The shrine pulsed like a wounded heart, a slow, sick rhythm that soaked into the bones of the Hollowlands. Dust and broken soul-threads coiled at Caelum Vey's feet as he advanced, each breath feeling heavier, like he was breathing through someone else's memories.
Selvara moved beside him, silent except for the hiss of her soul-blade vibrating faintly in warning. Her silver hair clung to her forehead, damp with sweat, and though her stance was ready, Caelum could feel her tension through the soul-field between them. Every thread around them twisted unnaturally, clinging, gnashing, hungry for something they couldn't see.
The monolith at the shrine's center loomed — cracked but alive, glyphs crawling over its surface like wounded spiders.
They were too close. He knew that. Every instinct screamed to pull back, to sever the invisible ties threading from the shrine into his own soul.
He didn't.
The Anathema inside him stirred, roused by the ancient scent of ruin. It pressed against the walls of his mind, purring approval.
He reached out anyway.
His fingers brushed the stone — and the world collapsed inward.
Searing threads of memory tore through his mind, dragging him backward, sideways, through fractured visions: Solaris standing over a map stitched of light, his voice absolute, unforgiving. Selvara's hand brushing his shoulder under a sky filled with broken stars. And the Executioners, faces hidden, hands soaked in the blood of those who had once called Caelum brother.
A roar split through him, silent and shattering. His Soul-Web twisted, threads fraying at the edges, rearranging themselves under the shrine's influence. He staggered back, his breath torn ragged from his chest, fists clenched so tight his nails drew blood from his palms.
The shrine didn't just offer power. It demanded payment.
Pieces of himself — flickers of memory, pieces of emotion — were pulled from him like shreds of cloth torn from an unraveling coat. He could feel himself lessening, becoming... something else.
Selvara caught his arm roughly.
"You're letting it graft into you!" she shouted, her voice cracking through the mist and noise. "Stop before you lose everything!"
Caelum gritted his teeth, his vision blurring, the Anathema's whisper curling soft and seductive in his ear.
Take it. Break free. No more chains.
He yanked himself free from Selvara's grasp, staggering back from the monolith. Threads snapped in the air like ruptured nerves. The shrine shuddered behind him, almost... disappointed.
His chest heaved. Sweat burned his eyes.
The Executioners struck.
Without warning, the mist tore apart in front of them. A blade flashed silver in the dimness — aimed cleanly at Caelum's neck. His body reacted faster than thought, twisting, weaving the shattered soul-threads into a defense. The assassin's foot caught on an invisible line, momentum breaking, the blade whistling past his ear.
Caelum moved.
One hand grabbed the twisted strand at his feet. He reversed the thread's tension with a sharp pull, a jolt of soul-energy snapping through the assassin's body, sending the man sprawling into the dust.
There was no time to think. No time to breathe.
The others emerged from the mist — a dozen of them, moving like a single body, their blades gleaming cold in the dying light.
Selvara didn't hesitate. She threw herself into the fray, her blade arcing in tight, vicious circles. Her strikes were pure, clean, a dance sharpened by rage and fear.
Caelum followed.
The ruined soul-threads around them bent to his will. He wove traps into the mist, shifting the fabric of reality itself into snares and pitfalls. Executioners stumbled, their forms collapsing as their own Soul-Webs were torn apart mid-stride.
But every time Caelum used the power the shrine had touched in him, he felt it: a slippage inside his mind, as if memories were dripping from him like water from a cracked vessel. Names, faces, places — all growing just a little harder to hold onto.
He gritted his teeth and fought harder.
They carved a bloody path through the Executioners, but the enemy did not stop. Their formation shifted fluidly, surrounding the shrine ruins, cutting off escape.
Selvara's blade flickered, a silver star in the dark. She was tiring — he could feel it through the soul-pressure radiating from her. They both were. The Hollowlands ate away at strength and will alike.
"Caelum!" she shouted over the clash of steel and snapping threads. "We have to fall back! We're not winning this!"
"Then where?!" he snapped back, sweeping his arm to tear a hole in the encircling mist. "There's nowhere left to run!"
Another blade grazed his side. Pain flared — sharp, clean. He welcomed it. It meant he was still alive, still himself.
Selvara jerked her head toward a crumbled stairway leading down into deeper ruins.
"That way!"
She grabbed his wrist and pulled, half-dragging him as they retreated. Caelum wove a quick disruption thread behind them, and the stairwell collapsed with a roaring crack, burying half the Executioners under rubble.
They tumbled down a slope of broken stone and dust, landing hard on a platform barely hanging over an endless chasm.
The world around them was even more twisted here — reality sagging like a ripped sail, ancient soul-threads dangling loose into nothingness. The air was thick with the smell of old decay and burning dreams.
Selvara pushed herself upright, wiping blood from her lip. Her gaze was sharp, urgent.
"You're bleeding," she said.
"So are you," he rasped, flexing his fingers. His Soul-Web spasmed under the strain, threads flickering between stability and chaos.
Above them, faint through the mist, Caelum could feel the Executioners regrouping. They would not stop. Not until they tore him apart.
And worse, he could feel something else moving now.
A deeper tremor.
Something far more ancient, far more dangerous than even the shrine's touch.
Far above, in Velmoria's highest spire, Solaris watched.
He sat upon a cold throne of woven crystal, his face unreadable as he gazed into the far-seeing mirrors that mapped the Hollowlands.
"Status," he said quietly.
An attendant bowed low.
"Caelum Vey and Selvara Lys have descended into the second strata. The Executioners report partial casualties but predict imminent success."
Solaris studied the ghost-threads representing Caelum's fraying Soul-Web.
"The Hollowlands are claiming him faster than predicted," he murmured. "Interesting."
He considered for a long moment.
"Release the Choir."
The attendant stiffened. A flicker of fear crossed his eyes.
"My lord, the Choir—"
"Now."
The Choir. Velmoria's ultimate weapon.
Voices that could unravel a man's Soul-Web with a single note, leaving nothing but an empty husk behind.
Solaris would see the traitor fall.
Not through mercy.
Through complete and utter obliteration.