"The world is vast beyond belief. I could never tire of it. Every particle, every thread of its existence is a testament to uniqueness—undeniable beauty woven into the fabric of the cosmos."
The words drifted in the air before a voice was heard—not through ears, but through skin, breath, and something deeper than consciousness itself.
Louis halted mid-step. His gaze sharpened, fixed on the grotesque figure ahead—something he could only describe as repulsive.
"Gorgûn Sister. Sthevrha, the Unblinking Spiral," he said under his breath to Elara.
"So that's what it really looks like… that's terrifying. Where are the other two?" he continued, sweeping his eyes across the area, scanning for movement or hidden threats.
Elara didn't respond, but her fist was already clenched. They both knew—whatever this thing was, it wasn't just a creature. It was a symbol. A sentinel.
It didn't move, yet its presence made every hair on their body rise. It wasn't a shadow, wasn't a hallucination. It was real—and it was waiting.
Behind the Gorgûn, a natural tunnel stretched into the next layer—earth and stone blending into arching walls tangled with roots and leaves. The soil was soft, dotted with wild grass and small flowers. Some roots even glowed faintly golden, like lumium lanterns growing straight from the earth.
But that beauty ended here. The path was entirely blocked by this being. The moment Elara realized it, something inside her shifted. This thing... it's in my way. She hated it. Her mind raced, cycling through plans—not just to bypass it, but to kill it. And yet, beneath that hatred... a flicker of intrigue sparked. This one... piques my interest.
What she didn't know was that the Gorgûn could not die. It was eternal—physically immortal. It could be subdued, maybe forced into slumber for a time—depending on how it was defeated. But only Louis knew this. And at that moment, their survival hinged entirely on his knowledge.
Louis stepped calmly to Elara's side, one hand hovering near the shaft of his spear. His eyes never left Sthevrha.
"Don't attack it," he warned, softly—yet his words sliced through the air like a blade.
"Sthevrha is one of the Gorgûn Sisters. If you get too close—within its intimate radius—your body will reject itself. There's something invisible around it... something in the olfactory or vibrational spectrum that disrupts your senses. She's cursed."
Elara narrowed her eyes, staring with cold calculation. She wouldn't waste a single step.
"Then close combat is off the table," she muttered.
Her fingers gripped Enerma tightly. "Enerma," she whispered, softer than usual. The blue crystal embedded in her weapon shifted—reforming slowly into a new structure: a bow. She glanced at Louis and gave a small nod.
He understood. Without another word, they stepped back a few meters, placing safe distance between them and the grotesque entity.
"From the eyes, we know it's blind," he said steadily. "But it can sense us through echo and resonance. Its hearing is... incredibly sharp. And don't assume we're at an advantage—its body is three times our size."
Sthevrha remained motionless. The lower half of its body coiled with near-perfect geometric precision, forming a spiral pattern incomprehensible to the human mind. It didn't breathe. No movement stirred its chest. It stood like a statue—yet it was no passive stillness. Its silence pulsed, threatening, oppressive.
Then, with excruciating slowness—far too slow to be a reflex—its tongue slipped outward. Long, flat, and forked, it moved in a hypnotic rhythm, like a serpent tasting the air. The tip danced slightly, sensing temperature, pressure, vis... and perhaps, their fear.
Then it spoke.
Not in any ordinary tongue. The sound it emitted was a series of ancient syllables—an echo dragged from a time forgotten even by myth. It was gravel and stone grinding against stone in a dead cave. Neither Elara nor Louis understood the words, but their meaning slammed into their bones.
"Χίλιοι ἄνθρωποι ἦλθον ἐνταῦθα· ἀλλ᾽ ἀπῆλθον μόνον μετὰ ὀνόματος."
(Khílioi ánthrōpoi ēlthon entaûtha; all᾽ apêlthon mónon metà onómatos.)
"A thousand came here—but they returned only as names."
Elara immediately raised Enerma to her chest. Louis tightened his grip on his spear. Whatever that was... it wasn't a threat. It was a promise.
Suddenly, the creature let out a scream—but not one borne of flesh and lungs. Its voice spiked both high and low at once, a warping resonance that rattled the tunnel walls. The earth trembled. Rocks crumbled. Dust and debris rained from the ceiling, and the ancient roots above writhed like nerves exposed to agony.
For the first time since entering Nhal Vireth's First Layer, they felt true fear.
