The tunnels narrowed the deeper they went.
Walls once formed of bone and obsidian had turned into slick, veined stone, alive with a pulse beneath their fingertips. The deeper Eira walked, the more the air thickened—not with heat, but with memory. Ancient, suffocating memory that whispered along her skin and sang to the blood inside her.
She could feel it—the awareness of the city sharpening, coiling, watching.
"You feel that?" Kairen asked, one hand on the hilt of his blade.
"It's like something's waiting," Lyselle murmured. "Breathing."
"It's awake," Eira whispered. "And it knows I'm here."
Lucien, tense at her side, raised his torch. "That's not all. Look."
The corridor ended in a vast archway carved from rib bones. Just beyond it was a chamber drenched in shadows, its ceiling lost to the black. The air here was colder, older.
And then she saw it.
The guardian.
It was still at first—a towering figure of armor and bone, faceless, unmoving. Its limbs were long and thin, bound with black cords of soul-thread and veins of red crystal. A sword rested at its back, almost as tall as it was. Beneath its chestplate pulsed a heart-shaped core—blood-colored and beating.
"An Ossial Sentinel," Ravien breathed. "They were used in the Old War to guard the Vaults of Knowledge."
"It doesn't seem hostile," Kairen offered.
"It doesn't need to," Lucien said. "It only awakens when it senses the blood of royalty. Or traitors."
Eira stepped forward, and the moment her foot touched the rune-scarred floor, the air cracked like ice.
The guardian's head turned.
Its chest flared with sudden light.
And then it moved.
It launched forward with impossible speed, its great blade sliding into its hand as if pulled by thought. Lucien pushed Eira back just in time, the blade smashing into the stone where she had stood.
Ravien shouted, throwing a blast of shadow flame at its side. It staggered but didn't fall.
Eira rolled to her feet, chest heaving. The guardian's eyeless helm turned to her again—and this time, it spoke.
A voice like a thousand bones grinding together echoed through the chamber:
"You bear the blood of the Betrayed."
Eira swallowed. "Valtherion?"
"The oathbound king. The heartbreaker. The soul-binder."
Lucien stepped in front of her, sword raised. "She is not your enemy."
But the sentinel ignored him.
"One soul was sealed. One soul returned. Only blood may unmake the pact."
"I don't understand," Eira said, stepping closer.
The guardian raised its blade.
Lucien lunged—but the guardian struck the ground with the hilt of its weapon, sending a shockwave through the room that hurled them all back.
The floor glowed red.
And the chamber changed.
Eira opened her eyes to a battlefield.
Or… a memory of one.
All around her were fallen warriors—drained of color, shadows of the past. The sky was a ceiling of ribs, black and vast. Fire glowed in the distance. And standing atop a mound of bones was Valtherion.
But not as he was now.
This was him in his true form—golden-eyed, hair like silver flame, a crown of bleeding thorns upon his brow. Blood soaked his armor. In one hand, he held a sword made of soul-crystal. In the other, a dying woman.
Vaelaria.
Eira's chest tightened. It was like looking through a pane of fate.
"You betrayed me," Vaelaria whispered, blood trailing from her lips.
Valtherion knelt, cradling her against him. "I never could."
"You broke the pact."
"I only sought to keep you."
The scene trembled—and Eira stepped forward, into it.
Valtherion looked up.
Not at Vaelaria.
At Eira.
As if he knew she was watching.
"You've come far," he said, voice distant, like a memory unbound. "But you still don't understand."
Eira's throat burned. "What am I supposed to see?"
The vision shattered.
And she was back in the chamber—on her knees, gasping.
The guardian stood above her, blade raised.
Lucien screamed her name.
But the sword never fell.
The guardian hesitated.
Its head tilted, studying her.
"You are not her."
Eira forced herself to stand. "No. I'm me. But I carry her blood. Her soul."
She reached for the crystal around her neck. It pulsed brightly.
"I don't want to continue the war. I want to understand it."
The guardian lowered its sword.
"Then you must pass the trial."
A circle of red light bloomed beneath her feet.
Flames rose around her, obscuring her companions. She stood alone in the fire, facing the guardian once more—but now its armor was fading, revealing a form beneath. Not monstrous. Not even inhuman.
A man.
Pale-skinned, silver-eyed, his body covered in runes carved into his flesh.
He looked almost… sorrowful.
"Who are you?" Eira asked.
He bowed his head. "I am Alrieth. Once commander of the Veilguard. Now the last sentinel of truth."
"And you're bound to this place?"
"To protect the last secret," he said. "Until the heir of blood comes again."
He stepped toward her. "This is your trial, daughter of two fates."
Eira stiffened. "What do I have to do?"
His eyes glowed brighter. "Accept the choice your past self made. Or reject it—and break the cycle."
Before she could ask what he meant, fire erupted around her.
Visions flashed—Vaelaria offering her blood to the tree, her lips on Valtherion's, the blade that pierced her own chest in sacrifice.
And then… Eira, standing in the same place, with the same sword.
It was in her hand now.
The trial was a mirror.
Would she repeat it?
Or choose something else?
She dropped the blade.
"I'm not her," she said. "I won't follow a fate I didn't choose."
The flames vanished.
The sword shattered.
And the sentinel… smiled.
"Then you are worthy."
The guardian's form faded, leaving behind only the memory—and a path forward, revealed behind where he stood: an open gate of bone and light, leading deeper into the city's heart.
Lucien rushed to her side as the flames cleared. "Are you okay?"
Eira nodded slowly. "I passed."
"What did you see?"
"Everything I needed to. And nothing I expected."