CHAPTER 34: SHADOWS BENEATH THE STONE

Kael drifted in and out of a restless doze. Beneath the annex’s precarious ceiling, rainwater drummed with unrelenting persistence, occasionally breaking through some unseen crack overhead and pelting the floor in erratic droplets. Each impact rang louder in the hush, like a metronome keeping time to an unspoken dirge. His body ached from the fresh bruises he’d collected over the last two days, and his wounded side throbbed in dull protest whenever he moved.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. But the Mark’s low pulse had a strangely hypnotic effect on his senses, and exhaustion had finally won out over anxiety. It wasn’t a restful sleep, though; images of swirling darkness and half-glimpsed figures in silver-traced armor haunted his dreams. Yet no matter how disjointed the visions, one constant remained: the dais at the center of this broken sanctuary, and the ominous shape carved into it.

A distant scuff of boots pulled him from his uneasy slumber. He opened his eyes to see the hooded woman pacing near the annex entrance. She glanced back, noticing Kael stir.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Kael asked, his voice rough with fatigue.

She shook her head, flicking her gaze toward the dais. “Not much. Had to keep an ear out for trouble.”

From his vantage on the floor, Kael could see the nameless man crouched in another corner, rummaging through a battered pack with single-minded efficiency. He was checking supplies—wrappings for wounds, a bit of cloth that might serve as a bandage, a small knife likely used for cutting rations. The man worked in silence, the only sound the gentle rustle of canvas and the faint hiss of rain outside.

Time felt distorted here; without direct sunlight or any hint of the sky beyond overcast gloom, Kael couldn’t tell how long he’d dozed. Long enough that some of his aches had dulled, at least. He shifted upright, pressing a palm against his ribs to steady the stab of discomfort.

“Did you sense anything?” Kael asked the hooded woman. He glanced at the dais, half-dreading her answer.

She hesitated. “Nothing… definite. Now and then I think I hear echoes—or feel them. Could be my imagination. Or something else.”

A faint wave of tension rippled across Kael’s shoulders. He understood that feeling all too well. The dais had taken on a silent but pervasive presence, like a sleeping beast coiled at the center of the annex, waiting for one of them to step too close. The swirling carvings and the shallow depression were the only parts of the structure that appeared fully intact, which felt no small coincidence.

He rose to his feet, aware that both his companions watched him. The Mark stirred in his arm, a quiet reminder of the power tethered to his heartbeat. The dais tugged at that tether. Kael took a slow breath, steeling himself.

“I’m going to look around,” he murmured, edging toward the half-collapsed walls that branched out from the annex. It was partly an excuse to stretch his legs, partly a genuine attempt to see if there were more clues to this place. The hooded woman gave a nod; the nameless man offered no comment. Perhaps they sensed he needed the space.

Picking a path among the fallen beams and shattered stones, Kael ventured into a narrow corridor. The walls pressed close, hung with rotted banners that disintegrated at the slightest touch of his fingertips. Faded images and curling script teased him from the cloth’s remnants—indecipherable, but reminiscent of the swirling lines that decorated the dais. Occasionally, he spotted more carved spirals on the corridor stones, which only heightened his suspicion that this entire complex had once been devoted to some ancient power or ritual.

A few steps in, the corridor opened onto a smaller chamber. Roof segments had collapsed here, leaving swaths of open sky overhead. The rain’s patter echoed, forming shallow pools across the sunken floor. Dark algae or moss clung to the walls, which depicted chipped bas-reliefs of robed figures. Their faces were eroded, but their postures suggested prayer or supplication. Their arms rose as if to hail something above, or beyond, the mortal plane.

Kael let his gaze rove over the images. A knot of unease tightened in his gut. Often, such carvings implied devotion to an unseen deity. Yet the Imperium’s official histories claimed no gods preceded the Eternal Sovereign’s rule. They branded all older faiths as heresy, scrubbing them from the public record. This place suggested the Imperium hadn’t succeeded entirely.

The Mark gave a little throb, as though encouraging him to delve deeper. He swallowed, torn between caution and the growing sense that hidden knowledge might be their only hope against the Sovereign’s Chosen. If the Mark truly was older than Solmaris—older than any empire—then perhaps these carved walls held some whisper of how to control it.

He moved farther in, boots splashing through a thin layer of water. The chamber widened near the back, culminating in a raised platform that might once have held an altar or statue, now reduced to a jagged stump of stone. Fragments lay strewn about, covered in greenish-black mold. One piece in particular caught his eye: a carved, curved shape that resembled part of a horn or a swirl. It could have been part of a stylized serpent, or something more abstract.

