The trail curved like a question mark around the cliffside, narrowing until it was barely more than a ledge. I kept my footing light and centered. No Cynthia now. Just the dull rhythm of my boots against the stone and the way the air thinned with every step.
I didn't rush. The ruins weren't going anywhere.
By the time I reached the broken arch again, the sky had darkened behind a veil of thin clouds. No wind. No birds. Just that hollow quiet that clung to old places.
Luxio padded beside me, hackles raised.
"I feel it too," I murmured. Not fear—not yet. But tension. Like the thread of something that hadn't snapped yet.
The broken sword was still where we left it. I passed it without touching it. Deeper inside, the air grew colder. More defined. Like the stone was remembering something.
I didn't speak. No need to wake echoes.
This time, I followed a different hall. The glyphs along the wall were less worn here—more angular. Stories no one had read in centuries. A narrow chamber opened up on the left.
That's when the first one appeared.
A Mismagius.
No warning. Just silence, and then shape. It floated six feet off the ground, eyes glowing faint violet, mist curling from its ragged edges. It watched me without blinking.
I didn't move.
"I'm not here for you," I said softly. "But if you want a fight—"
It flickered.
And behind me, something else moved.
Luxio snarled, spun, and fired a burst of electricity into the hallway—catching the tail of something serpentine and fast. A second ghost. Drifblim this time, drifting upside-down across the ceiling like it didn't care about gravity.
"Okay," I muttered. "They're watching."
The Mismagius hissed once and dove. Luxio sprang to meet it, fang lit with static. They clashed midair—fang to mist. The ghost shrieked and scattered like smoke, reforming near the ceiling.
I ducked as the Drifblim swooped low, shadowy tendrils extended. One of them brushed my arm. Cold. Numb. I rolled away, letting Grotle out in the same motion.
"Watch the corners," I said.
Grotle rumbled. Roots slid from his feet, anchoring to the stone floor. The ground shifted beneath him. Controlled. Waiting.
Drifblim dove again—this time toward Grotle. Razor Leaf met the charge. The impact scattered petals and mist.
Behind me, Luxio launched again. The Mismagius phased sideways, barely missing a swipe of his claws, and retaliated with a burst of Confuse Ray. Luxio faltered, blinked, then growled through it.
I couldn't give orders fast enough. They were moving by instinct now.
Another sound.
Something deeper.
The seal at the end of the corridor had begun to hum.
Low and slow. Like a throat clearing on the other side of centuries.
"We don't have time for this," I snapped.
Grotle heard me. Slammed the floor. Sent a shockwave through the stone.
Both ghosts reeled.
Luxio surged forward, jaws clamping down on Mismagius—forcing it against the wall. Grotle redirected, launching vines to whip Drifblim from the air. Ghostly cries echoed, warping with distance, but both retreated.
I didn't chase.
The seal was louder now. The whole ruin felt like it had a heartbeat.
I exhaled. Focused.
"Come on," I whispered. "Let's finish this before whatever's behind that seal decides to introduce itself."
We moved deeper.
And the blade waited.