The fissure beneath the shrine split wider with a groan that shook the marsh. A stench rolled up from the depths—wet earth, rot, and something older, like burnt bone. Liora fought to keep her footing as the cracked altar pitched sideways. The soldiers were scattering in the chaos, but Branek's voice rose over the din like a hammer striking an anvil.
"Hold the line! Bring the chains forward!"
He waded through the mud with grim purpose, sword drawn, torchlight throwing harsh shadows across his scarred face. Behind him, his men hauled the heavy iron spikes meant to anchor their makeshift cage around the shrine. They had no idea what they were truly tampering with.
The Beast roared again, and the sound made the reeds bow as if in a storm. She lunged toward the advancing soldiers—antlers sweeping, claws flashing. Men were flung aside like straw dolls, their torches flying into the dark. But even as she tore through their line, her movements faltered; her form flickered, woman and monster overlapping as though the bond between them strained under the weight of what stirred below.
"Maren!" Liora shouted. "It's waking!"
Maren stood at the altar's edge, chanting faster, voice raw. Her hands were slick with blood where she'd cut her palms to trace the runes. She didn't look back, but Liora saw the strain in her shoulders. "I know!" she cried. "The Circle's broken. I'm trying to hold it!"
Corren slammed his spear into the chest of a soldier who tried to flank them. "We can't keep this up," he growled, bracing the weapon as another rushed him. "They just keep coming!"
"They're not here to fight the Beast," Liora realized. "They're here to open the prison."
She spun toward Branek. He was no ordinary fool; he was already at the base of the shrine, barking orders for the wagon to be pushed closer. The chains weren't meant to contain the Beast—they were tools to pull the altar apart. Men hooked the iron links through the cracked stone, securing them to the wagon wheels.
If they succeeded, the altar would shatter.
And whatever lay beneath would be free.
Liora ran. She vaulted a fallen pillar and slid down a slope slick with moss, nearly losing her lantern in the process. Branek saw her coming and lifted his sword, the firelight catching the gleam in his eyes.
"Too late, witch," he snarled. "The Circle dies tonight."
She drew the dagger from her belt—not meant for dueling, but sharp enough—and met his strike. Steel rang against steel. Branek was stronger, but she was faster. She ducked his swing and drove her blade toward his ribs; he twisted aside, kicking her hard in the stomach. She fell back against a stone slab, breath knocked from her lungs.
Above them, the Beast turned mid-fight, as if sensing Liora's peril. Her massive head lowered, nostrils flaring, a low growl rumbling out. Branek froze for a heartbeat, eyes widening as he met her gaze.
Then he smiled. "Come then, monster," he taunted, raising his sword.
She charged.
But before she reached him, the ground between them exploded. A geyser of black water and mud shot upward. The fissure yawned like a mouth. From its depths, tendrils of darkness—half smoke, half something more tangible—uncoiled into the air, writhing like serpents.
Maren screamed, the chant breaking. "No!"
The Beast staggered. Her shape flickered wildly—woman, beast, woman again—until for a heartbeat, Liora saw the true form beneath: a vast silhouette, antlers that scraped the stars, a face like carved wood and bone. Not merely an animal, but something born of the marsh's oldest nightmares.
The soldiers broke. Panic spread like fire through dry brush. Some fled toward the treeline; others dropped their weapons and fell to their knees in prayer or despair.
Branek did not run.
He grabbed the chains and bellowed to the few men who remained loyal. "Pull!"
The wagon wheels churned in the mud. Iron groaned. A crack shot through the altar like lightning through glass.
Liora scrambled to her feet and lunged at Branek again. This time, she aimed low. Her dagger bit into his thigh. He roared, swinging wildly, and she rolled clear, mud splattering her face. The Beast slammed into the wagon, toppling it onto its side and snapping several chains. Branek staggered, blood soaking his trousers, but his grin didn't fade.
"You can't stop it," he spat. "You think that thing is your savior? It's just the jailer. I'm after the prisoner."
Liora's stomach turned cold. "What prisoner?"
Before he could answer, the fissure erupted again. This time it wasn't water. A pulse of dark light shot into the sky, a beam that split the clouds. Every living thing in the marsh went silent. Even the Beast froze, her gaze turning downward, ears flat against her skull.
Maren's voice cracked with terror. "It's breaching the seal!"
Liora rushed to her side. "Tell me what to do!"
Maren's hands shook. Blood dripped from her fingertips into the fissure. "We have to complete the pact—but it needs three. Three voices, three marks. I can't hold it alone."
Liora understood. The Circle had always been threefold: Binder, Keeper, Watcher. Maren was the Binder. The Beast was the Keeper. But the Watcher…
She looked at Corren.
He was surrounded, fighting off the last of Branek's soldiers near the base of the hill. She sprinted toward him, ducking under a falling chunk of stone. "Corren!" she shouted. "I need you!"
He didn't hesitate. He struck his opponent across the face with the butt of his spear and ran to her side, panting, blood streaked across his arm.
"What do I do?" he asked.
Maren extended a bloodied hand toward him. "Swear your life to the Circle. No hesitation. No doubt."
Corren glanced at Liora. "This is madness."
She met his gaze, steady. "It's the only way."
He nodded once. "Then do it."
Maren pressed her palm to his chest, muttered a guttural phrase, and dragged a line of blood over his sternum. Corren winced but didn't pull away. The ground responded immediately: the fissure trembled, the tendrils recoiled, and the black light flickered.
"Liora!" Maren called.
Liora stepped forward. Maren seized her wrist and sliced a line across her palm with ritual precision. Pain flared, but Liora didn't flinch. She pressed her hand to the altar, and Maren joined her. Corren placed his bloodied hand over theirs.
The shrine hummed. Not gently, but like a struck bell.
The fissure roared as if something below howled in fury. The tendrils writhed violently, striking against the pillars. One slammed into a stone near Corren, shattering it to dust. But the three held their ground.
"Repeat after me," Maren shouted over the chaos. "We bind the Circle. We name the Keeper. We seal the deep."
They spoke together. Three voices. Three marks.
The Beast howled—not in rage, but in acknowledgment. She planted her claws at the edge of the fissure, antlers thrown back. A wind whipped outward from her, tearing through the marsh like a storm front. One by one, the remaining chains snapped.
The fissure's edges began to knit together, black tendrils shriveling like burned paper. The dark light faltered.
Branek, bleeding and furious, stumbled toward them with his sword raised. "You think you've won? You've only delayed it!"
He charged.
Corren broke formation to intercept him. Steel clashed again, echoing through the night. Branek was wounded but relentless; Corren was exhausted but burning with a newfound resolve. They fought at the shrine's edge as the ritual thundered on behind them.
With a final twist, Corren drove the spearpoint through Branek's side. The man gasped, eyes wide—not in fear, but in something like exhilaration. "You don't even know… what's down there," he whispered, then collapsed.
The fissure snapped shut with a sound like a mountain exhaling.
Silence fell.
The shrine stood broken but still standing. The Beast lowered her head, breath steaming in the cold night air. For the first time, she looked at Liora—not as prey or threat, but as something closer to an equal.
Maren sank to her knees, trembling. "It's sealed. For now."
Liora stared at the closed fissure. "For now" echoed in her mind like a warning.
Above them, the beam of dark light was gone. But the clouds it had split hung heavy and bruised. Something had stirred beneath the marsh. And though the Circle held… the ground was thinner than ever.