Crouching, Kael touched the stone. It was slick and cold, yet smooth beneath the moss. A prickle ran along his spine. Perhaps it was imagination, but he could almost sense a faint hum of power vibrating through it—something that resonated with the Mark’s presence in his blood.

He stood abruptly, unsettled. The Mark reacted, sending a ripple of warmth through his arm as if in answer to the object’s call. A memory flickered in his mind: the monolith beneath Vael’Thalos and the nameless man telling him, This has been here long before the Imperium. It was worshipped.

“Worshipped by whom?” Kael muttered to the empty air. He half-expected an echo, or for the Mark to conjure a voice from the past. Nothing came. Just the soft hiss of rain overhead.

Returning to the annex felt like stepping back into a realm of relative safety, though that was a generous term. The hooded woman noticed the tension in his eyes as he reentered, but said nothing, continuing to poke through the debris for anything salvageable—an unbroken jar, a loose stone that might reveal a hidden compartment. The nameless man, having finished with their scant supplies, now stood by the dais, arms folded, as if challenging it to reveal its secrets.

“Find anything?” the woman finally asked Kael.

He shook his head. “Just more carvings. Some broken reliefs that suggest… worship, or veneration. And I found a fragment of what might have been a statue or idol. I can’t tell if it’s related to the dais, but I can feel something.”

The nameless man inclined his head. “Then these ruins may hold more than just old stones. If people here worshipped the same force that birthed the Mark, perhaps they left behind records—written or otherwise.”

“Or wards,” the woman added grimly. “We can’t assume everything is safe. This place might be dormant, but it could still be guarded in ways we don’t understand.”

Kael stepped closer to the dais, his gaze tracing the spiraling grooves that emanated from its center. The entire design seemed to mirror the shape of the Mark’s black lines on his arm—like a cosmic diagram etched in stone. A memory rose: the moment in the underground temple when he had destroyed a Voidborn with raw force he hadn’t known he possessed. The Mark had acted almost independently, as though guided by an intelligence beyond him.

With a slow breath, he pressed the palm of his uninjured hand against one of the dais’s outer rings. Cool stone met his skin, but no surge of energy followed. The lines remained inert, the swirling patterns silent. Yet the Mark stirred, responding to his intent.

He could feel the hooded woman’s stare, a mix of caution and curiosity. The nameless man watched from a short distance, posture coiled to intervene if something went wrong. Kael felt a pang of gratitude for their presence; as wary as they all were of each other, none of them stood alone now. The Imperium had turned them into exiles of a sort—if not all marked, then all forsaken in the eyes of Solmaris’s rulers.

“Do you feel anything?” the woman asked softly.

Kael exhaled, letting his senses sink into the moment. The patter of rain, the musty scent of rotted wood, the hush of ancient stone. A flicker of warmth in his arm, a faint stirring in the dais under his palm. “It’s… receptive,” he murmured. “As if it knows the Mark is here, but it’s waiting for something else.”

The nameless man stepped forward. “Be cautious. This place is old. It might require a specific ritual—or a sacrifice.”

That word made Kael’s stomach clench. He’d seen enough blood spilled to last lifetimes. The Imperium’s purges, the temple’s collapse, the unstoppable carnage the Mark had unleashed. “I’m not giving it any more blood,” Kael growled quietly. “Not if I can help it.”

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He removed his hand from the dais, stepping back. The stone surface returned to its silent, unremarkable state. No flickering runes or hidden doors revealed themselves. Yet the sense of an unspoken question lingered in Kael’s mind: Would you give more to claim the truth?

“Maybe it’s better we search the outlying corridors for signs of a library or a storeroom of records,” the hooded woman suggested, folding her arms. “If there were worshippers or priests here, they might have left behind books, tablets—something. We can come back to the dais once we understand how it works.”

Kael nodded. Another wave of relief laced with apprehension washed through him. Part of him wanted to push forward, to uncover the dais’s secrets now. Another part dreaded what might happen if the Mark seized that opening and took more control.

They took a short time to organize a plan. The annex was relatively stable, so they agreed it would serve as a temporary base. The hooded woman retrieved a small oil lantern from her pack, carefully shielding its flame from the damp air as she lit it. A wan glow spread across the dais and the rubble-strewn floor, giving the chamber a flicker of life.

“We’ll split up briefly,” she said, glancing at Kael and the nameless man. “Not far, just to survey the immediate corridors. If we find anything that looks like a library or repository, we regroup.”