Not the kind that could be dismissed with logic or years of training—but something primal. Something that made their pupils contract reflexively, as if their bodies were trying to survive by absorbing more light. This wasn't just psychological—it was biological. A response to an absolute predator.
Sthevrha's scream wasn't just a roar—it was a call. A pulse of raw vis exploded outward, shattering the local ecosystem's resonance. And then... the ground began to crawl.
From holes along the spiral path, creatures began to emerge.
Snakes with glistening red scales, most one to two meters long, zig-zagged rapidly across the stone. Their scales were not just sharp—they shimmered faintly green, indicating natural paralytic venom coursing through their bodies.
Alongside them came horned, furred caterpillars the size of adult cats. They rolled and leapt erratically, their bodies glowing in shades of deep violet to electric blue—clear signs of psychoactive fluids or mimicry agents within.
Most disturbing of all were the white lizards—no bigger than ducks—with wing-like ears resembling tiny wyverns. Agile, unnervingly fast, they possessed the ability to detect vis within a fifteen-meter radius—a trait usually limited to Tier-Two creatures. They perched on stones, tilting their heads at Elara and Louis... studying them, as if analyzing weaknesses.
The two warriors stood still in the center of the spiral path, but their eyes moved rapidly. Instinctively, they split their field of vision: 180 degrees of vigilance divided between them, without the need for words. Their nervous systems shifted. Heart rates surged. Blood rushed to their limbs. Muscles warmed. This wasn't just caution—it was survival mode.
"Elara!" Louis called—short, but heavy. That single word carried a full command: I'll handle them. You focus on the main one.
She nodded once. Louis stepped slightly back and to the right—giving Elara a clear line of fire. In a fluid, efficient motion, he spun Serenglyn. The white spear pulsed faintly with light—like a lunar vortex wrapped in haze.
Sorry, little ones, he thought. But I'll have to end all of you. That's the law of nature... the one you've taught us.
He pointed the spear toward the advancing swarm. No hesitation. No play. His movements were calm—but lethal. The mark of a true knight who knows when it's time to stop thinking.
But Sthevrha didn't give them any more time.
The creature began to move—not with the sluggish crawl from before, but with its powerful upper limbs pulling its massive lower body forward at an alarming speed. Each scrape of its underbelly against the stone floor left faint trails, like engravings etched by ancient hands. Its arms stretched wide, fingers grotesquely long, jointed three times like twisted parodies of human anatomy—each ending in obsidian-black claws. It was coming for them.
The number of emerging creatures far exceeded their earlier estimates. From cracks in the stone, gaps in the earth, and hollow roots, dozens—perhaps hundreds—of crawling, slithering beasts surged into the spiral path. But none of them hesitated. On the contrary, the rising threat only sharpened the warriors' focus.
Louis moved behind Elara, back to back, guarding her blind spot. The corners of his eyes swept the battlefield, calculating movement paths, rhythm, and the micro-pauses in the enemies' approach. He knew Elara would engage the main threat. His role was clear: not a single one of these lesser creatures could be allowed to touch her.
"Anemo Magi: Storm Spiral," he muttered.
From his palm, vis surged like a current into Serenglyn. The white spear became shrouded in pure air—not merely swirling, but slicing through space with savage precision. A helix of wind spun around the weapon, forming a translucent disc that carved through the air like a sawblade of the sky.
The horned, fur-covered caterpillars struck first—coiling their bodies and launching themselves in unnatural arcs, like twisted springs. Louis drove his spear vertically into the first one, piercing its soft flesh with ease. Thick green blood burst from the wound, followed by slick mucus that splattered across the stone.
Disgusting, he thought, suppressing the shudder that crawled from his elbow to his shoulder. But he didn't stop.
His movements began to resemble a well-rehearsed death dance. Each strike of the spear was paired with a grounded pivot, maintaining flow and positioning. He cleaved one midair, then spun left to stab two slithering serpents trying to flank him. The wind cloaking Serenglyn made every thrust more than a stab—it became a microburst, rupturing the small bodies with pressurized force. Goo, scales, and blood stained the floor. But Louis remained silent. There was no war cry. Only rhythm.
While Louis carved through the lesser swarm with ruthless efficiency, Elara had already grounded her stance. She inhaled deeply, then raised Enerma—now in bow form. Her fingers danced, inscribing a small symbol in the air—vis flowing in a trained, seamless pattern.
