Raen walked first.
He didn't trust what followed behind him—not Keir, not the shifting flickers of torchlight, not even the steps underfoot. The corridor ahead pulsed like a living thing, as if the prison had a heart, and they were walking into its chambers.
"We're too deep," Keir muttered behind him. "There shouldn't be any more levels. The maps stopped twenty staircases ago."
Raen didn't respond. His hand grazed the walls—cold, wet stone that sighed as they passed, exhaling secrets.
The prison below the gods didn't obey geometry. Rooms twisted. Time repeated itself. Hallways led back into memories. At some point, Raen was sure they'd walked through the corridor where his brother had died.
But he didn't have a brother.
Not anymore.
—
They reached the Hollow.
The entrance was a gate shaped like a dying mouth—jagged, broken, constantly gnawing on itself. It recognized Raen.
It smiled.
With a groan, the stone parted. The Hollow opened like a wound.
Inside: silence.
