At first Linda thought she was underwater. The air was heavy and cold, and when she moved, light rippled through it in slow, liquid waves. Then her eyes adjusted and she saw she was lying on smooth black stone. The shimmer came not from water but from veins of pale blue fire running through the floor like living roots.
She pushed herself upright. The chamber stretched endlessly in all directions, a forest of pillars carved with runes that pulsed faintly, keeping time with her heartbeat. Somewhere close by, something breathed. A quiet, rhythmic sigh that wasn't hers.
"Philip?"
A groan answered from the shadows. He sat up, brushing dust from his cloak, eyes wide at the sight around them. "By the gods…"
"They're not gone," Linda said. Her voice echoed strangely, multiplied by the cavern. "This place is them."
Philip stared at the veins of fire. "It's like the castle's roots go straight into the Veil itself."
They stood, testing their footing. The air vibrated under each step, as if the stones remembered every footfall that had ever touched them. Far across the hall, a faint light pulsed, calling like a heartbeat.
"We need to find a way out," Philip said, though his tone betrayed curiosity more than fear.
Linda moved toward the light. "Maybe that is the way out."
The nearer they drew, the louder the breathing became—soft but immense, like wind through a sleeping creature's lungs. A circular platform rose from the floor ahead, carved with the spiral tree. Around it, faint figures shimmered: women in robes, hands rose in mid-chant, faces blurred by time. Their mouths moved soundlessly until one by one they turned toward Linda.
The blue fire brightened. The figures spoke in a single voice that brushed the air like silk:
"Blood that was sealed. Voice that was silenced. The Sanctum remembers."
Linda's pendant flared, casting a silver halo around her. The ghostly choir dissolved, leaving only the low hum of the runes. Where they had stood, a single stone tablet rose from the floor, inscribed with lines half-erased.
Philip stepped closer, reading aloud:
"When the Veil was woven, one name was cut away.
One blood spared, that the song might sleep until called by storm."
He looked at her. "It's talking about you."
Linda shook her head. "It can't be. I'm no one."
"'spared blood,'" he murmured. "That means the line continued. Someone hid your family when magic was outlawed."
She felt dizzy. "My mother always said our village was built on sacred ground."
A sound interrupted her—a crack like stone splitting. From the pillars around them, dust fell in thin streams. The breathing had stopped. In its place came a low whisper, deeper than sound:
"Wake … Wake …"
The runes on the nearest pillar flared red. The veins of fire changed color, burning through the spectrum until they glowed gold. Philip grabbed her wrist. "Whatever this is, it's waking up."
A fissure tore open across the floor. From it spilled mist that smelled of rain and old iron. Within the mist, shapes formed—wings, eyes, hands reaching. Linda felt the pull of it in her bones, the same energy that had answered her storm in Bramblehollow.
She forced a breath. "It's the Veil's heart. It's remembering us."
Philip drew his sword, though he knew steel was useless. "Then we remember back. Together."
He reached for her hand. The moment their palms met, blue and silver light intertwined, climbing their arms like vines. The fissure shuddered. The mist recoiled, shrieking without a sound.
For an instant, Linda saw flashes—memories not her own. A temple burning. A woman with eyes like her own chanting over a cradle. A crown falling into water.
Then the light died. The fissure sealed itself with a sigh.
They stood panting in the sudden stillness. Above them, faint outlines of stairways and rooms shimmered—the citadel's underside. Somewhere up there, people were walking on floors that no longer truly separated them from this ancient place.
Philip's voice was rough. "We just touched the thing that built our world."
"And it's not finished," Linda whispered. "It wants to wake completely."
From the far shadows, a slow clap echoed. A figure stepped into the blue glow—Serah Vale.
Her uniform was torn, eyes gleaming gold again, but her expression was almost tender.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" she said. "The old gods singing through the stones."
Philip tensed. "How did you find us?"
Serah tilted her head. "I was born here. We all were, once." Her gaze lingered on Linda. "The Veil calls to its children. Some answer sooner than others."
