At the break of dawn, fog still crept through the streets like heavy breath. Celin led them toward the city's lower alleys, where stone met rot and the air carried the taste of rusted iron. Everything here felt different from the upper quarter — the shops were shuttered, the faces hollow, and eyes followed passersby in uneasy silence.
Willem stopped at the mouth of a narrow passage.
"Here. There's an old corridor that links this area to the tunnels under the Root."
Luin studied the shadows stretching ahead.
"You're sure you know the way?"
Willem gave a short smile without warmth.
"I used to work down there, back when I was still with the Church. There isn't a dark place in this city I haven't passed through once."
Celin moved forward, her steps sure and unhurried. Despite her noble clothes, she didn't flinch at the dirt or the darkness. In her hand she carried a small lamp that glowed with a cold blue light — something not quite of this world.
Their footsteps echoed along damp stone. The ground sloped downward; the air grew thick, almost too heavy to breathe.
Suddenly Willem raised a hand. "Listen."
Luin strained his ears. Beneath the drip of water, another sound — faint, almost human. A distant moan rising from below.
"It's the same pulse," Celin said quietly. "Just closer."
But Luin heard more than a pulse.
There were whispers — indistinct, curling through the walls like threads of smoke. He couldn't understand the words, but they crawled over his skin.
A rusted iron gate waited at the end of the corridor. Symbols were carved across it — the same ones that haunted Luin's dreams. Willem drew a polished shard of bone, slid it into the lock, muttered a few short words. The gate groaned open.
Beyond it, the tunnel widened. Massive roots tangled across the floor and ceiling like sleeping serpents. Cavities in the walls held human remains half-buried in clay.
"This is where the legend began," Celin said, stepping first. "The texts say the first priest who tried to touch the power beneath the earth was buried among these roots."
"Trying to comfort me?" Luin asked dryly.
"Just reminding you where we're headed," she replied without turning.
The pulse deepened as they walked, until the ground itself throbbed faintly underfoot. The blue light in Celin's lamp flickered, tugged toward the dark ahead.
Willem stopped at a wall of solid stone. Placing his palm against it, he closed his eyes. "From here," he murmured, "the forbidden passage begins. Even the Church didn't dare seal it completely."
"Open it," Celin said.
He hesitated. "Do you know what you're asking?"
"I said open it."
After a moment's silence, he sighed. Cutting his finger, he drew a small circle in blood. The stone trembled and split with a glowing crack. Air poured out — thick, heavy, smelling of ash and something like old flesh.
Luin's voice was barely a whisper. "This place… feels me."
"You're only feeling what they left behind," Willem said. "Don't let it see your fear."
They stepped inside. The walls here were smooth, almost glassy — black and light-swallowing. Strange symbols were carved across them in a dark red hue that still glimmered, alive after centuries.
Luin stopped before one wall. When his fingers brushed a symbol, heat surged up his arm, echoing through his chest. A voice — clear this time — spoke inside his head:
"Come closer."
He flinched, and Willem pulled him back sharply.
"Don't touch anything!"
Celin's eyes were sharp. "What did you hear?"
Luin hesitated. "A voice. It told me to come closer."
She said nothing, but exchanged a worried glance with Willem.
They descended a narrow stairway and emerged into a vast chamber. Thick roots coiled across the ceiling. In the center lay a pool of black liquid, its surface smooth as glass. Something beneath it pulsed — slow, steady, alive.
Willem's voice was low. "This is it. The Heart beneath the Root."
The pool seemed to breathe, inhaling and exhaling with each pulse. A faint, metallic mist rose and filled the air.
Celin pulled a triangular stone from her bag. "We'll perform a temporary seal. Luin, stand here. Willem, draw the marks."
They obeyed without question. Willem traced black chalk sigils on the ground while Celin stood opposite him, chanting in an ancient tongue. Her voice was calm but grew sharper, louder — and with every word, the pulse quickened.
Luin felt something stir inside him, answering the rhythm. His blood slowed. The air thickened around him. Another heartbeat — not the one from the pool — thudded inside his ribs.
"Celin…" he managed. "Something's—"
She didn't hear him. Her voice rose higher.
Then the surface of the pool split apart. A strand of black light burst upward, wrapping around Willem's sigils and erasing them. He stumbled back with a cry. "Stop! It's reacting!"
But it was too late.
A pale hand broke through the dark water, followed by a half-seen face, its eyes empty yet fixed on Luin.
In that instant, Luin's own heart stopped. All he heard was the pulse — one single, living rhythm.
The voice spoke again, clear as breath:
"You are not sealing me… You are reminding me who I was."
Willem dragged him back as Celin hurled the stone toward the pool. It struck the surface and exploded into blinding white light.
When it faded, the pool was still again.
They sat in silence, catching their breath.
"We stopped it," Willem said. "But only for now."
Celin turned to Luin. His skin was pale, his eyes distant.
"What did it say to you?"
He swallowed. "It said… it doesn't want to escape."
They climbed back to the surface before sunrise. The cold air felt too clean after what they had seen. None of them spoke until they reached the manor gates.
As they walked, Willem finally said, "Are you sure about this, Celin? We've risked too much already."
Her voice was quiet, steady, but tinged with something sorrowful.
"My family has used me enough. I won't let them again. I have my own wealth, my own name — and they know our house stands neutral before the Church. They won't dare touch Luin… or me."
Willem met her eyes for a long moment, then said softly, "I hope you're right."
They entered the manor, and the doors closed behind them with a heavy echo.
That night, Luin sat alone on his balcony. The city lay silent — too silent. Beneath it, something still breathed.
He pressed a hand to his chest. The pulse answered — faint but alive, not his own.
A breeze carried the scent of damp earth. He closed his eyes. For a moment he saw it again — the black pool, the pale hand, the eyes that held not hatred… but memory.
He whispered, barely audible,
"Were you ever like me?"
No answer came. But the wind flickered the lamp flame — a quiet, almost human gesture.
Far below, in the chamber they had left behind, the black pool stirred again, slow and patient.
And on the wall opposite, new words bled into existence — written in fresh crimson:
The seal is not an end… but the beginning of those who awaken.
(to be continued…)