The path appeared only when they walked it.
Kael felt it shift beneath his boots—stone rising from nothing, step by step, like the world had to remember how to shape itself around them. Beside him, Ilyra moved with the practiced silence of a hunter, though her eyes kept drifting toward the horizon.
That flame again.
It hovered in the far distance, burning without heat, without smoke. Just colorless fire above a broken spire, flickering like memory.
"I've seen that place," Ilyra muttered.
Kael glanced at her. "In life?"
"No. Here. In my sleep." Her voice dropped. "Though I don't remember sleeping."
They didn't speak after that.
The air grew thicker the farther they walked. Not colder—just heavier, like guilt that clings to the skin. Shapes began to drift alongside them through the sky—hooded figures, armless and faceless, drifting like forgotten thoughts. They made no sound.
Kael's knuckles tightened on his sword hilt. "I hate this place."
"It hates you too," came a voice ahead.
Both turned.
A figure stood at the threshold of a great causeway that led to the cathedral. Black cloak. One hand on a dagger, the other holding a single, flickering match that refused to burn out.
Eris Blackveil.
"Who are you?" Kael asked, squinting.
"Someone who should've stayed dead," she replied. "But you're late. I've been waiting."
"For us?" Ilyra stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
"For the door," Eris said, nodding toward the cathedral. "It won't open until you're all here."
Kael followed her gaze.
The cathedral loomed ahead, jagged and organic, like it had grown from the bones of a god. It breathed—slowly, subtly. A single door marked its face: twelve feet high, carved from a material that seemed neither wood nor metal, etched with shifting glyphs that hurt to look at directly.
Ilyra took a step closer. "What is this place?"
Eris's eyes stayed on the flame. "A lockbox. Or a coffin. Depending on who you ask."
Kael frowned. "Who do we ask?"
Eris turned toward them. "Not me. I only know what it told me."
Kael hesitated. "It?"
She didn't answer.
The wind changed. A low sound—like the rattling of chains underwater—swept over them. The sky dimmed, though no sun had ever shone. And then, suddenly:
A bell.
Low and booming, as if struck by something enormous. They all flinched. Kael felt it in his bones. Ilyra gritted her teeth. Eris dropped the match.
The cathedral door cracked.
Just slightly. Enough for shadow to bleed out.
And then—
Another figure emerged from the far side of the bridge.
Robes singed. Eyes burning like coals. Hands scarred by ash.
Brother Solen.
He walked slowly, as if the weight of his body was borrowed. His eyes locked on Eris first. Then Kael. Then Ilyra.
And finally, the door.
"I was told," Solen said, his voice like gravel, "that if we open it… we won't come back."
Eris smiled without humor. "Did they also tell you what happens if we don't?"
Kael turned to the door. The glyphs were moving faster now. Reacting.
"What's inside?" he asked.
Eris drew a dagger, though it trembled slightly in her grip.
"…Me," she whispered.