–
The rain had not stopped. It came in slow, whispering sheets, streaking the glass of the small diner where Marcus sat, head bowed, hands clasped around a mug of untouched coffee. The hum of the refrigerator and the hiss of frying oil were the only sounds left in the place. The night clerk , Elias ,sat across from him, his uniform still damp, his eyes darting every few seconds toward the door.
Lila slept in a booth by the wall, wrapped in a borrowed blanket. The gold light beneath her skin had dimmed to something almost human again, though now and then, when lightning flared outside, her reflection in the window shimmered brighter than the world itself.
Marcus's coat was torn at the sleeves, and the skin beneath his collarbone glowed faintly where the pendant rested. He had tried to hide it, but the light leaked through the fabric like an open wound.
"You're burning," Elias said quietly. "You know that, right? It's not just a glow — it's… eating at you."
Marcus looked up. His eyes had changed since the tunnels , clearer, sharper, a strange amber flicker near the pupils. "It's not pain," he said. "It's purpose."
"Purpose doesn't hum through your veins like a live wire," Elias muttered. He rubbed his palms against his knees, the motion nervous, mechanical. "Whatever you took from that place, it's marking you. Maybe even tracking you."
"The Host doesn't need to track me," Marcus replied. "It already knows where the light went. It's why it's so quiet."
Elias frowned. "Quiet?"
Marcus nodded toward the window. Beyond the rain, Shinshigan's skyline looked almost peaceful — but that calm felt wrong. The hotel still loomed in the city's heart, half-shrouded by mist and scaffolding, but something about it was alive. The windows were not reflections anymore; they were eyes.
"When the ritual broke," Marcus said, "The Host's body didn't die. It just—shifted. It's learning to reach beyond its walls. The corruption hasn't stopped. Look at that."
He pointed across the street. The puddles were rippling, though no cars had passed. From beneath the water, faint red veins pulsed like blood through the cracks of the pavement. Elias went still.
"My God," he whispered. "It's spreading."
Marcus's voice dropped lower. "Thecla warned me about this. The Chamber was only the engine — what we saw was the surface. But she said something else, before I left her."
He hesitated. The sound of rain filled the silence. Then, softly, he repeated her words:
"The Chamber is the engine, but the Foundation is the heart. It must be broken. For 'if the root be holy, so are the branches'… and if it is cursed, all that grows from it shall perish."
The verse echoed through the diner's still air. Elias crossed himself unconsciously. "That's Romans," he murmured. "But what does she mean — 'Foundation'?"
Marcus stared at his reflection in the coffee's surface. "Something beneath the hotel. Maybe beneath the city itself. Whatever the King built… it's still beating."
"King Hermon," Elias whispered. "The old stories say he was buried under his palace. The Shomon was built on his grave."
Marcus nodded grimly. "Then his grave is the Foundation. And if he's still bound to it, he's not dead."
They sat in silence for a long time. The rain softened, and the neon sign outside flickered weakly, painting the room in red and blue.
When Lila stirred, Marcus immediately turned toward her. She blinked, confused, her gaze unfocused. "Where are we?"
"Safe," Marcus said. "For now."
She touched her forehead. "I dreamed of her — Thecla. She was standing in water, but it wasn't dark anymore. She said… 'You carry what I could not bear alone.'"
Elias glanced uneasily at Marcus. "She's talking to you too?"
"She's reaching through whatever broke the ritual," Marcus said quietly. "Her light and mine are bound now. But I don't know how long it will last."
He pushed away from the table, pacing toward the window. Each movement made the pendant flare brighter, casting long shadows across the floor. "We need answers. The Foundation, the curse, how to destroy it — and soon. Before it spreads into the city's bones."
Elias looked out the window too. "I know a man," he said. "An old archivist who worked at the Shinshigan Historical Office — before it burned down. He told me once that the Shomon's architecture didn't match any known era. He called it 'imported stone.' Maybe he knows what the Foundation really is."
Marcus turned. "Where is he now?"
"Outside the city. A monastery near the coast — they take in the old and the mad. I can get us there by dawn, if we keep to the service roads."
Marcus nodded. "Then that's where we go."
He glanced toward Lila again. She had fallen back asleep, her breathing shallow but even. The faint light beneath her skin dimmed completely, leaving only the pale glow of her pendant's reflection in the window.
Elias stood. "I'll get the car."
When he was gone, Marcus let himself breathe. The hum in his veins quieted for a moment. He could hear Thecla's voice again, soft but clear — not like speech, but like thought.
"Do not fear what burns within you. Light weighs heavy because it carries the shape of truth."
He looked down at his hand. His shadow still shimmered faintly gold on the tiled floor.
"Then help me carry it," he whispered. "Just until this is done."
Outside, the rain began again.
Far away, in Jakar.
Jonathan stirred from a restless sleep. The storm had reached there too — distant thunder rolling over the mountains like the sound of stone breaking. He sat up in bed, drenched in sweat, clutching his chest where his heart raced painfully fast.
He didn't know why, but his mind was filled with flashes — the old hotel, his sister's laughter echoing down a hallway, the strange whisper of wind that sounded like her name. The images came and went like static.
His roommate mumbled something, still half-asleep, but Jonathan barely heard him. He reached for his phone on the nightstand. No signal. No messages. The last call from home had been a week ago — his mother's voice bright, normal, just before the line broke into noise.
Now there was only silence.
He swung his legs off the bed and went to the window. The city of Jakar stretched below — calm, untouched — but the storm clouds over the horizon were moving fast, too fast.
He whispered, "Thecla?" and froze. He didn't know why he said it.
A faint pulse of warmth passed through his palm, as if someone had brushed his hand with light. It was gone before he could move, but it left a trace — a whisper, a wordless urge.
He knew, somehow, that his family was in danger. That something had gone terribly wrong.
And though he couldn't explain it, Jonathan felt that someone — a stranger — was already walking the same path toward them.
By dawn, Marcus and the others were on the road again, the city receding behind them. The highway stretched ahead, slick with rain, the horizon veiled in mist.
The light in his chest pulsed once — steady, insistent , as if answering a call from somewhere distant, somewhere unseen.
He gripped the wheel tighter.
"Thecla," he murmured, "show me the way to the heart."
And far away, beyond the miles and the storm, another pulse, faint, human, frightened — answered.