Ardyn had read about it in forbidden texts, half-whispered histories of the Covenant's darker experiments. A sacred path that had gone terribly, catastrophically wrong.
1. Vein of Eclipse
The black tendrils weren't just corruption—they were conduits. The temple wasn't bleeding; it was digesting. Every surface they touched became part of its network, rewriting reality in slow, creeping increments. That was why Therion's spatial magic faltered—the temple was eating the very fabric of space between points, leaving gaps where his jumps should have been seamless.
2. Gaze of the Drowned Sun
The altar's eye wasn't just watching them. It was recording. Every second they spent in the temple, every panicked breath, every failed escape—it was all being fed back into the darkflame, refining its understanding of them. That was the "singing" Ardyn heard—the echo of countless victims before them, their memories and fears recycled into the temple's pulse.
3. Hunger of the Unmourned
The Path of Buried Light didn't just consume matter. It fed on concepts. Light. Sound. Hope. That was why the air felt so heavy, why every step was a battle—the temple was leaching their will to fight, turning their own resolve against them.
Lyria stared at him. "...You're telling me we're trapped in a temple that eats thoughts?"
Ardyn nodded weakly.
Therion's laugh was sharp, jagged. "Of course we are."
The realization hit Therion like a punch to the gut.
The temple's distortion wasn't random. It was learning. Every time he forced a spatial jump, every time his magic flickered—the darkflame adapted, mirroring his movements but with terrifying precision. Where his power was unstable, wild, the temple's was cold, calculated.
A dark reflection of his own abilities.
Lyria swore violently as another section of the wall crumbled, the black veins surging forward like living things. "Great. So we can't fight it, we can't outrun it—what can we do?"
Ardyn's breath hitched. "...We break the pattern."