The east tunnel reeks of dust and old blood.
Wren meets us halfway down the slope, her face pale. Behind her, the ground has split—jagged and unnatural, like something forced its way through.
"I didn't open this," she says quickly. "It opened to me."
We step past her.
The tunnel beyond the break isn't part of any Vault map. The walls are smoother, older. Symbols drift along the stone—faint, glowing, shifting when we look too long.
"This isn't a tunnel," Sov says. "It's a passage."
"Or a memory," Narth murmurs.
The ring on my hand grows colder.
We walk.
The deeper we go, the quieter everything gets. Not just sound—thought. The air eats it. I feel Vellidra's presence tighten, like she's pressing against something unseen.
Then we see it.
A chamber opens, circular and wide. At its center stands a pedestal. Floating above it: a cracked ring.
Not like mine.
This one is darker. Older. Etched in symbols that twist when you try to read them. Around it, the ground is burned into a perfect spiral.
Wren swallows. "That's not bone or blood. That's..."
"Void," I finish.
Lira's eyes narrow. "Was this sealed down here?"
"No," I say, stepping closer. "This was buried. And not by Vellidra."
The moment I near the pedestal, the ring reacts. Not with power—but with awareness. It turns slightly, pointing... north.
A direction. A target.
Kett's voice cuts in over the ring—urgent. "Masked One. The southern wall just pulsed. It's reading something returning."
We look to each other.
Two signs. Two directions.
The city's being split.
"This ring isn't just a relic," I say. "It's a key. And someone is already turning it."
Jeral steps beside me. "So what do we do? Chase it? Seal it?"
I shake my head. "Neither. We follow it. And we find what this city tried to forget."
Lira's hand grips her blade. "And if it finds us first?"
I don't look back.
"Then we make sure it remembers why it was buried."