CHAPTER 35: BELOW THE VEIL OF STONE

A damp chill seeped into the annex as Kael knelt beside a makeshift table fashioned from two salvaged planks and a slab of fallen masonry. Resting atop it was the water-stained scroll the hooded woman had retrieved—a delicate relic from another age. She crouched across from him, her careful fingers unrolling the parchment a fraction at a time while the nameless man kept watch near the dais. Outside, the rain continued its unceasing drumbeat, an omnipresent rhythm that matched Kael’s own restless pulse.

The lantern’s flame burned low, casting flickering light across the faded symbols. Most of the writing had been rendered illegible by centuries of decay, but here and there, faint lines remained. The hooded woman’s brow furrowed in concentration as she traced one such line with a thin sliver of wood, careful not to press too hard.

“Still can’t make out more than fragments,” she murmured. “The script seems to combine pictorial elements with some form of stylized letters. Repeated shapes might be key words… or references to something significant.”

Kael leaned in, ignoring the protest from his sore ribs. “This symbol,” he said, pointing to a shape reminiscent of an eye with radiating lines. “It’s all over these ruins. Could it mean the Mark? Or perhaps whatever deity these people once worshipped?”

The hooded woman exhaled quietly. “Hard to say. Iconography like this often represents divine watchers, celestial bodies, or sources of mystical power. If this culture recognized the Mark at all, they might have revered it—or feared it.”

A thunderclap rattled the annex, sending droplets cascading from newly formed cracks in the roof. Kael glanced at the dais, where the nameless man still stood as though on guard. There was an air of expectancy about him, and Kael wondered if the older man sensed something more imminent than a storm.

“Find anything new?” the nameless man asked, without turning his gaze from the swirling carvings.

“Not yet,” the hooded woman replied. “But I suspect if the rest of this place is as old as we think, these letters might predate the Imperium by millennia.”

Kael felt a churn of unease. The Imperium had reigned for centuries, yet here was evidence of a culture that flourished in an era so distant it verged on myth. If these people had known of the Mark, their knowledge might offer a path to controlling it—assuming it hadn’t destroyed them first. He rose carefully, the scroll left partially unrolled on the table.

“All right,” he said, wiping a strand of rain-soaked hair from his forehead. “We have a partial lead here. And we know there’s a sub-level in the corridor to the east. If these worshippers hid anything important, it might be down there.”

The hooded woman straightened, arms crossing over her chest. “We’re too exhausted to delve into a pit we know nothing about. Even with rope, the floor could give way at any moment. And if we injure ourselves further…”

Kael’s side ached in agreement. “I’m not saying we rush in recklessly. But we should at least confirm what’s down there. If we spot a library, crypt, or… something else, that’s progress.”

She studied him for a long moment before nodding. “Fine. But no more than a quick look. We don’t descend unless we can do it safely.”

He turned to the nameless man, who gave a single nod and spoke in a low voice. “I’ll prepare what rope we have. We’ll need makeshift torches—this lantern won’t be enough if we’re searching a wide area.”

Kael agreed, fetching an old piece of torn fabric that might serve as torch wrappings. The annex held a surprising amount of debris—broken beams, splintered boards, fragments of crates and shelves—enough to fashion crude torches if they were careful. While the hooded woman inspected each piece of wood for stability, Kael pulled out a small flask of oil from their scant supplies. They’d need the flame to see in that underground darkness.

In under an hour, they had assembled three torches. The hooded woman doused each in oil, mindful not to soak them too heavily. Meanwhile, the nameless man retrieved rope from his pack—a single coil, frayed in places. Kael frowned at the worn strands, but it was all they had.

At last, they gathered near the eastern passage, each wearing expressions torn between curiosity and reluctance. The corridor beyond was lit only by the dim daylight filtering in from the annex and whatever scattered reflection the puddles provided. The presence of that yawning pit gave the space an almost cavernous feel, as though the entire building were sinking into the earth’s bowels.

Rain pelted in from a half-collapsed portion of the corridor ceiling, forming a slick coating on the mossy floor. The nameless man stood at the edge of the pit, peering down into the blackness while Kael and the hooded woman held the lantern and an unlit torch. The gloom below seemed impenetrable.

“Allow me,” said the nameless man, voice echoing faintly against the crumbling walls. He accepted the lantern from Kael, crouched, and lowered it as far as his arm could reach without risking a plunge. The feeble beam revealed broken stones, shards of collapsed support beams, and a hint of open space continuing in multiple directions. The air that wafted up smelled stale, tinged with a sulfurous tang.

