Ashveil's moonlit courtyard stood deserted, pillars casting dark shadows across cracked cobblestones. Otoku pulled his cloak more closely about him, night wind whispering through its folds. Noctis moved at his side, each muscle tense as if he felt unseen movement.
They crept by quiet dormitories and swaying lanterns until the old postern gate of the city wall appeared. On the other side, the Whispered Roads twisted through abandoned gardens and collapsed arches—serpent ways said to move when no one was looking.
Otoku stopped where ivy strangled a marble arch. His reflection shook in a puddle at his feet—white hair, silver eyes burning with intent. He drew a rune in the air, light as breath. "This way," he whispered. Noctis's tail wagged in assent.
Under the arch, the road grew smaller. Shadows collected in every corner. Every step scattered dead leaves. The silence was a presence, close up and stirring old echoes.
They skirted a toppled statue of an angel whose wings had long since been shattered. Under its split gaze, Otoku discovered a loose flagstone inscribed with the faint sigil—a earlier version of the Companion's mark. He pressed it, and a concealed passage opened up, lantern-light pouring up from below.
Noctis growled—a low, wary rumble. "I believed the Vault closed this," Otoku murmured, voice little more than a whisper. He moved forward, candle in hand, down into the stone throat.
Down there, the air was chilly and wet. Muffled laughter—children playing—carried along twisting corridors. Walls throbbed with runic veins, half-wiped away by time. Every corridor branched off unexpectedly; only the Companion's map shone dimly on Otoku's palm to lead him.
They entered a chamber carved out of living stone, its dome hung in frayed tapestries depicting lost battles. In the center, a mound of shattered mask pieces lay scattered on ash. Noctis's lavender eye grew dim.
Otoku knelt, retrieving a shard—a flawless jade eye belonging to one of the Academy's Inquisitors. His heart constricted. "They stalked loop-born souls," he spoke. "Fed upon their magic for their own… but this…" He set the piece down carefully on top of the heap.
A gentle sigh filled the room. A strip of pale light materialized above the ash, and a ghostly form took shape: a young monk, eyes shut, hands clasped in prayer. His lips moved in a silent mantra.
Otoku's voice trembled. "Why do you stay?"
The monk's face wavered. "To recall… and to lead… " His outstretched arm gestured toward a thin passageway leading deeper, where a soft golden light throbbed like a heartbeat.
Noctis pushed forward. "It calls us forward."
Otoku nodded. "Then we go. We keep their memories with us—so their pain is not in vain."
The spirits dissipated. The tunnel stretched out, and side by side they entered its light, prepared to tread paths inscribed in both ash and hope.