Opening my eyes, I look around. The atmosphere has shifted to one of gloom, from the resplendence of the place where we arrived.
“This is our home,” Dreven murmurs before I can comment.
“Makes sense,” I say. “It’s very Eeyore.”
He cocks an eyebrow at me in question.
“Doom and gloom.”
Dastian chuckles. “You mean to say that this entire time, we have been coming and going down a path of snakes to reach the other parts of the realms?”
“I can’t say that for sure. I know we came down a path of snakesnow.”
He nods slowly. “The crown is in our neck of the woods, then. It tracks.”
“It could also be a trap,” I murmur, but move forward as it is the only way to go.
The archway up ahead is made of something that looks like fused bone and obsidian. It swallows the light, pulling us into a courtyard of ruins. Towers that claw at the grey sky are crumbling, their silhouettes jagged and sharp against the oppressive gloom.
I feel a pull, a faint, insistent tug from deep within the ruins. It’s not a vision of snakes this time, but a cold spot in my gut, a magnetic north calling me home. I ignore the precarious-looking bridges of cracked stone and thechasms that drop away into absolute blackness. I just follow the feeling.
My hand tightens on my blade. The pull leads us towards the most ruined structure of all: a central spire that looks like it was shattered by a titan’s fist.
“Home, sweet home,” Dreven murmurs.
“Your place?” I ask archly. “How apt.”
He gives me a slow smile that does things to me it shouldn’t. Not here. Not now. But then it vanishes. “I don’t think the Wraith Crown is here. I would know.”
“You didn’t know about the snakes,” I point out. “It is hiding in plain sight. The question is where?” I close my eyes, fully invested in this hunt now. It has a danger to it that I find slightly intoxicating, even though I know I could die at any second. I am not equipped to fight gods on their turf. As much as I can tell myself I’m the Slayer of Demons, and I can kick anyone’s arse. That is not true. Not here.
My second sight kicks into gear again, but this time, it’s not a vision. It’s a sound. A low, mournful hum that resonates in my bones, like a thousand ghosts sighing in unison. It pulls me forward, a siren song for the slayer part of my soul. The whispers from the journal echo in my head:a realm that feeds on memory. This place isn’t just ruined; it’s haunted by its own past.
“Down,” I say, my voice raspy. The hum leads me towards a gaping maw in the base of the shattered spire, a dark staircase spiralling into the guts of the mountain.
“There is no down,” Voren says.
“Oh, but there is,” I say, and my boot hits the top step.
“Well, fuck,” Dastian says. “Does anyone else feel like we’ve been living a lie for centuries?”
“Just a tad,” Voren replies, his cold body right at my back. “I don’t like you going in there first.”
“She has to,” Dreven says. “We can’t see shit.”
I take the first step, my boot landing on a solid bit of stone that shows a sheer drop into blackness after it. It feels like walking on air, and not in a fun, magical way. The air turns colder, peaking my nipples under my hoodie.
Whispers slither at the edge of my hearing, fragments of memory caught in the stagnant air.Betrayal… Power… He will consume…
A heavy hand lands on my shoulder, and I nearly jump out of my skin. It’s Dreven, his touch an unwelcome but necessary anchor. “We’re right behind you,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that does little to soothe my frayed nerves.
“I can feel you breathing down my neck,” I mutter, taking another step into the void. “Literally.”
The spiralling descent feels endless, each step taking me deeper into the oppressive silence. The hum I heard before grows stronger, a resonant thrum that vibrates right through my bones, pulling me forward. Finally, my foot touches level ground.
I open my eyes and frown. “What do you see?”
“A river of blood,” Dreven says. “What do you see?”
