Ashreign breathed mist into the night, the alleys steaming like the lungs of something ancient and broken.
Cassiel adjusted the clasp of his coat as he moved through the crumbling southern quarter, Mirae trailing just behind, her boots silent against the stones. Bastion and Elior, arguing over something useless — probably Bastion's stellar idea of following a singing cat — were a few steps ahead.
"They say the Choir only sings when it wants an audience," Mirae said under her breath.
Cassiel gave a quiet grunt. "I don't like being invited by something that shouldn't know we exist."
Ahead, Bastion spun, walking backward with his arms spread dramatically. "It's not like we have better leads! Unless you think we should knock on castle gates and ask nicely for answers?"
Elior rolled his eyes. "We could at least pretend to be subtle."
They passed under an archway where the stones bled slow, black ink. The scent was rich and wrong. Cassiel touched the hilt of his weapon instinctively.
Then they heard it — faint, distant — the sound of dozens of voices humming. Not words, not melody. Just… humming.
It slithered out of an ancient well at the center of a crossroads.
"I assume we're going down there," Mirae said dryly.
"No, we're politely ignoring it and walking into obvious death traps elsewhere," Bastion replied. "Of course we're going down."
Cassiel gave the rope a hard tug. It seemed sturdy enough, probably left by someone who hadn't yet returned.
"Who's first?" Mirae asked.
Cassiel swung his legs over the well's crumbling rim. "Me. If anything tries to eat me, you'll have a two-second head start."
"And if it tries to eat you quietly?" Bastion asked.
Cassiel disappeared into the darkness without answering.
The descent was slick with moss, the stones whispering old prayers under his hands. After several tense minutes, Cassiel dropped onto solid ground. A ruined corridor stretched ahead, lit only by flickering blue runes carved into the walls.
The humming was louder now — and closer.
One by one, the others landed beside him.
"Stay sharp," Cassiel murmured.
They moved through the corridor, passing faded frescoes depicting impossible things: towers taller than mountains, seas stitched shut with silver thread, winged figures with faces erased by time.
Then the corridor opened into a vast subterranean chapel. The walls dripped with tears of wax. Statues, some shattered, some weeping actual blood, loomed over rotted pews.
And in the center —
A choir of hooded figures stood in a rough circle, humming that awful, endless song. They didn't move. They didn't breathe. They simply... existed.
Mirae shivered violently. "We're not supposed to be here."
Bastion, ever helpful, whispered, "Maybe if we hum, too, they'll think we're part of the club?"
Cassiel stepped forward, ignoring him. Something pulsed at the center of the choir — a pedestal, and atop it, a small, delicate hourglass filled with glimmering, golden sand.
It was the Thread of Remembrance — the relic they'd been chasing for three weeks.
And now it was right there.
Cassiel signaled the others silently. They began to fan out, planning a quick grab-and-run.
Mirae edged toward the left. Bastion and Elior split right. Cassiel moved straight toward the center, slow and silent.
The humming grew... angrier.
As Cassiel neared the pedestal, one of the hooded figures turned. Its face was not human. It was a melted clock, hands spinning backward so fast they blurred into smoke.
"Careful," Elior hissed.
Cassiel extended his hand toward the Thread.
The entire choir snapped their heads toward him at once.
Mirae cursed. Bastion drew two knives. Elior started muttering a defensive chant.
The hourglass trembled.
Cassiel's fingers closed around it.
The choir screamed.