The path below the sanctum spiraled into blackness.
Kael descended first, blade drawn, his crimson aura a dim beacon in the suffocating dark. Lyra followed just behind, her daggers sheathed but fingers twitching toward them at every breath of air that felt too heavy. Darric brought up the rear, greatsword resting on his shoulder, every step a warning to the stone beneath his feet.
None of them spoke for a long time.
Only the echo of their footsteps and the occasional drip of moisture from above accompanied them. The air grew colder. Heavier. Pressed like a weight against Kael's chest. Whatever lay ahead was not merely hidden — it was sealed.
"I don't like this," Lyra muttered, her voice low. "It's… unnatural. It's like the walls are listening."
"They are," Kael replied. "This place was built on whispers. The old kind."
They reached the bottom — a vast stone hall carved in spiraling arches, lined with faded glyphs and veins of obsidian that pulsed faintly with crimson light.
The Hollow Labyrinth.
It wasn't marked on any map. Only Kaelen had spoken of it — in cryptic half-sentences and nightmares clawing at his sanity. It was once a prison, built by the old kingdoms before even Velaryn's rise. A place where things were buried not to be forgotten, but to be contained.
Kael stepped forward. The moment his boots crossed the threshold, the glyphs along the walls ignited — red, blue, and void-black flickers of ancient power — lighting the path ahead.
"They know I'm here," Kael muttered.
"What are they guarding?" Darric asked.
Kael's voice was quiet. "A key. A name. And maybe something worse."
He moved forward — and that's when the traps began.
The stone beneath them shifted — and arrows of sharpened bone shot from the walls. Lyra ducked and rolled, dodging them with feline grace. Darric lifted his arm and blocked one with his armored vambrace.
Kael didn't flinch. Ashrend moved faster than the eye could track.
"Crimson Crescent."
He slashed the air once — and the volley shattered into dust.
More traps followed. Blades from the floor. Ghostflame from the ceiling. Illusions of long-dead comrades whispering betrayal and regret.
Kael endured them all.
When a mirage of Kaelen appeared, half-consumed by flame and madness, Lyra turned toward Kael, uncertain.
Kael's voice was steel.
"I know who you are. And I know what you want."
With a single upward swing, Kael cut through the illusion, and the flames vanished like smoke.
At the heart of the labyrinth, a circular chamber waited.
In the center, a pedestal of obsidian held an orb — swirling with black mist and veins of blood-red lightning. Runes circled it like planets caught in orbit. Beneath the orb was a plaque, etched with ancient words:
"He who bears the Crimson Blood shall awaken what sleeps beneath the Sovereign's Throne."
Kael approached the orb.
It pulsed in response to him.
Darric tightened his grip. "That thing gives me a bad feeling."
"It's reacting to your blood," Lyra added.
Kael nodded slowly. "It should. This… is the shard of Veilstone. One of three. It's what the Sovereign's sorcerers used to bind the first Hollow King."
He reached out.
The moment his fingers touched the orb, a flash of red blinded them all. A voice — ancient and withered — whispered through the chamber:
"You walk the path of kings, child of ruin… Shall you carry the burden of their blood?"
Kael's voice was calm. "I already do."
The orb shattered — not violently, but like dust in a breeze. In its place remained a symbol burned into the stone: a sigil of the old empire. A map formed in the air above it — shifting lands, crumbling towers, and a flickering point of red light.
It pulsed in time with Kael's heart.
Lyra stepped beside him. "What does it mean?"
Kael turned, eyes glowing faintly red. "It means our next destination."
Darric frowned. "Where?"
Kael's expression darkened.
"The Ashen Wastes. Where the Black Host first rose… and where the second shard sleeps."