The fissure swallowed them whole.
One by one, they lowered themselves into the abyss, the glow of the spires fading behind them until only ashlight and memory clung to their skin. The stone was jagged and cold beneath their hands, slick with veins of something darker than rock. It thrummed faintly under their touch, as though alive.
The deeper they went, the heavier the silence became. It pressed against their skulls, their lungs, their hearts — a weight that grew with every step downward. Words fell flat in their throats, muffled, as though the abyss swallowed sound before it could be born.
Elara's sun-eye burned faintly, casting a dim glow across the walls. The fissure walls pulsed with strange veins, dark as pitch but lined with faint silver strands that writhed like sluggish rivers of light. Each pulse carried a note — faint, dissonant, almost inaudible. A broken echo of a song too vast for mortal ears.
Seris carried Jorn close, strapped against her back, her fingers trembling as she gripped the rough stone. The boy stirred occasionally, murmuring in his sleep, his small hand twitching as though strumming invisible strings. Each time he did, the silver veins glowed brighter, guiding their path downward.
"Gods…" Tomas whispered at last, unable to contain himself. "These walls aren't stone. They're the roots of the spires themselves. They've been growing down here for centuries — reaching into the dark like veins through flesh."
"Roots or not," Marek growled, his voice roughened by strain, "they're too quiet for my liking." He tightened his grip on his sword, though he had nowhere to swing it.
Hours passed. The descent was endless, the air thick and metallic, carrying a faint taste of blood and dust. Their limbs ached. Their throats burned. Time itself seemed to falter — as though the abyss cared nothing for sun or moon.
At last, they reached a ledge.
It opened into a cavern so vast it stole what little breath remained in their lungs.
The ceiling arched high above them, lost in shadow. The walls curved inward like the inside of a great ribcage, silver veins coursing through the stone like arteries. At the center of the cavern, rising like a malformed tower, was a spire-root thicker than a fortress wall. It pulsed faintly with a dull glow — a heartbeat in the dark.
The silence here was absolute. Even their breathing seemed stolen from them.
And yet… beneath it, faint as a dying ember, came the whisper of a song.
Elara dropped to her knees, clutching her head. The sound reverberated inside her skull, too vast, too alien, and yet achingly familiar. Her sun-eye flared, spilling golden light across the cavern floor.
Kael.
She felt him. His presence, shackled and broken, but burning.
He was here.
Before she could speak, the cavern shuddered. Dust rained from above. The root at the center pulsed violently, silver veins glowing brighter, spreading outward like cracks across the cavern walls.
And then… the silence moved.
It peeled itself from the walls, rising in shapes too formless to be called men, too sharp to be called beasts. Their bodies were shadows stitched together with veins of light, their faces hollow voids that devoured her gaze.
Eaters.
But changed. Stronger. Born from the root itself.
Marek drew his sword in a single motion, the steel gleaming faintly in Elara's light. "So much for quiet."
The ground split as the first of the creatures lunged.
And the cavern erupted in chaos.
The first of the Eaters struck with a soundless leap, claws like blades of blackened bone. Marek met it midair, his sword biting into its shadow-flesh. The steel hissed as though plunged into water, the blade dragging light from the thing's form. The creature shrieked without sound, its body shattering into strands of silver that coiled back toward the root.
But for every one that fell, two more crawled free of the walls.
Seris loosed arrow after arrow, her bowstring trembling with strain. The shafts sank deep into the creatures, scattering their forms for only moments before they reknit, threads of silver binding their hollowness together again.
"They don't die!" she shouted, though her voice was swallowed almost instantly by the silence.
Tomas slammed his palm against the ground, glyphs sparking to life in a circle around him. The runes flared bright, pushing the Eaters back with bursts of searing light. But the effort drained him — his lips already cracked, his skin pale.
Elara staggered to her feet, her sun-eye blazing like a second torch in the gloom. The song in her skull grew louder, pounding with every pulse of the root. She raised her hand, the light from her eye lancing outward, striking an Eater square in the chest. Its form dissolved into ash and silver fragments, scattering like dry leaves in a storm.
The others faltered at the light, their hollow faces tilting toward her, drawn by something they craved — or feared.
"Elara!" Marek roared. "Whatever you're doing—do it again!"
She gritted her teeth, forcing the eye open wider, pain burning behind her brow. Golden light spilled across the cavern, searing through three more Eaters. Their forms disintegrated into showers of dust.
But the strain nearly broke her. She stumbled, clutching her head as blood ran from her nose.
Behind her, Jorn stirred. His small hand, still resting against Seris's shoulder, twitched in rhythm with the root's pulse. The glyphs on the cavern wall shimmered faintly in response.
"Elara…" his voice was soft, dreamlike. "They're… singing wrong."
Her heart clenched.
She turned, staring at him. "What do you mean?"
"They're broken songs," the boy whispered, eyes half-lidded. "The root remembers. It's trying to sing, but the silence… it twists it."
And then his small voice began to hum.
It was quiet, fragile — but pure.
The silver veins across the walls brightened at the sound, flaring like starlight in answer. The Eaters froze midstride, their hollow faces twitching as if caught in a sudden storm. Some staggered backward, their forms unraveling into smoke.
The cavern itself seemed to tremble at the boy's song.
Marek seized the chance, his blade carving through two of the stunned Eaters. Seris drew Jorn tighter against her back, loosing arrows with renewed fury. Tomas's glyphs flared in rhythm with the boy's hum, casting patterns across the cavern floor.
The root pulsed harder, light spilling from its surface. The broken song that had haunted Elara's mind began to shift — no longer just dissonant, but trying to harmonize with the boy's fragile voice.
Elara lifted her gaze toward the towering root. Through her burning sun-eye, she saw shapes within the wood-like mass — flickers of faces, fragments of memory, echoes of a world long dead. The root was not merely stone or flesh. It was memory itself, buried and bound.
And the silence was devouring it.
The remaining Eaters shrieked without sound, their hollow forms tearing at the cavern walls in fury. They lunged again, faster, more desperate.
Marek raised his shield, teeth bared. "We end this here!"
But even as they fought, Elara knew this was not an ending. It was only the beginning of the descent's true cost.
And somewhere far below, deeper than the root, Kael felt their presence burn through the chains.
He whispered a single word into the dark.
"Closer."