The sky above Nytheris Citadel churned like an open wound, black clouds twisting into unnatural spirals that devoured the sun. The fortress rose from the jagged mountains like a shard of pure night, its countless spires jagged and cruel, casting shadows that stretched far beyond what the failing light could reach. The very air reeked of ash and iron, heavy as if the world itself resented the Citadel's existence.
Kaelen tightened his grip on Lumenbrand, the holy sword's glow faltering like a candle in a storm. Each step toward the gate felt heavier than the last. It wasn't merely the weight of his armor; it was as though the ground itself resisted him, trying to drag him back from what lay ahead.
Behind him, Seralyn limped along, her robes tattered and bloodstained, clutching her staff like a lifeline. Her lips moved in constant prayer, but her whispered invocations were smothered by the low, ceaseless hum in the air.
It wasn't the wind.It wasn't the mountain.It was the Citadel itself, breathing.
Kaelen's jaw tightened. He had faced demons, carved through the brood of Krakens, and braved the Hollow Vale's horrors that had driven men to madness — but nothing had ever made the air feel hostile before.
Seralyn's voice trembled. "Kaelen… we shouldn't be here. It feels… wrong. As if the walls are listening."
"They are," Kaelen admitted, though his voice was quieter than usual, tight. "Stay close. Ignore the whispers."
But the whispers came all the same. Soft, disembodied murmurs slipping into their minds like cold fingers:
"…leave…""…he sees you…""…kneel… or join the walls…"
Kaelen forced his feet forward, one after another. The gods had chosen him for this task. He couldn't falter. Not now, not when the last chance to stop Vorath was within reach.
The colossal gates loomed ahead, forged of blackened steel etched with symbols that writhed and shifted at the edge of sight. They opened by themselves with a groan like the breaking of bones, spilling a breath of colder air that reeked faintly of blood.
Seralyn clutched at Kaelen's arm. "This is a death march. He wants you to come inside."
Kaelen hesitated only long enough to feel his pulse hammer in his throat, then stepped forward. "Then let him see I don't turn back."
The gates slammed shut behind them with the sound of a tomb sealing.
Inside, the Citadel was worse. The walls weren't merely adorned with bones; they were built of them. Skulls stared out from the obsidian masonry, their empty sockets glowing faintly, tracking their every move. The floor itself pulsed with faint veins of red light, like the veins of some colossal, living creature.
The whispers grew louder here, no longer soft murmurs but overlapping voices, hundreds, perhaps thousands:
"…he is waiting…""…the gods will not save you…""…your light will feed the hall…""…kneel, mortal… kneel…"
Seralyn began to tremble openly, clutching her talisman so tightly her knuckles whitened. Kaelen's grip on Lumenbrand slickened with sweat. The sword's light flickered, dimming as if it too feared this place.
The Throne Hall doors loomed ahead, twin monoliths of obsidian carved with crawling runes. Every instinct in Kaelen's body screamed at him to turn back, but his legs carried him forward, as if compelled by something beyond his will.
Seralyn stopped short. "Kaelen… I can't. I can't go in there. That hall feels like… like walking into the heart of something that knows my name."
Kaelen turned, his face pale but resolute. "Then stay. If I don't return, warn the gods. Tell them what's coming."
She shook her head weakly. "Kaelen… no one returns from him."
Kaelen set his jaw, placed both hands on the doors, and pushed.
The doors opened with a deep, grinding wail, revealing the vast Throne Hall beyond.
The hall was a cathedral of death, its vaulted ceiling swallowed by darkness. Black stone columns rose like the ribs of a dead titan, their bases entwined with skeletal remains that shifted faintly, as though still alive. Cold, green torches burned along the walls, their flames casting shadows that writhed unnaturally, wriggling like worms.
At the far end, upon a dais of cracked obsidian, stood the Throne of Skulls.
It was a grotesque monument, more creature than construct. Thousands of skulls — human, demon, dragon, kraken, and stranger, unnameable beings — had been fused together by some infernal power. Dragon skulls formed the armrests, their jaws locked in silent roars. A colossal kraken beak, shattered but still glistening as if wet, curled over the throne's back like a crown. At the apex sat the skull of a god, its horns broken, its hollow eyes burning with cold, spectral fire that shifted as if aware.
The throne breathed. Not audibly, but in the subtle pulsing of its many mouths, their jaws twitching open and shut in perfect unison. The hollow sockets bled green flame, each guttering in rhythm, like the throne itself had a heartbeat.
And from those skulls came the whispers.
"…feed him…""…kneel, mortal… kneel…""…the gods could not save us… they will not save you…""…join us… join us… join us…"
The voices overlapped, louder and louder, until they became a single deafening susurration filling Kaelen's skull. His breath quickened, his heartbeat matching the throne's eerie pulse. Lumenbrand's light faltered, nearly extinguished.
Seralyn collapsed to her knees, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Kaelen… they're alive. Every soul. Every one he's taken… he's bound them here."
Kaelen's throat was dry. The holy champion, chosen by the gods, felt his resolve waver for the first time. His hand shook as he tightened his grip on his blade.
The skulls all turned — every one of them — to face the duo. Their whispers coalesced into a single phrase, louder, clearer, almost singing:
"…HE IS HERE…"
The sound cut off abruptly. The hall fell into absolute silence, so complete it rang in their ears.
The green torches flickered — once, twice — and died.
The great doors slammed shut behind them, plunging the hall into darkness.