Kael squinted. “I see… a floor about three, maybe four yards down. It’s uneven, though—could be a slope leading deeper.” He held the torch out. “Let’s see if there’s a ledge or anything to anchor the rope.”

Careful not to disturb the fragile edges of the pit, the hooded woman and the nameless man examined the corridor’s corners. Eventually, they found a section of stone pillar that rose from the collapsed floor and appeared securely wedged into place. They looped the rope around it multiple times, testing the tension. The pillar creaked but held firm.

“Should be enough for a quick descent,” the hooded woman muttered, though Kael saw the doubt in her eyes. “I’m not thrilled about this, but it might be our only lead.”

They each lit a torch, extinguishing the lantern to conserve oil. Wisps of smoke curled from the rag-bound heads as they flared to life, casting jittery orange light across the battered stone. The flickering shadows made the corridor seem alive, swirling in tandem with the steady drip of rain.

Kael stepped forward, testing the rope with a sharp tug. Pain lanced through his ribs, but he gritted his teeth and secured the line around his waist. “I’ll go first,” he said. He was the most adept at climbing from his time as an Inquisitor, scaling fortress walls or rocky inclines during covert missions. He also felt a responsibility to lead, given that the Mark was both the cause and potential solution to their predicament.

“We’ll be right behind you,” the hooded woman replied, holding her torch high to illuminate his path.

With the rope taut in his grip, Kael shifted his torch to his left hand, mindful of the open flames. He eased himself over the edge, boots digging into the fractured stone. The pit’s rim crumbled slightly beneath his weight, sending pebbles cascading into the darkness. His pulse hammered as he carefully lowered himself foot by foot, the torchlight bobbing against the slick walls.

The damp air below felt cooler, stale. A breeze brushed past him, moaning through unseen corridors. After a few tense moments, his boots touched uneven ground. He exhaled in relief—though it was short-lived when he realized the floor sloped sharply downward. Mud and crumbling debris threatened his balance.

“Kael?” the hooded woman’s voice drifted down. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” he called back, steadying himself. “Just watch your step.”

Holding his torch out, he took a slow survey of the space. The hole he’d come through was about a yard overhead now; the floor sank further into what appeared to be a corridor twisting off to the left, partially blocked by fallen beams. Dripping water pooled near the center, flowing in rivulets toward an unseen drain.

One corner of this sub-level showed signs of stonework—arches and pillars—but the partial collapse made it impossible to discern the original design. A dull patter echoed from deeper within, merging with the steady pulse of his own heartbeat.

The rope jerked as the hooded woman descended. Her torchlight joined Kael’s, doubling their circle of illumination. She nearly slipped on the wet slope, catching herself with a soft curse. Once stable, she peered around, expression grim.

The nameless man came last, lowering himself with minimal fuss. He unhooked from the rope and stood beside them, posture coiled. “I’ll tie the rope off here in case we need to climb back quickly,” he said. “Keep an eye out for anything… unnatural.”

Kael offered a brief nod, remembering the horrors the Imperium sometimes kept chained in their dungeons—abominations that defied human understanding. This ruin, with its antiquity and closeness to the Mark’s mystery, could hide creatures even worse. The notion quickened his breath, but he pressed forward, gingerly navigating the slope.

Their twin torches revealed a corridor that extended maybe ten yards before vanishing around a bend. The floor kept slanting downward, littered with shards of broken stone and rotting timbers. Moss and mold clung to every surface, turning once-proud walls into a slick patchwork of green and gray. The rank odor grew stronger, an earthy staleness tainted by a faint whiff of decay.

Kael paused at a fallen arch. The top half jutted from the floor at an odd angle, forming a kind of half-tunnel that forced them to crouch if they wanted to continue. On the far side, something glinted in the torchlight—metallic, reflective.

“Hold this,” he murmured, passing his torch to the hooded woman. She stood behind him, the warm glow illuminating the dripping arch. Kael leaned forward, fingertips sliding across the wet stone. He blinked against the musty air, squinting to get a better look.

A piece of corroded metal lay wedged beneath a chunk of masonry. Its shape was irregular, but it reminded him of a broken blade or spearhead. Gently, Kael pried it free. The metal was thick with rust, the edges chipped. A faint symbol was etched into the surface—unreadable, but reminiscent of the swirling designs they kept encountering.

The nameless man crouched beside him, peering at the artifact. “A weapon, or part of one.”

“Has to be centuries old,” Kael said. “Maybe older.”

The hooded woman let out a soft exhale. “The more we see, the more it feels like an entire civilization was buried down here. If they had weapons, they might have had an army, or at least a militia. An entire people lost to time.”

