Curse.
The word hit like a stone dropped in still water. I didn’t know what I’d expected—but not that. A chill traced my spine.
He flinched slightly, and I caught the look of someone who had said too much. He didn’t take it back.
I studied him in the dim light, uncertain. “All of this—these relics, the markings—what are they? Why are they here?”
His voice was low. “The trench was once a vault—not just for relics. You just have to look. To listen. To feel. It doesn’t just hold what’s lost. It reflects what you carry. Desire, regret…” His mouth tightened. “Sometimes, it answers.”
I stepped closer, my voice fraying. “Then tell me what the hell you’re actually saying. Who’s leading us? What’s this trail you keep talking about? No more riddles.”
His expression tightened, but he didn’t look away. “Last time I was here,” he said slowly, “it felt like the trench was pulling me toward something. Like it knew what I needed. And just when I was close, she—” He stopped himself, jaw clenching. Whatever memory surfaced, he wasn’t willing to share the rest.
Not yet.
I didn’t know who he meant. The look in his eyes—whatever it was—still haunted him.
I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse.
We were nearly back to the anchor point when something stopped me cold. My boots skidded slightly.
“Do you hear that?” I asked.
Weapons came up instantly—blades unsheathed, runestones flaring.
“No,” I said quickly, lifting my hand. “Not danger. A sound. A humming. Do you hear it?”
The crew looked around in confusion. Alaric’s brow furrowed. “Humming?” I closed my eyes, blocking the flickering torchlight. I listened.
There.
A low, melodic vibration—not heard, exactly, but felt. Deep in my bones. Familiar.
The crescent mark on my brow warmed—an ache like moonlight under skin—and my pulse matched the hum, my body remembering a song my mind had never learned.
I turned, heart pounding, and began walking. Past the others. Back toward one of the smaller caves we’d passed before—just large enough for someone my size to slip through.
It was coming from inside.
Alaric’s voice snapped behind me. “Nerina—don’t.”
I paused at the mouth of the cave, glancing back at him. “I have to.” He took a step forward, hand outstretched. “Then I’m going first.” “You won’t fit,” I said, voice soft but firm. “I’ll be quick.”
“Nerina—”
I was already ducking into the narrow entrance, slipping into the dark before he could stop me.
Inside the small cave there was wonder beyond imagination. Books, jewels, carvings—so different from the scattered relics we’d spent hours sifting through. This place was untouched. Ordered. Sacred.
The air shimmered faintly with stardust motes, and on a desk carved from the mountain itself sat a chest—small, ornate, etched with celestial sigils and filigree of silver and gold. Its hinges glowed faintly blue, the metal cold and otherworldly. Starfire seemed to pulse from within, spilling through the seam like mist.
Drawn, I stepped closer. The walls were carved with symbols—ancient, unreadable, coiling like constellations in stone. Maps and journals lay open on the desk, their pages fragile with age. One caught my eye.
A drawing.
A convergence of celestial bodies—the sun, the moons, the planets—aligned.
The Eclipsera Convergence. The day I was born.
