The staircase wound down like the spine of a buried god.
Nyssa's footsteps echoed off the stone walls, muffled by a dampness that clung to everything like breath on glass. The air grew colder with every step, and the light from Marek's flickering runestone barely reached the walls. It was like descending into the marrow of the world.
"What exactly are we walking into?" Marek muttered.
"I don't know," Nyssa replied, her voice low. "But Jack came through here. If we're going to reach him, we follow every step."
Marek shifted uneasily. "Jack vanished into a cursed tree, left a soul-devouring whisper-beast behind, and now we're chasing him into a hole in the world. I like the guy, but he's starting to make the Dark Lord look reasonable."
Nyssa gave a dry chuckle. "He didn't choose this. He's just the one carrying it."
After a long descent, they emerged into a chamber carved of onyx stone. The ceiling arched impossibly high, lined with sigils that pulsed faintly in hues of violet and silver. In the center stood a great circular door—seamless and ancient, forged of obsidian and etched with a single name:
THALON.
Marek read it aloud and immediately shivered. "That's… Jack's father, right?"
Nyssa nodded slowly. "The one whose soul was sealed inside Jack when he was a child. The one Auren warned us could never be fully trusted."
Marek moved closer to the door, examining the etchings. "This isn't just a nameplate. These are runes of binding—deep ones. Old magic. Not even Auren taught these."
"They weren't meant to be taught."
"What is this place?"
"I think…" Nyssa hesitated, then stepped forward. "This is where Thalon's soul was buried. Before Jack ever came to Vaelmir. Before his mother died."
Marek turned to her. "Are you saying… his soul was split? That part of Thalon is still in here?"
"I don't know. But if Jack unlocked something when he entered the Hollow Tree, this might be what he woke up."
As they stood before the door, a low hum began to fill the chamber.
Nyssa's sword vibrated in its scabbard. Marek's runestone flared suddenly bright—and cracked.
From the far end of the chamber, a voice spoke.
It was deep. Not loud. But it rumbled through their bones.
"You shouldn't be here."
Nyssa turned sharply, blade drawn. "Who's there?"
A figure emerged from the shadow, cloaked in silver-black robes, his face concealed by a mask shaped like a bird's skull.
"I am the Gatewatcher—call me Kevera," he said. "The last of the Hollow Order."
Marek narrowed his eyes. "That sounds incredibly villainous."
Nyssa ignored him. "What's behind that door?"
The Gatewatcher paused. "A memory. A warning. A truth too terrible for light."
"I've heard worse," she said.
"Have you?" The Gatewatcher stepped closer, and though he seemed barely taller than a man, the air around him pressed in like the depths of the sea. "The truth inside that chamber broke kingdoms. It burned cities from the inside out. It unraveled the mind of the woman who loved Thalon most."
Nyssa didn't waver. "Is it what Jack saw?"
"Yes," the Gatewatcher said quietly. "And it is what made him leave."
Marek frowned. "You mean vanish. He didn't just walk away."
"No," the Gatewatcher said. "He was called."
"By what?"
"Not what." The Gatewatcher turned to the door. "Who."
Before Nyssa could ask another question, the runes on the door flared blindingly bright.
The stone cracked—slowly, like an egg beneath pressure.
The Gatewatcher turned to her. "He opened it from within. Which means you can't stop it now."
Nyssa clenched her fists. "Then I'm going in."
The Gatewatcher inclined his head. "You will not return unchanged."
"I already haven't," she said.
The stone parted.
Beyond the door was not another room.
It was a field.
A night sky.
A sea of stars suspended in nothing.
They stepped through—and were swallowed by silence.