Kael set the metal fragment aside, feeling a subtle tremor pass through the floor. It might have been just the ground shifting under his weight, but it put him on edge. “We should keep moving,” he said, retrieving his torch. “This place feels unstable.”

They pressed on, ducking under the half-collapsed arch. The corridor turned sharply, opening onto a small antechamber that had fared better than the rest of the sub-level. The ceiling here remained intact—a squat dome from which water trickled in a steady drip. At the chamber’s center stood a squat pedestal, half-buried in silt. Above it, a stone relief protruded from the wall: a stylized eye with curling lines radiating outward, almost identical to the symbol on the scroll.

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A hush fell over them. Even the dripping water seemed subdued in this strange alcove, as though stepping into a private domain. Kael felt the Mark thrum, a slow, insistent beat that seemed to resonate with the carved eye. His torchlight danced over the relief, revealing more swirling lines that converged at the pupil. Something about the shape reminded him of the dais above—a counterpart, or perhaps a lesser reflection.

The hooded woman approached the pedestal, running a hand across its moss-covered surface. She brushed away layers of slime, revealing faint carvings that formed concentric rings. They were reminiscent of the dais’s spiral patterns but arranged in a different configuration. A half-broken stone chalice lay overturned beside the pedestal, its base etched with the same swirling symbols.

Kael felt a surge of possibility. Could this be a minor ritual site, connected to the dais overhead? If so, maybe activating one location could impact the other. The Mark flared with restless energy, urging him to test that theory. He gritted his teeth, resisting the compulsion.

“This place…” the nameless man murmured, stepping closer to the relief. His eyes locked on the carved eye. “It’s as if each level of these ruins was devoted to a different function. Above was a central dais, perhaps for public rites. Down here… more private ceremonies?”

The hooded woman’s voice carried a note of awe—and dread. “Private, or forbidden.”

A faint current of air stirred, snuffing out the hooded woman’s torch in a sudden flicker. She hissed in surprise. Kael’s torch still cast enough light to see, but the chamber’s corners descended into deeper shadow, dancing at the edges of his peripheral vision. He tried to steady his nerves, reminding himself that a stray gust wasn’t necessarily ominous—this entire place was riddled with cracks.

But then the Mark pulsed in a slow, rhythmic pattern. He almost staggered with the sensation, a wave of warmth rolling across his arm and into his chest. For an instant, his vision dimmed around the edges. The carved eye on the wall seemed to ripple, as though the stone itself flexed. He blinked, struggling to refocus, uncertain if he was seeing illusions or if the ruin itself responded to the Mark.

“Kael?” the hooded woman said, concern etched in her voice. She relit her torch using Kael’s flame. “You look pale.”

He inhaled shakily. “The Mark. It reacted. Maybe to this place.”

The nameless man’s expression tightened. “We need to decide if we’re going deeper. This site might hold answers, but we’re vulnerable down here—and unprepared if we stir up something beyond our power.”

A moment of silence passed, heavy as the stones above them. Every instinct Kael possessed screamed caution, but he also recalled the Imperium’s unstoppable might and the Sovereign’s Chosen. If there was even a chance of gleaning the knowledge he needed to tame the Mark—enough to match the Imperium’s power—could he afford to turn back?

“We press on,” Kael said quietly, hating how uncertain his voice sounded. “Just a bit further. If we find nothing of value, we retreat.”

The hooded woman didn’t argue, though her jaw set in a tense line. She took the lead now, torch held in front, carefully navigating the antechamber’s slick floor. The nameless man followed, scanning each shadow. Kael trailed behind, heart pounding in time with the Mark’s simmering energy. For each step they took, he felt as though a coil tightened around his chest, drawing him deeper into something not wholly of this world.

Beyond the pedestal and carved eye, another archway beckoned. Water streamed across the threshold in a continuous sheet, dripping from somewhere above. Moss slicked the stones, making each stride a hazard. Kael’s torchlight revealed the corridor beyond to be narrower, with walls that pressed in close enough to brush their shoulders. The stone blocks here were fitted more precisely, forming a passage that suggested a place of importance—like a secret hallway leading to a sanctum.

A short distance in, the hooded woman halted. Her eyes fixed on the ground. “Tracks,” she said softly. She crouched, passing her torch to the nameless man so she could run a finger over a faint imprint in the muddy silt. “Boot prints, or at least footwear. And they’re not old—some of the edges are still defined despite the water.”

Kael’s stomach turned. “Could the Chosen have come this way?”

“Possibly,” she whispered, glancing back. “Or others seeking the same secrets we are.”

