Ashreign's heart was a labyrinth of fallen grandeur.
They walked through avenues where ancient murals peeled from the walls like shedding skin. Statues slumped in their alcoves, faces melted by time into blank stares. Above it all, rising like a broken crown, was the old Cathedral of the Hollow Bell.
The tower stretched toward the choking sky, crooked and half-collapsed, as if frozen in the act of falling. At its peak, a single bell hung motionless, blackened with centuries of soot. It was said the bell could only ring once—and when it did, something precious would be lost forever.
Cassiel led the way, the cracked locket burning a slow, rhythmic warmth against his chest.
None of them spoke. The memory of the child lingered like smoke in their lungs.
At the cathedral gates, they hesitated.
"It's still standing," Mirae said, peering upward. "Barely."
"It'll fall the moment we get comfortable," Bastion grunted.
Elior placed a hand on the massive door, running his fingers over the faded carvings—stories too old to be understood.
"No turning back now," he said quietly.
Cassiel pushed the doors open.
The cathedral was vast and hollow inside. Columns like petrified trees soared upward into darkness. Strange murals spiraled across the vaulted ceiling—depictions of cities drowning, stars weeping, mountains crumbling into dust.
A low vibration stirred the air.
The bell at the top of the tower.
Even though it had not yet rung, its presence pressed against their hearts, sowing a brittle unease.
Their footsteps echoed as they advanced.
At the center of the cathedral, a pool of water stretched out, perfectly still. It reflected nothing—not the broken ceiling above, not their own faces.
Cassiel crouched by its edge.
The locket pulsed.
A whisper shivered across the water's surface: "Come forward."
The ground beneath them shifted.
From the shadows between the columns, figures emerged—pale, eyeless things clad in the remnants of priestly robes. Their hands were wrong—too many fingers, too many joints.
Mirae flinched back, drawing a dagger from her boot.
Bastion unslung his axe with a low growl.
Elior lifted his staff, a soft light blooming at its tip.
But Cassiel held up a hand. "Wait."
The creatures did not attack. They moved slowly, ritualistically, forming a wide circle around the pool.
They began to hum.
A deep, dissonant note that vibrated through the marrow.
Cassiel understood.
"This is a test."
"For what?" Bastion asked under his breath.
"For who we are," Elior said grimly.
The surface of the pool quivered, ripples forming. Images shimmered across it—moments from each of their lives.
Cassiel saw himself kneeling in a ruined garden, blood soaking the earth, a woman's face blurred by grief.
Mirae saw a tower crumbling beneath a violet sun, her hand slipping from another's grasp.
Bastion saw a blade he had thrown piercing the wrong heart.
Elior saw a letter burning away to ash in his hands.
The humming grew louder, unbearable.
The bell at the top of the tower shifted.
They had to move.
Cassiel reached for the locket, pressing it against his heart.
The pool hissed as it rejected the false memories.
A path formed—stone stepping-stones leading deeper into the cathedral, straight toward a narrow stair spiraling up the bell tower.
"This is it," Cassiel said.
Without waiting for agreement, he stepped onto the stones.
One by one, the others followed.
As they ascended the narrow stair, the world outside the tower seemed to vanish. Only the groaning stone and the faint sound of the bell breathing remained.
Halfway up, Mirae stumbled.
Cassiel caught her arm.
She was pale, sweat shining on her brow.
"I'm fine," she rasped.
They pressed on.
At last, they reached the belfry.
The bell hung above them, massive and black, its surface etched with runes too worn to read. Below it, chained to the floor, was a figure—a man cloaked in feathers and shadows, his face hidden behind a mirror mask.
He raised his head at their approach.
"You seek what was taken," he said, voice like cracked glass. "You seek the Singer who forgot his name."
Cassiel stiffened.
The masked figure smiled beneath his mirror face.
"You seek Ilyan."
The bell above them trembled.
And with a deafening, shattering sound, it rang.
Once.
The vibration crushed the air from their lungs. The stone cracked beneath their feet. Cassiel dropped to one knee, gasping.
When the sound faded, the world had changed.
The masked figure was gone.
The bell swung silently.
And across the cathedral, Cassiel saw a door they had not noticed before—half-rotted, hanging open.
Through it, a thin trail of blood led into the heart of Ashreign.
Without a word, they followed it.