Before they could reply, the light behind Serah rippled—and something vast moved within it. She smiled, sad and fierce at once. "You woke the heart, Linda Shawn. Now you'll learn what it remembers."
The ground cracked again, swallowing her silhouette. The cavern plunged into darkness.
The darkness that followed Serah's disappearance did not feel empty. It listened.
A faint blue glow returned, blooming from the runes around the platform. Linda and Philip stood motionless until they were sure the stone beneath their feet had stopped shifting. Then they began to walk, moving along a narrow corridor that spiraled downward from the chamber.
The air grew cooler. The faint scent of old parchment drifted up.
"I think we're below the royal archives," Philip said, running his hand along the wall. His voice sounded different down here — reverent, almost hushed.
"Who builds an archive under the earth?" Linda whispered.
"People who have something to hide."
The corridor opened into a circular room filled with shelves carved directly into the rock. Each shelf was lined with tablets and scrolls wrapped in brittle linen. Dust lay thick as frost. In the center stood a single marble lectern, its surface etched with hundreds of names.
A broken lantern flickered weakly nearby. Philip struck flint against it until it caught. The new light revealed what the stone had tried to hide:
THE PURGE OF THE VEIL — YEAR 201 AFTER ASCENSION
Beneath the title stretched an endless list of names, carefully chiseled into the marble. Some were scored through with deep scratches, as if someone had tried to erase them. Others glowed faintly, the letters warm under Linda's fingertips.
She began to read. "Cyria Vale… Theren Dawn… Alenor Shawn…"
Her breath caught.
Philip looked up sharply. "What did you say?"
Linda traced the letters again, afraid they might vanish. "Alenor Shawn. That was my grandmother's name."
"She was part of the Purge?"
Linda shook her head slowly. "No. She never told us anything about Lockwood. Only that our bloodline was older than the crown itself."
Philip bent over the tablet, studying the other names near it. "The Vale family's here too," he murmured. "Serah's mother… and her grandmother. Both executed."
"And my grandmother," Linda whispered. "But I'm alive."
"She must have escaped," he said. "Maybe with help from someone in the castle."
His fingers brushed over a separate inscription at the bottom, half-covered by dust. Together they cleared it and read:
"Thus the Veil is sealed by the sacrifice of the storm-born and the silence of the crown."
Philip's throat tightened. "Silence of the crown…"
"Your mother," Linda said quietly.
He nodded once. "My father never said how she died. Only that it was necessary."
The words echoed in the chamber like a verdict.
As they stood there, the lantern light wavered. One by one, the carved names began to shimmer — not blue this time but gold, the same hue that had glowed in Serah's eyes. A soft murmur filled the air, overlapping voices speaking in forgotten tongues.
Philip's hand went instinctively to his sword. "What are they saying?"
Linda listened. At first the sound was meaningless, but gradually it formed into words she understood:
"Not dead. Not gone. We sleep beneath the silence."
She shivered. "They're the ones who were purged."
Philip looked around, wary. "Then what is this place? A grave or a prison?"
Before she could answer, one of the scrolls on the wall slid free of its shelf and unfurled in midair. The parchment was marked with the same spiral-tree sigil, but now the branches were inverted — roots pointing upward, crown buried below. Lines of ink rearranged themselves into a map of the citadel, then twisted again, revealing a tunnel leading even deeper.
Linda reached for it, and the map burned briefly against her palm, leaving a faint imprint. "It wants us to go there."
Philip frowned. "Or it wants to trap us."
"Either way," she said, meeting his eyes, "it's the only truth we've found so far."
The chamber trembled as if agreeing. The runes around the lectern flared once more, and then dimmed. A faint gust stirred the dust, whispering past them like a sigh of release.
As they turned to leave, Linda paused and looked back at the wall of names. The gold glow faded, but one name remained alight:
SERAH VALE.
She stared at it, feeling a sudden cold certainty settle in her chest.
"She's not just a servant," Linda whispered. "She's one of them. One of the purged."
Philip's expression hardened. "Then she's the key to everything my family destroyed."
A deep rumble answered from below, as though the earth itself had heard and approved. Somewhere in the dark beneath their feet, chains began to move.