A chill coursed through Kael. He recalled the illusions of movement he’d thought he saw earlier, as if something lurked at the edges of their light. The idea that the Imperium’s agents, or worse, might already be in these tunnels made his nerves fray. Yet no voices echoed, no footsteps fell. Only the endless drip of water and the distant rumble of thunder from above.

The nameless man examined the tracks. “They lead deeper in. We should be cautious. If they’re still here, we risk an ambush.”

Despite the warning, Kael felt a rush of adrenaline. An ambush would mean direct confrontation, but it might also yield crucial information if their foes carried any. He gestured for the others to follow, raising his torch to dispel as many shadows as possible. “Stay close.”

Step by step, they pushed into the corridor. The tracks continued for several yards, sometimes vanishing where water had washed them away, only to reappear further in. Eventually, they reached a small chamber, barely more than a recess in the wall. Water trickled in a thin sheet from the ceiling, collecting in a shallow basin carved into the floor. The tracks ended here, but no occupant emerged.

The hooded woman carefully circled the basin, her torch illuminating more carved symbols along the rim—those same swirling lines that repeated like a chant. She trailed a hand over them, lips pressed thin. “This might be a place of purification,” she mused. “Or something akin to an antechamber for rites.”

Kael glanced around the tight space. “Then where did whoever made the prints go?”

“I don’t see another exit,” the nameless man murmured, using the torchlight to examine each wall. “Unless there’s a concealed passage.”

They split up, each examining different portions of the walls. Kael found an alcove that dipped low, just wide enough for a person to crawl through—but the space ended abruptly, choked with rubble. Frustration flickered. The presence of recent footprints suggested something else must exist. Yet the water-chiseled stone yielded no obvious door or hidden mechanism.

“Over here,” the hooded woman said suddenly. She knelt beside the basin, her hand pressing against a section of wall that curved inward. Kael and the nameless man hurried over, torch flames bobbing. On closer inspection, he saw an irregular gap in the stone seams, forming a faint outline that might be a doorway.

“Help me push,” she said, bracing both palms against the damp rock.

Kael wedged his shoulder beside hers, and the nameless man positioned himself on the other side. The trio heaved. At first, nothing budged. Then a scraping rumble echoed through the chamber, and the hidden slab shifted. With a final shove, they slid it enough for a narrow gap to appear. Stale air rushed out, carrying a faint odor that Kael could only describe as old death—dust and decay mingled in an acrid burst.

Torchlight spilled into the opening, illuminating a short flight of stairs descending further underground. A sense of threshold overcame Kael, as though crossing that boundary would commit them to a path of no return. The Mark pounded in his arm, insistent, hungry. The dais above, the partial scroll, the carved eye—they were all part of this greater labyrinth. A labyrinth he could only hope held the key to controlling his own fate.

Without words, the hooded woman lifted her torch, nodding at Kael and the nameless man. They formed a silent agreement: continue or yield. Kael swallowed hard, his heart hammering. They’d come this far. Turning back now would only leave questions to haunt them.

He stepped forward, leading the descent with the torch in one hand and the Mark’s relentless fire in the other. Each footstep echoed in the cramped stairwell, reverberating off damp walls carved with more swirling patterns. The odor of old rot grew stronger, wrapping around them like a malignant spirit.

At the bottom, the passage opened into a large chamber. Kael’s torchlight revealed ancient stone columns, each inscribed with symbols depicting robed figures kneeling before a great spiral. More bas-reliefs crowded the walls, and in the center lay something that made his throat tighten: a series of open sarcophagi, their lids shattered or pushed aside.

He counted four, each housing what appeared to be human remains. Time had reduced the corpses to near-skeletons, but scraps of cloth and rusted ornaments lingered. One wore a partial breastplate inlaid with the swirling eye motif. Another clutched a corroded scepter or staff. Kael’s stomach twisted. Burial site? Some kind of honored priesthood or guardians?

Yet not all the sarcophagi were empty. A fifth lay undisturbed, its stone lid pristine except for a single carved symbol that glinted with unnatural sheen under the torchlight. The same eye with radiating lines. And at its base, fresh footprints—boot prints—led right up to the sealed tomb.

The hooded woman’s expression darkened. “Whoever came here… they tampered with the other sarcophagi but left this one alone. Why?”

The nameless man edged closer, examining the scattered bones. “Because maybe even they feared what lay within.”

A tremor ran through Kael’s body. The Mark pulsed, as though challenging him. The door behind them suddenly felt far away. He studied the intact sarcophagus, its silent occupant shielded by centuries of stone. A gentle drip of water from the ceiling made a hollow plink against the lid. He recalled how the dais above seemed to promise revelations—and how this, perhaps, was a darker echo of the same power. If there was a link between the Mark and the entity or entities these people worshipped, it might rest here.

