The air grew heavy the moment Darius stepped into the light. His presence was different from the Hollow Stag, from the chain-wolves, from anything Kael had faced so far. This was not some creature birthed purely of dungeon hunger. Darius moved with intent, with purpose—and the dungeon had shaped him not as prey, but as a warden.
He was tall, nearly Moro's height, but where Moro's beast-shape was raw muscle and claw, Darius was sharpened steel. His armor was bone and chain fused together, polished to a gleam. Every step he took was accompanied by the rattle of links that didn't drag on the ground but coiled tight, like leashed predators. His hair was black streaked with silver, his jaw lined with scars that spoke of battles survived, not avoided.
But it was his eyes that made Kael's chest tighten.
Molten silver, gleaming with cold fire. Not beast. Not human. Something else.
"Darius," Reina repeated, her golden gaze never leaving him. "The first child the dungeon took. I thought you were only a whisper in its walls."
Darius chuckled, a deep, grinding sound. "A whisper? No, girl. I am its voice." His stare fixed on Kael, and the weight of it made Kael's claws curl tighter around the living blade. "And you… are its mistake."
Kael's fangs bared. "Mistake?"
"You carry hunger without discipline. You let the blade lead you, instead of binding it to your will." Darius's gauntleted hand rose, and links slithered from his wrist, curling like snakes. "I was like you once. A child dragged screaming into these chains. But I listened. I learned. And the dungeon crowned me for it."
The chains at his side lashed out suddenly, striking a stalagmite and cleaving it in two. Stone dust rained over the group. Moro shifted forward, growling, but Kael raised a hand to stop him.
This wasn't Moro's fight.
Reina tilted her head, her voice almost playful. "A crown, you say. Yet here you are, playing warden for eternity."
Darius's smile was sharp. "Better to be warden than prisoner." His eyes returned to Kael. "But this one—he could be more. Or he could be nothing. The dungeon will decide."
Before Kael could answer, the cavern floor trembled. The walls pulsed with veins of faint blue light, like the heartbeat of a massive beast buried in stone. A whisper echoed from every crack, every shadow, a chorus that was neither male nor female but hundreds of voices speaking as one.
Come deeper. Come and remember.
The sound made Kael's skull ache. His living blade quivered as though it recognized the call. The hunger in his gut writhed, not with desire, but with dread.
"The Wraith Choir," Darius said, almost reverent. "The voices of all who failed here. They will test him."
"What do they want?" Lyra whispered, clutching her staff closer.
Darius's eyes glinted. "They want to see if the cub remains a child, or if he becomes a beast."
The choir's whispers grew louder as they moved deeper into the cavern. The air was icy, and pale forms began to stir at the edges of the dark—wraiths chained together, drifting as if drowned in the dungeon's breath. They didn't attack, not yet. They only sang.
And Kael heard his own voice among them.
Not his now, but his then.
A child's whimper. A scream. Pleas for help as chains dragged him into blackness. His body locked, his claws shaking. He remembered the cold, the smell of stone and rot, the way his fingernails had broken as he clawed at the dungeon floor.
"No…" Kael growled, clutching his head. "Not again…"
The wraiths circled, their faces shifting between strangers and familiar ones—children, warriors, even echoes of Lyra and Moro, their mouths twisted in agony.
Hungry, always hungry, the voices moaned. Why didn't you save us? Why are you still alive?
Kael fell to one knee. His weapon pulsed, eager, feeding off his fear. He could barely breathe.
Darius's voice cut through the storm. "Stand, cub! This is the dungeon stripping you bare. If you kneel, you die."
But Kael couldn't. His body shook too violently, the memories clawing too deep. His beast strength felt useless against this weight.
Then Reina's voice slid through, low and sharp. "Embrace it, Kael. They are only chains. Chains to break."
The hunger surged at her words. His claws lengthened, his fangs bared, but still the voices pressed him down.
And then—another voice joined. Different. Steady.
"Do not listen."
A figure stepped through the wraiths, unbound by their chains. He was tall but lean, his cloak tattered, his eyes dim green like moss under stone. His face was scarred, but calm. Unlike Darius, he carried no weapon, no chains. Only presence.
The wraiths hissed at him, recoiling.
Kael forced his eyes up. "Who…?"
The stranger's gaze softened, though his tone was iron. "One who was taken, as you were. My name is Darius."
Kael's stomach twisted. He looked between the armored figure at his side—the Warden Darius—and this scarred man stepping through the wraiths.
Two Dariuses. One in chain and silver flame, the other in flesh and calm green.
The wraiths howled louder, their song turning violent. The dungeon was tearing truth and lies apart before Kael's eyes.
Lyra whispered, panicked. "Two…? What is this—?"
The scarred Darius raised a hand. "The dungeon will twist what you see, child. But remember—your hunger is not your enemy. It is your voice. Don't let it drown you."
The armored Darius snarled, his chains rattling violently. "Ignore him, cub. He is weakness given form. Only chains bring order. Only the dungeon's will matters!"
Kael's claws dug into the living blade, his body trembling between beast and boy, between hunger and fear. The choir screamed louder, their voices tearing through his skull until blood dripped from his ears.
Two Dariuses. Two paths.
Chains, or hunger.
Prisoner, or devourer.
And in the chaos, the dungeon whispered again