Gaël shivered as a wave of cold slowly seeped into him, sinking into his bones like a draft rising from the depths of the Abyss. This wasn't just a drop in temperature, nor the fatigue weighing on his muscles still taut from the fight. It was something else. Something wrong. Something disturbing.
He had seen Brann absorb the Umbra before, he had witnessed those moments when the shadow seeped into him like a venomous mist, when his body, far from collapsing under the corruption, seemed instead to draw strength from it, to crave more of it.
Even the air felt heavier, as if the world itself was holding its breath, as if the space around them had contracted under the pressure of a presence that did not belong. The black shard, still smoking between Brann's fingers, exuded a darkness so dense that the surrounding gloom seemed almost luminous in comparison.
Kaien, usually so carefree, let out a low whistle, the kind you make when you stumble upon something both fascinating and dangerous. His eyes followed Brann's every move, no longer with amusement, but with a curiosity tinged by unease.
Nono, nestled deep within the folds of his pack, slowly emerged, his two rounded ears trembling as they pointed toward Brann. The little creature made no sound, but the runes on his fur had begun to glow a pale blue. Kaien raised a hand, not looking, and absentmindedly stroked his companion's head. Nono closed his eyes, but didn't retreat. He was listening.
Maera, on the other hand, wore a more serious, more analytical expression. Her fingers tightened slightly around the handle of her weapon, not in a stance of attack, but like a warrior preparing to face the unknown.
"Umbra Drinker..." she murmured, a terrible truth made word.
Not far from her, Rai remained silent. His body betrayed neither fear nor tension, but his gaze was locked on Brann, sharp as a blade waiting for a flaw. He wasn't trying to understand. He was analyzing. He was observing, assessing the threat with almost clinical detachment.
And then, at last, Brann opened his eyes.
Time itself seemed to stop.
These were not the eyes of a man.
Nor were they the eyes of a warrior who had simply drawn in Umbra as one might draw breath after a grueling effort, to rise again and keep going.
They were something else.
Two abyssal pupils, deep as a bottomless chasm, unfathomable as the darkness before the first light was ever born. A faint glow danced within them, persistent, flickering, but it wasn't the flame of will, nor the spark of rage, not even the echo of a human memory.
It was hunger.
A brutal, silent, unfathomable hunger. An insatiable hunger that didn't merely want, but sought to consume.
And then, just as suddenly as it had come, that glimmer vanished.
Brann blinked, as if nothing had happened.
The silence that had settled over them was broken by Kaien, the first to cut through the tension with a verbal flourish.
He casually brushed off his coat, as if what they had just endured was nothing more than a tavern brawl, and said:
"The swordbrother... Still so poetic."
There was a crooked smile on his lips, but his eyes didn't smile. With a tilt of his chin, he pointed toward the darkness around them.
"The horde felt the death of its alpha. It's pulling back. Good. Let's move."
His tone tried to sound light, but the words carried a barely veiled urgency, a strain just beneath the surface.
No one answered, because they had all seen. They had all felt it.
Brann said nothing either. His steel gaze remained fixed ahead, locked onto the gaping black maw of the first tier, as if he could read its secrets, anticipate the whisper of the void. Then, with a slow, almost ceremonial motion, he sheathed his blade, the metal sighing into its scabbard in a barely audible whisper.
Gaël took a deep breath.
He tried to slow the frantic beating of his heart, to ease the creeping panic pounding at his temples and tightening his throat.
The battle was over, but the descent had only just begun.
Suddenly, a flicker of light brushed Gaël's cheek. Nono had unfurled his silky, warm tail in a gentle, instinctive gesture. Gaël shivered. A strange warmth, almost unreal, calmed his breath and eased the weight pressing on his chest.
'Is he trying to comfort me?' he wondered, glancing briefly at the little creature.
For a heartbeat, he felt the urge to reach out and stroke him in thanks. But he looked away. No. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted. Not now. They had to keep moving.
The light of the surface world, now so distant, barely reached their figures. It stretched above them like a dying breath, a fading glow soon to be swallowed by the thick, ravenous dark of the chasm. Soon, they would be nothing more than shadows among shadows.
Then, without a word, each of them lit one of the torches Valérian had given them.
A bluish glow rose, faint, cold, and flickering, casting a spectral hue across the rough walls.
It was not a light that warmed or comforted. It was a cold, almost unnatural glow, one that didn't chase the darkness away, but held it at bay.
Kaien raised a brow as he felt his small companion stir.
"Even he can tell this place stinks, huh?"
Nono answered with a hiccup of light and a tremor through his fur.
The stone walls oozed an ancient silence, and the blue radiance cast shadows that danced without source, revealing a world where light itself felt foreign, forcibly intruded into a realm that did not want it.
Like a fragile air bubble suspended in an ocean of night.
Their progress was slow, measured, paced by the crunch of their steps on dusty stone and the echo of their breathing.
Each footfall rang oddly through the winding tunnels of the first tier, as if the rock itself remembered the souls swallowed by the rift, or cut down by the edge of Excalibur.
The darkness was no longer just the absence of light. It was a lurking entity, something that breathed slowly, waiting for a misstep.
Brann led the way, unyielding, his gaze locked on the twisted blackness stretching before them.
He moved without speaking, as if the path had already been revealed to him in a language the others couldn't understand.
The corridors, at times as wide as cathedral halls, at others narrow and suffocating, seemed carved either by human hands or by older, less logical forces.
Gaël, right behind him, advanced cautiously, his fingers clenched around his sword's hilt, every muscle taut with the kind of vigilance that teeters on the edge of vertigo.
Silence wrapped around them, dense, total, like an invisible shroud clinging to their skin.
True to form, Kaien recovered his usual composure and shattered the stillness with mock nonchalance:
"Nothing more unsettling than a place where the only thing you can hear… is yourself."
Maera, walking beside him, swept the darkness with a sharp, measured glance.
"I prefer the sound of my own steps… to the noise of your pointless commentary."
Kaien shrugged, pretending not to care, but his eyes sharpened with each turn of the path. He was scanning the walls, the cracks, the hollows, not to distract himself, but like a hunter reading the signs of prey still unseen.
Then… they saw them.
The bodies.
Everywhere.