Cael moved before the sound fully registered.
The instant the pressure in the chamber shifted, his body reacted...knees bent, weight lowered, blade angled toward the doorway without conscious thought. Pain flared through his chest, but his grip didn't loosen.
Too slow, he thought, already adjusting.
Torchlight spilled through the broken stairwell above, accompanied by the scrape of boots against stone. Not hurried. Controlled. Whoever was coming didn't expect resistance.
They expected a corpse.
Cael pressed himself against the ruined pillar, breathing shallowly. His heartbeat slowed, not because the body was calm...but because he was.
A soldier survived by reading intent, not noise.
Two figures descended into the chamber. Both wore dark cloaks marked with sigils Cael didn't recognize...angular lines carved with purpose, not decoration. Cult markings, maybe. Or something worse.
One of them raised a hand, palm glowing faintly.
Cael felt it then.
The scars inside his body burned.
Not like pain...but like warning.
His vision swam for half a heartbeat, and the world tilted.
A memory surged forward, violent and unwelcome.
Stone cracking under impossible pressure.A roar that wasn't sound but will.Hands...these hands...pressed against the glowing seal, blood pouring freely as something on the other side laughed.
Hold it.Just a moment longer.
Cael sucked in a sharp breath and nearly lost his footing.
So that's how you died.
The man with the glowing palm frowned. "Did you feel that?"
"Residual echo," the other replied. "The seal always reacts when disturbed."
They stepped closer.
Cael tightened his grip on the blade.
No Pulse. No tricks. No second chances.
Fine.
When the first man turned his head...just enough...Cael moved.
He crossed the distance in three steps, blade flashing upward in a clean arc aimed at the throat. The body responded perfectly. Too perfectly.
Steel bit into flesh.
The man collapsed without a sound.
The second shouted and lunged back, hand flaring brighter...but Cael was already inside his reach. He slammed his shoulder forward, using momentum and body weight, driving the man into the altar's remains.
Stone cracked.
The cultist screamed.
Cael didn't hesitate. He drove the blade down.
Silence returned.
Cael stood over the bodies, chest heaving, scars inside him screaming in protest. His hands trembled...not from fear, but from something deeper.
The body remembered this.
Killing.Sacrifice.The weight of decisions made in seconds.
He wiped the blade clean on the fallen man's cloak and straightened slowly.
This hero didn't hesitate either, Cael realized. That's why they used him.
A faint pulse of pressure rippled through the chamber...subtle, distant, but unmistakable.
Whatever was sealed beneath this place had noticed.
Cael looked up toward the ruined ceiling, eyes cold.
"Not yet," he muttered. "I'm not ready for you."
But the echo inside him didn't fade.
And somewhere above, bells began to ring.