Chapter 84 — The Mind's Abyss
The night air in Valenreach was different now.
Not colder. Not warmer. Just… heavier. As though every shadow had weight, and every silence carried breath. The city seemed to lean inward, corridors narrowing, walls bending ever so slightly toward the streets below.
Aren moved cautiously, boots silent on the stone floors of the keep. The mark on his palm burned faintly, a pulsing reminder of the Blackwood's reach, of the fissure, and of the second core that had whispered its intentions beneath the throne room.
He wasn't alone.
Shadowblade and Titanbound had followed at a distance, their presence almost ghostlike. They moved in silence, not because of the city, but because of what they feared might be inside their own minds. The last chamber had left a mark. Not on their bodies, but on the fragile barrier between thought and reality.
Aren's fingers flexed. "Tonight," he murmured, "we see if we survive what waits in the roots."
The corridors opened into a larger hall — long, vaulted ceilings rising high above, lit only by fractured moonlight spilling through shattered windows. The floor was scarred with the remnants of roots that had once surged up violently, now dried and blackened. Yet something deeper pulsed beneath, subtle, measured, alive.
Titanbound stopped mid-step. "Do you feel it? It's… different from before."
"Yes," Aren replied. "It's probing, not attacking. It wants us to look inward before we move forward."
Shadowblade's blades were half-drawn, reflecting thin slivers of pale moonlight. "Probing? You mean… in our minds?"
Aren nodded. "Exactly. And we need to steel ourselves."
They advanced together, each step slow, precise. The pulse under their feet grew, spreading through the stone, weaving into the veins of the keep itself. It was no longer a distant heartbeat; it was a rhythm that thrummed inside their chests, syncing with their pulses, pushing their thoughts into dissonance.
Aren swallowed hard. He could hear it now — faint whispering beneath the stone, like dry leaves scratching across metal. Not words. Not yet. Just an urge, a nudge, a presence testing the edges of their minds.
Then it came.
A flash of light in the corner of the hall. Not fire. Not green energy. Something alive. Shadows stretched unnaturally, curling around the walls, forming vague silhouettes of people—faces distorted, unrecognizable, yet eerily familiar.
Titanbound stepped back. "What the hell…?"
Aren's eyes narrowed. "Illusions. Memory attacks. It wants to distract us… separate us."
Shadowblade's voice was calm but tense. "It knows our fears, doesn't it?"
"Yes," Aren said softly. "And it will use them."
The first strike came as a whisper directly into his mind. You are not enough.
Aren staggered, gripping his head. The words were not spoken aloud, but each syllable carved into his thoughts like a blade. Shapes in the hall began to twist, flickering between reality and nightmare. He saw a forest consumed by black roots, Titanbound trapped beneath molten chains, Shadowblade's blades snapping uselessly in her hands.
Aren forced himself to steady his breathing. This is not real. This is testing. I control the Blackwood. I control the roots.
He extended his hand, palms glowing faintly green, roots pushing up from the floor in response. They coiled around the shadows, trying to anchor them, to hold them at bay. The illusions shrieked — not with sound, but with pressure, filling his mind with visions of failure, despair, and endless loss.
Shadowblade moved silently beside him, striking downward with her blades. Every illusion that lunged for her vanished under the edge of steel. Yet the whispers found their way into her mind, half-formed phrases that tugged at memory: You failed before… You will fail again… They will die because of you.
Titanbound roared, his fists erupting with molten energy. Every blow shattered a phantom figure, yet more formed in its place. The pulse beneath the floor intensified, echoing within his chest, like a drumbeat from another world.
Aren gritted his teeth, forcing energy into the Blackwood, controlling not just the roots beneath the floor but threads of the forest that had been bound to him since their first confrontation with the fissure. I will not falter.
The chamber seemed to twist. The ceiling lowered, shadows bending toward them. Faces appeared in every surface—walls, floor, even the broken windows. Each face was a twisted reflection of someone he knew. Friends. Allies. Enemies. All distorted, mocking, accusing.
Aren stumbled backward. "Focus," he whispered. "Control. Anchor yourself."
A voice — deep, layered, unmistakably the second core — resonated in all of them. They will fracture. They will falter. And then… the roots will remember.
Titanbound's flames flared, pushing back the shadows. "I don't care if it knows my fears! It doesn't know my will!"
Shadowblade's blades danced faster, cutting down illusions before they reached them. "Stay together. That's the only way to survive this."
But the shadows were clever. They moved not toward their bodies, but toward their memories. A flash of Titanbound's past battle, a memory of loss he had buried, was used to throw him off balance. A recollection of Shadowblade's failure to save an innocent created hesitation in her stance. And Aren—visions of the forest's roots strangling the living, of those he couldn't save—assaulted him relentlessly.
Aren forced his mind into focus, letting the mark on his palm flare violently. Roots surged from the floor, curling around illusions, holding them at bay. He pushed deeper, connecting with the pulse beneath the chamber, sending it through the Blackwood threads. I control the roots. I control the Blackwood. Not you.
The pulse recoiled. Shadows shrieked in silent agony, then reformed, now flickering with more aggression. The second core had escalated, probing further, testing not just their mental strength, but their connection with each other.
"I can feel it trying to separate us!" Shadowblade shouted. "It wants us to turn on each other!"
Titanbound growled, sending molten fists into the illusions. "Then we stay in formation! No breaks, no doubt!"
Aren stepped forward, green energy flaring along his veins. "We fight it together. Focus on what is real. Focus on the bond we've forged."
The pulse shifted, a low rumble now traveling through walls, floor, and ceiling. A subtle vibration ran through their spines, like a warning, or perhaps a promise of worse to come. Shapes coalesced into a singular, jagged form—a monstrous silhouette of their fears combined. It moved with intent, each step synchronized with the pulse beneath the floor.
Your bonds are weak. Your mind is fractured. You will fall.
Titanbound charged forward, striking the form, but it flowed around him, absorbing every blow. Shadowblade darted, slashing at limbs that were not solid. The figure shifted, changing its attack pattern, probing for weaknesses.
Aren felt a sharp pull in his mind, like unseen hands trying to drag him into the pool of memory and fear. He forced his focus outward, connecting with the Blackwood, threading roots through the chamber, binding the illusions, anchoring his allies. Pain flared along his arms, his chest, but he did not release control.
The form screamed—not in sound, but in mental vibration, reverberating against every nerve, every thought, every heartbeat. "Give in," it whispered. "Let go. Let the roots claim you. Let yourself fracture."
Aren's vision blurred. He saw the faces of friends he had lost, allies betrayed, forests he could not save. Each memory threatened to drown him. But he clenched his fists, forcing the roots outward. I will not fall. Not now. Not ever.
The roots struck the figure, lashing in patterns that reflected their unity—Titanbound's molten energy, Shadowblade's precision, and Aren's control of the Blackwood. The figure recoiled, shifting violently, then dissolved into the shadows of the chamber, leaving only the faint green pulse beneath the floor.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Titanbound leaned against the wall, breathing hard. "Is… it gone?"
Aren did not answer immediately. His palms glowed faintly, still connected to the roots. "For now," he said quietly. "But it was not the full force. That… whatever it is… learned from us tonight. It will be stronger the next time."
Shadowblade sheathed her blades slowly. "We survived. Together."
Aren nodded, feeling the exhaustion seep into his bones, but also the resolve harden. "Together. Always. And next time, we will be ready."
But somewhere beneath the keep, in the Blackwood's deepest veins, the second core pulsed and whispered, patient, hungry, and unbroken.
This is only the beginning…