Ghatakar was built inside the remains of a colossal being—its spine served as the main road, its ribs as bridges between temples. Strange glyphs glowed in the marrow-stone walls. The deeper they went, the colder it became.
They reached a citadel at the base of the skull—a black fortress wrapped in thorned bone.
There, on the throne, sat a man.
His face was shrouded in a white veil. His robes were stitched from skin. He bore a staff crowned with a cracked ring—the Ring of Bone and Soul, twisted and corrupted.
Aarav felt it immediately.
The same energy he sensed from Kaalkrit.
"Welcome, Nephew," the Bonekeeper said. "I see the family curse still clings to us."
"Why did you betray them?" Ishira asked, stepping forward. "Why did you become this?"
He smiled.
"Because the Truths were never truths. They were chains. The Nameless One offered freedom. Immortality. Dominion over fate."
He raised his staff.
"The Ring you seek can only be claimed by one who conquers death… or embraces it."
Aarav stepped forward.
"I've died once before," he said quietly. "And I'll do it again to stop you."