The nameless man stroked his chin. “Better to stay within earshot. The illusions in these places can be… unpredictable.”

Kael recalled the ghostly shapes and near-audible whispers that sometimes trailed him in the corridors. “Agreed. Let’s be cautious.”

They set out in pairs—Kael with the hooded woman, and the nameless man scouting a separate corridor that branched off the main chamber. Kael’s side twinged with each step, but the break from a pitched battle at least gave him space to breathe. The Mark’s tension simmered in the background, like a predator waiting to lunge if threatened.

Slipping through an archway, Kael found himself in yet another crumbling hallway. The lantern’s glow cast dancing shadows on the chipped walls, revealing more of those spiraling motifs carved in rows. Some were partially destroyed, leaving only curved fragments. Others were intact but worn smooth at the edges. At intervals, they saw faint outlines of doorways that led into small, empty rooms—possible living quarters for acolytes or priests, now waterlogged and strewn with debris.

The hooded woman paused at a half-fallen door, pressing an ear to the damp wood. Her posture was tense. After a moment, she slowly pushed it open, and Kael held the lantern high, trying to illuminate what lay within.

The room seemed modest in size, with a collapsed ceiling in one corner. Broken shelves and a table lay strewn across the ground, the latter pinned beneath a chunk of fallen masonry. Several scrolls or parchments were scattered about, too damaged to read. Water dripped from the exposed roof, forming shallow puddles that mingled with the scraps of paper.

Kael moved cautiously, nudging aside a fragment of wood. “Careful. If these were records, the water might have destroyed most of them.”

“I’ll check the top shelves,” the hooded woman murmured, stepping around him. She peered at a few precarious boards that remained attached to the wall. One had a small chest, so badly warped that the lid seemed fused. She tried lifting it, but it wouldn’t budge. Drawing a slim knife from her belt, she inserted the tip between the lid and the warped side, prying gently.

With a damp crack, the chest came free. Musty air wafted out, carrying a foul odor of decay. Inside lay a cluster of rolled parchment, sealed with a resin-like substance that had now turned brittle. The hooded woman lifted one carefully. Water dripped from its edges, and Kael feared the scroll might disintegrate, but somehow it held.

“Think we can salvage it?” he asked, the Mark throbbing with a flicker of interest. Even it seemed curious.

She set the lantern down, rummaging for a strip of cloth to carefully blot away moisture. “If the ink hasn’t been washed out, maybe. Let’s see.”

Working with painstaking caution, she began to unroll the parchment. Kael crouched beside her, angling the lantern’s light so she could see the faded characters etched in lines across the page. Most were illegible—smudged or worn away. But here and there, a few sharp lines remained, reminiscent of the spiral motifs on the walls. One symbol repeated, shaped like an eye with curved rays extending outward.

The hooded woman’s brow furrowed. “I don’t recognize the script, but the layout suggests it might be instructions or a record. Could be religious texts, or maybe a ledger. It’s too damaged to tell.”

Kael studied the symbol. His pulse quickened; the eye-like shape reminded him of the Imperium’s unblinking sigil, but more stylized, older. “Could it be an early version of the Imperium’s emblem?” he asked quietly.

“Possibly, or maybe the Imperium stole it from something older,” she replied, carefully rolling the scroll back up. “We’ll need more than guesswork to decode this. But it’s worth keeping.”

Just then, a distant thump resonated through the corridor, followed by a muffled scraping sound. They both froze. Kael exchanged a tense glance with the woman, adrenaline cutting through his fatigue. Were they not alone, or had something merely collapsed under the weight of the rain? The Mark flared in readiness, sending a stab of heat along his arm.

Without speaking, they set aside the salvaged scroll and pressed back into the hallway, the lantern held high. They crept past a broken statue, each footstep deliberate. Another faint scraping noise echoed through the gloom, and Kael’s heart hammered. If it was the nameless man, he would likely call out. Unless he was in trouble.

They rounded the corner to find the nameless man standing at a partially caved-in arch. He turned at their approach, raising a hand in silent caution. Kael’s gaze flicked to the collapsed stones, then to the corridor beyond—a gash in the floor dropped off into a black pit. The air smelled of damp earth and something else, something stale and pungent.

“What happened?” the hooded woman whispered.

The nameless man lifted his uninjured arm to indicate the pit. “I was checking for alternate exits when the floor gave way.” He stepped back, guiding them to peer over the edge. The lantern’s glow revealed a ragged hole that descended several feet, maybe more. Broken beams jutted from the walls like ribs, and at the bottom, an open space beckoned—a possible sublevel of the ruins.