"Pyro Magi: True Pierce!"
As she drew the string, a flaming arrow formed—pure, brilliant, glowing crimson-gold. A subtle crackle accompanied its birth. In a blink, she released, and the arrow shot like a lightning bolt aimed straight for Sthevrha's core—a direct strike to the creature's vital point.
But Sthevrha didn't flinch. With speed unthinkable for something its size, it raised its right hand and crossed its palm over its chest. The bluish scales on its hand flexed, forming a reflective layer. In the split second before impact, the vis around its palm tightened—like a shield of invisible tension.
The arrow hit... and did nothing.
No explosion.
No penetration.
Not even a spark.
It fizzled out the instant it met those scales.
Elara blinked, stunned. Her eyes locked on the impact point. It made no sense. That spell had pierced solid rock before. It had split reinforced steel columns during combat trials. And now? It was stopped—effortlessly. No effect. No response.
"I... I can't believe it," she whispered, voice barely audible. Her lips parted. Her left hand still held Enerma, but her shoulders began to tense. That spell could punch through stone... what kind of durability is this? she thought. But the creature before her stood unmoved. Unharmed. Not even bothered.
Realizing her attack had done nothing, Elara shifted targets. She turned her focus to the swarm instead, firing at the smaller beasts that continued to pour from the spiral's edges. Enerma glowed crimson-gold with each pull, unleashing sharp, swift arrows that struck down anything that got too close.
"Louis!" she shouted, loosing a shot at a leaping white lizard. "This thing is dangerous! How do we kill it?!"
Louis had just impaled two caterpillars when the question rang out. He glanced ahead, mouth parting to answer—but never got the chance.
Sthevrha, who had seemed merely observant, suddenly lunged.
The creature surged forward—its coiled lower body gliding like liquid stone, crushing everything in its path. Dozens of lesser beasts—snakes, lizards, even the horned caterpillars—were instantly flattened, splattering green and red gore across the spiral floor like a horror painting.
Elara flinched at its speed. She stepped back, bow still drawn, but realized she didn't have enough room to fire with full momentum. A single misstep could end everything.
"Louis!" she called again, this time louder, sharper. "We need to lure it upward—toward open ground—while we clear the minions!"
Louis understood instantly. He didn't argue. He pivoted hard, swinging Serenglyn in a horizontal arc. A gust of wind erupted from the left side, slamming five small creatures into the stone wall, bones cracking from the force.
"Push right!" he barked, voice cutting through the roar and quake. "We need to pull it off the main path! If we isolate it, we can control the rhythm!"
Elara lowered Enerma slightly, then sprinted in a half-circle to the right—firing a series of arrows at the enemies in their way. Behind her, Sthevrha gave chase—its massive body surging like a poisonous river with no dam.
For a moment, their strategy worked.
The spiral path began to open into a wider space, ringed by broken stone pillars and vertical gaps—perhaps remnants of collapsed upper layers.
The horde that once flooded the spiral began to thin. Elara's arrows continued to fly with unwavering precision, dropping enemies in bursts of light and fire. Meanwhile, every swing of Serenglyn from Louis cleared swaths of ground, erasing clusters of beasts before they could advance. Mangled bodies littered the battlefield—green, purple, and deep red fluids mixing across the stone, steaming from the residual heat of magic and vis.
But even the swarm had limits.
Whether due to the exhaustion of their rapid spawning or instinctual fear, some began to retreat. Not all were born to fight. A few shrank, slithering back into the holes they came from.
The overwhelming vis pressure from Louis and Elara had begun to disrupt their biological patterns—normally wired for aggression and unity. But now, the harmony of the swarm fractured. They scattered, disoriented, and began to fall one by one.
Within minutes, only a few remained—a white lizard with torn ears, two horned caterpillars bleeding and slowing with every twitch, and a crimson serpent writhing in silence, as if unsure whether to strike.
Elara and Louis knew—the secondary threat was nearly over. But the real one hadn't moved. Sthevrha still hunted. And now, without distractions, the full weight of its attention returned to them.
"Elara! How long can you hold your breath?!" Louis shouted, eyes scanning the terrain, his mind accelerating. He read the air's movement, the ground's tension, and the wild spiraling of Sthevrha's vis field.
