"Your name is forgotten."
The High Cantor staggered. His mask cracked.
She stepped closer. "Your power is broken."
A scream burst from his throat—no, from hundreds of throats—all torn from different memories.
"You are unmade."
She pressed her hand to his chest.
And he crumbled.
Not in light.
Not in flame.
But into perfect, absolute stillness.
When the silence returned, the others rushed to her.
Asher was bleeding, but alive. Liaen stood guard, eyes scanning the far walls. Elira hovered behind Emilia—barely more than a flicker.
"You remembered your name," Elira whispered. "That's what saved you."
Emilia nodded. "And I'll never forget yours."
Elira's smile was faint. And bittersweet.
"Then I can let go… a little more."
They emerged from the Cathedral Below with the darkness behind them—if only for now. The Cult was scattered, not slain. The final throne still whispered in Emilia's soul.
But in a ruined sanctuary buried beneath the world, they had carved a victory out of the edge of despair.