Kael felt that all-too-familiar pull. A hidden level might contain more artifacts, more secrets. Perhaps entire chambers untouched for centuries. He also felt a spike of caution that bordered on dread. If these catacombs linked to the dais or any deeper power, it could be akin to opening a door best left sealed.

“Think we should explore it?” Kael asked, keeping his voice low.

The hooded woman eyed the darkness warily. “Not without rope, and not while we’re half-dead.”

The nameless man nodded in agreement, though his gaze remained fixed on the dark hole. “But it might lead to something essential. If the worshippers here had a place to bury their secrets, this could be it.”

Lightning flashed through a distant gap in the roof, illuminating the corridor in a strobe of stark white. Kael’s heart pounded, the sudden glare imprinting the jagged pit in sharp relief. For an instant, he thought he saw movement down there—a flicker of shadow shifting.

He blinked, and it was gone. Nothing remained but the unsteady lantern light dancing on wet stone. Was it a trick of his mind, or a warning sign from the Mark?

“One thing at a time,” the hooded woman said, her tone both decisive and frayed. “We found a parchment, at least. Let’s secure that. Then we decide if we’re in any shape to investigate whatever lies below.”

Kael’s grip tightened on the lantern. In the back of his mind, the Mark stirred with a silent question: Aren’t you curious?

He was. But the list of dangers they faced was too long to ignore. The Sovereign’s Chosen could still be out there, regrouping or calling in more Imperium forces. The battered state of the ruins threatened sudden collapse at any moment. And the Mark itself posed a constant hazard, eager to test boundaries. Delving deeper might unlock a key to controlling that dark legacy—or it could unleash something far worse.

“Fine,” he said quietly. “We return to the annex, plan our next move with clear heads.”

They retreated from the pit, Kael and the hooded woman flanking the nameless man to keep an eye on the crumbling floor. The corridor groaned with each rumble of thunder, as if the entire structure teetered on the brink of final ruin. Eventually, they made their way back to the dais chamber, the flickering lantern revealing the swirling patterns in deeper relief. The damp air felt heavier now, smelling of ancient dust churned by their exploration.

None of them spoke for a full minute. The dais seemed almost luminous by comparison to the other corridors, as if the swirling designs caught what little light seeped through the battered roof. Or perhaps Kael’s imagination was running wild again.

He gently placed the lantern on a stable bit of stone, turning to face the others. “We found a partial scroll that might hold some clues,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “And there’s a sublevel below the eastern hallway, but it’s a long drop, and we’re in no shape to risk it right now.”

The nameless man inclined his head. “Agreed. And we should watch for enemies. We can’t assume the Imperium has given up. If they consider you a threat, they’ll be methodical.”

Kael swallowed, recalling the expression on the knight’s face—cold, resolute. “Then we use this place for whatever advantage we can. If there’s knowledge here about the Mark or how to fight the Imperium’s stronger weapons, we need it. I’m tired of reacting. We should seize the initiative.”

An uneasy silence met his proclamation. The hooded woman looked between Kael and the nameless man, her brow furrowed. “That’s a bold idea. But boldness can kill just as easily as cowardice.”

“I know,” Kael said, forcing a steadiness into his voice. “But we can’t hide forever. And if these ruins hold the key to controlling or weakening the Mark, I have to find it.”

He didn’t add before it controls me, but the thought pounded in his skull. From the way the hooded woman’s expression softened and the nameless man’s gaze flickered, Kael suspected they understood all too well. None of them forgot that he was, in many ways, a ticking bomb.

“Then we plan carefully,” the woman finally said, picking up the battered scroll she’d salvaged. “We see if there’s enough left in these scraps to translate. Maybe we’ll find some references that guide us to the right place—an actual library, a sealed chamber, or something else. If we’re lucky, it’ll help us avoid blind guesswork.”

The nameless man exhaled slowly. “Agreed. We’ll also consider the sublevel. It might connect to the dais from below—ritual sites often have multiple layers.”

Kael felt a flutter of hope, tempered by the persistent dread of what they might unearth. He ran a hand through his damp hair, wiping beads of sweat and rain from his brow. “Let’s get to it. The sooner we unravel this, the better our chances of surviving another encounter with the Chosen.”

In the back of his mind, a quiet voice—one that felt strangely separate from his own—seemed to whisper approval. The Mark, or his subconscious, or both. A chill skittered down his spine. He thought of the dais, the swirling patterns, the half-seen depths below the corridor. Every step deeper into these ruins seemed to confirm one thing:

They were well past the point of no return.