"I see. I can manage... around three minutes," Elara replied quickly, no time for questions. She trusted Louis enough to know he wouldn't ask unless it mattered.
"Perfect. That's more than enough," Louis said, breath deepening, voice steadier, sharper. "I need your shield." It wasn't a plea—it was strategy, calculation, and absolute trust in her defense.
"I'm using my final strike," he added calmly, though his eyes burned with focused fury. The tip of Serenglyn began to glow—slowly, steadily—as if light was blooming from within the metal itself.
"Lux Magi: Spear of Trust!" he called.
Silver light wrapped the entire length of the spear. From its tip, a path of brilliance extended—like an invisible line carved by fate itself. The weapon no longer looked solid, but suspended light—still, pulsing gently, as if alive. It didn't scorch or sear, but instead erased every shadow around it.
And that was when Sthevrha struck.
The creature shot forward like an arrow loosed from a cursed bow. Its right arm—jointed thrice—lashed down. Obsidian claws, black as voidstone, carved through the air. The wind around them shrieked, compressing into pressure so sharp it cracked the ground at Elara's feet.
"Elara!" Louis shouted.
She responded instantly. "Enerma!"
She drew a breath, deep and steady—and held it. Enerma obeyed. Its bow form shattered, shifting in a heartbeat. In its place: a two-handed shield—the same she had once used before.
Sthevrha's claw crashed against her shield with an impact that shook the spiral corridor.
KRRRAAAAAANNNGGGGG!!!
The sound boomed like a subterranean mine detonation, centuries overdue. A shockwave burst outward, flinging dust and fragments of stone high into the air.
Elara stood her ground.
Her arms strained against the force, every muscle taut from palm to shoulder. Her legs, braced firmly, were driven inches into the earth—cracks splintering beneath her boots. The ground caved slightly under her stance, as though even the stone struggled to bear the battle's weight.
Behind her, Louis ducked low, breath held tight, eyes focused. As the echo of impact faded, he shouted, "Nice, Elara!" Tension still laced his voice, but so did certainty. The moment had come.
No hesitation.
He surged forward, channeling vis through his legs. Then—boom—he launched. "With this..." he whispered, eyes blazing, "...this ends now, monster."
In one explosive motion, Louis leapt to Sthevrha's left—his speed exceeding human sight. The creature's fog-clouded eyes tried to track him, but it was too late.
Louis twisted midair, aligning Serenglyn's glowing edge with his mark: Sthevrha's neck.
"HAAH!!"
His roar cracked the air as the spear drove forward, carrying all his belief, strength, and summoned light.
SHHHNNKRRRRR!!!
The sound was wet crystal shattering under forged steel. The spearhead pierced Sthevrha's neck, slipping through bluish scales and the hardened layer beneath—sinking in with deadly precision.
Elara stepped back, still holding her breath. Her eyes locked onto the creature. Dust still swirled, but the pale glow from Louis's spear lit just enough for her to see it clearly.
For the first time... Sthevrha made a sound.
Not a scream—but a hiss, sharp and seething. Its limbs convulsed. The left hand twitched toward the spear lodged in its neck. From the wound, thick black blood oozed slowly—vaporizing in the air, releasing a scent like scorched stone and wet soil. Elara narrowed her eyes, staying alert, heart thundering.
Then... the trembling ceased.
Sthevrha's arm drooped. Its enormous body slumped—like ancient rock finally surrendering to time. Louis withdrew Serenglyn, the spearhead glistening with dark fluid that hissed as it dripped.
There was no resistance.
The Gorgûn no longer moved.
It lowered its upper body to the ground. Its milky eyes remained open, staring into the cavern ceiling—as though searching for stars it would never reach. No final cry. No dying roar. Only one last breath—then silence. Silence so deep, only the distant drip of vis and the warriors' exhausted breaths filled the air.
Elara lowered Enerma, her body trembling, though her gaze stayed sharp. Louis stood beside the fallen ancient, his weapon slowly dimming. There were no cheers. No triumph.
Only two warriors... surrounded by slime, blood, and broken earth—staring at a fallen relic of an age long past.
That same day, on the Mist's Edge—First Layer of Nhal Vireth—
Elara Gofdraig and Louis Gwinfael defeated Sthevrha, one of the Gorgûn Sisters.
Fidem in tenebris. Victus est qui taket, non qui rugit.
Faith in darkness. Defeated is he who stays silent, not he who roars.