The storm that erupted after the betrayal was not a simple war of steel or magic, but a storm of perception, of doubt, and broken oaths. With the Crownless King drifting into the deeper depths of the Void — depths few dared name, much less invade — Northwyn's memories of betrayal remained fresh, and Spiral Court blood still smeared his hands.
A whisper now summoned him.
It was not from a mind or mouth. It was the Void itself — not screaming, not beckoning, but whispering. As if the further one descended, the more the Void started to.think.
Abyssal Level 9: The Spiral Shadows.
And here, the Void was a labyrinth — not of walls, but of memory and illusion, of parallel truths curling around a central, hidden lie. Time did not progress. It curled like a snake, turning in on itself.
Sareth, with all his power, needed to moor his mind with the strands of Aetherium Vows. Even so, he walked as on glass.
The Spiral Shadows were more ancient than the greater majority of cosmic fragments. Created from the initial thoughts of the Creatorless Titans, they had previously served as cages for gods who had attempted to transcend their purpose.
Yet, now, they were his way.
The whisper came again.
This time, a form took shape from the infinite gray — not a monster, not a man, but a shadow in man-shaped form. Its sound was not heard; it pushed directly into Sareth's mind.
"You hunt the Throne of Threads, Crownless One."
Sareth didn't answer right away. He examined it. The shadow had the marks of a Spiral sigil seared into its breast — one of Northwyn's. But it didn't behave aggressively.
"You are under the Spiral Pact," Sareth said finally.
"All who come into this depth are, knowingly or not," the shadow answered.
It invited him further. Every step he took forward seemed to make him older by a second and yet younger in mind. The laws here were reversed.
And then, in a hallway of reversals of time, he saw her.
Velmoria?
No — this was a memory. Not Velmoria herself, but a ripple of her Heart-Furnace echo, trapped in the Spiral Shadow. She regarded him, perplexed.
"Why did you leave me, Sareth?"
He shut his eyes. "You know why."
"Do I? Or do you say that so you can continue walking alone?"
He passed her — or her memory. It became flame, then a seed of light that dispersed.
Once more, the whisper came back. This time, nearer.
He discovered a spiral of thirteen steps, going down into the far darkness. On every step was a statue. Every statue had a mask.
Northwyn was among them.
"You are presented with the Pact of the Spiral, King," spoke the voice. "The court may be broken, but its verdict remains."
Sareth knelt, laying his hand on the lowest step.
The voice that replied to him was not a whisper anymore.
It was a choir — thirteen in unison. "Do you acknowledge error in your judgment?"
"I do not. I judge what others are afraid to look at."
The statues stirred. One cocked its head. One broke. One descended.
It was Northwyn's.
The statue moved.
"Then confront the shadow of your first betrayer, not in combat, but in revelation."
And Sareth was drawn not in body, but in spirit into a piece of the past.
He stood in the Spiral Court.
The day Northwyn betrayed them all.
But he was not himself. He saw through Northwyn's eyes.
The fear. The prophecy. The desperation. The vision of the Void devouring all, including Sareth himself. Northwyn's betrayal had not been forged in ambition. It had been forged in fear that Sareth would become a tyrant worse than the gods.
And then he saw Northwyn's secret.
A child.
A daughter.
Half-Voidborn, half-mortal.
She was the reason.
"You could have told me," Sareth said, returning to speaking as himself.
Northwyn — or his spirit — faced in the vision.
"Would you have let the Spiral live? Or taken her to command her power?"
Sareth dropped his eyes.
"You did what you thought was right."
"And you must do what you know is more than right."
The Spiral vision dissipated.
He woke — if waking is the word — standing once more in the middle of the Spiral Steps. But the statues were not there. The Pact was over.
He grasped in his fingers a shard — a single piece of mask.
And the whisper spoke for the final time:
"You have beheld the truth in the first lie. Now, climb. The Whispering Pact is complete."
Sareth raised his eyes.
A way of voidlight appeared above, strands intertwining to form a gate.
The next level awaited.
And in the center of it, not only power — but the girl Northwyn had attempted to conceal from the universe.