Blood for life. Souls for more.
But the endless know its true name.
Eternal quiet. Echoed screams.
A void of naught without end.
Alora stared at it for a long while. The stains, the faltering script, the weight between each line… it all whispered of a grief too vast to name.
For the first time, she pitied him.
And she hated herself for it.
Because she understood that loneliness, a thing so vast one could get lose in it. Yet at once she was confused to find Rune feeling something so…
Terribly human.
Alora closed the book slowly, holding it against her chest as she looked toward the window. Sunlight spilled across the ridge, and for a heartbeat, she almost imagined him standing in this spot.
Sometimes, Alora was grateful for his absence. Sometimes, she resented it. At others, guilt gnawed like a splinter for disparaging him. But even the mountain was indignant. It refused her nothing—except to seehim.
She thought of Rune enough that his voice carried in the echoes of the wind. She saw wisps of his shape flickering in the dim halls. Alora would call out to the dark, but the shadows never answered.
And the god who ruled them did not come.
In the morning, Alora stopped waiting.
When the first pale light of dawn crept through the edges of her curtains, she rose quietly and dressed. It was the hour when most demons slept. Even the shadows were drowsy, stretching lazily along the walls as Alora slipped through the hidden tunnel in her hearth.
The mountain no longer barred her path. Perhaps it had grown used to her morning training, or perhaps it had simply stopped caring to stop her. Either way, she meant to use that freedom.
Alora took a detour that led away from the garden cavern, Nexus following on her heels.
The hall outside was cold. The torches lining the corridor sputtered with low flame, casting long, distorted shadows.
She must have entered the adjacent hallway to hers because when she peeked around the corner, she spotted Hadeon and Deimos standing guard outside her door.
Well, the large quiet demon had Deimos in a headlock as he squirmed and fought to break free, Hadeon muttering that he talked too much.
Nexus dashed into the shadows ahead. Alora followed, glancing over her shoulder with every step, but no one followed.
She relaxed, letting the kitten lead the way, his yellow iridescent eyes catching the torchlight. Alora wasn’t sure how to find Rune, but something was pulling her.
A part of her hoped it was a way out.
Nexus seemed to know where they were going. His paws made no sound on the floor as they descended through the quiet halls. She grabbed a torch to light their way. Instinct warned she shouldn’t wander the castle alone. But the dragon bracelet masking her scent provided a warm, nervous comfort.
The corridors narrowed, then opened again, spilling her into a vast chamber she’d seen before. It was empty, silent, and cold. At the far end, a throne carved from shadow and bone stood upon a dais, massive enough to dwarf any mortal king.
A forgotten throne for a forgotten god.
Nexus meowed, the tiny sound echoing in the vast space. Alora hesitated, then stepped closer, her breath fogging faintlyin the chill. Beyond the dais, half hidden by draped cobwebs of shadow, she saw a familiar door.
The door that led to the Netherworld Gate.
Her pulse quickened. Previously, the door had been sealed. Now it yawned open, exhaling a faint wind that smelled of iron and smoke.
“There it is,” she whispered.