He swallowed, stepping closer to read the runes etched around the lid’s perimeter. Most were too eroded to decipher, but the swirling lines converged on the central eye symbol. The few times he’d let the Mark roam free, it had nearly consumed him. And yet… if this tomb hid a key to harnessing that force, could he walk away?

Lightning flashed somewhere aboveground, sending a flicker through the corridor behind them. In that momentary glare, Kael thought he saw a tall shape at the mouth of the chamber—only to realize it was just a shadow cast by the columns. His nerves were raw, each corner seeming to whisper of ambush or unquiet spirits.

The hooded woman and the nameless man flanked the sarcophagus, each wearing the same uneasy curiosity as Kael. None of them spoke. The Mark hammered inside Kael’s arm, fueling an unshakable sense that they stood on the precipice of something monumental. The air felt charged, as though an ancient presence stirred in the stagnant darkness.

Finally, Kael raised his gaze to his companions, his voice emerging as a subdued rumble. “We either open it, or we walk away and live with not knowing.”

His words hung in the torchlit air. The hooded woman’s eyes darted to the nameless man, then back to Kael. She gave a single, stiff nod. “Carefully. We don’t know what we’re unleashing.”

The nameless man circled to the opposite side, bracing his hands on the lid’s edge. Kael took position near the center, careful to angle his torch so its light fell over the archaic carvings. Water dripped relentlessly around them, and the pungent odor of decay made his stomach clench. He shot one last glance at the open sarcophagi, half-expecting their skeletal occupants to rise and object.

No movement. Only the hush of centuries. Only the Mark’s steady drumbeat in his veins.

With a collected heave, they pushed. The lid groaned, refusing to budge at first. Whatever lay within seemed to cling to its tomb with grim resolve. The hooded woman gasped, her grip slipping on the slick stone. Kael tightened his hold, ignoring the stabbing pain in his side. Adrenaline flooded him, and the Mark flared, its power slipping through his muscles. They gave one more shove—

Stone slid with a grinding roar, exposing the interior at last.

A rush of fetid air washed over them, carrying a stench of something not entirely dead. Kael recoiled, torch bobbing, light dancing over the coffin’s occupant: a body far better preserved than the skeletal remains in the other sarcophagi. Its skin was leathery, almost mummified, with swirling tattoos that mirrored the dais’s motifs. Hands lay folded across its chest, clutching a tarnished amulet shaped like the ubiquitous eye. Above its closed eyelids, the Mark-like lines extended across the brow, as though crowning it.

Kael’s chest constricted. This figure was tied to the Mark. He could feel it in his bones—an echo from the brand on his arm. For a long moment, none of them dared breathe. Then the body’s eyes snapped open with a suddenness that wrenched a cry from Kael’s throat. A crackling moan echoed in the tomb, sending every nerve ablaze.

Reflex overtook him: Kael dropped his torch, lunging backward as the figure’s head jerked. The amulet rattled against its leathery skin, and in the sputtering torchlight, Kael saw those dead eyes fix on him with an uncanny awareness. The Mark in his arm pulsed wildly, as though bridging some impossible gulf.

A single hiss escaped the creature’s parted lips—a word, or a breath, or something else. Kael’s mind reeled. The nameless man brandished a blade. The hooded woman raised her torch, face drained of color.

The tomb’s occupant spasmed once, then lay still. Silence slammed back into the chamber. Kael’s own rasping breaths were all he could hear. With trembling limbs, he retrieved his fallen torch and raised it to see if the thing truly had moved, or if his terror had conjured an illusion.

Those ancient eyes remained open, staring blankly. But the lines across the brow—and the shape of the amulet—seemed to radiate a quiet menace. Kael felt as though he’d glimpsed a boundary no mortal was meant to cross.

The hooded woman whispered, “What… was that?”

The nameless man exhaled, tension thrumming in every line of his body. “Something that should have stayed buried.” He pointed to the amulet. “That symbol. It’s—”

The Mark’s searing heat in Kael’s arm cut him off. A wave of nausea rolled through Kael, leaving him dizzy. He clutched at a nearby column to keep from collapsing, heart pounding as though it might burst from his chest. The dais above. The sub-level. The swirling lines. This undead figure with its half-formed Mark.

Despite everything, one thought rose like a clarion in Kael’s mind: We’ve only begun to uncover what lurks beneath these ruins.

Thunder boomed overhead, as if in agreement. With the torch sputtering in his hand, Kael forced himself to meet the horror before him. Whether this discovery led to salvation or damnation, there would be no turning back now.