The Black Abyss was a myth. A pit where the first Architect vanished. No map showed it. No spell could scry it.
So naturally, we went there.
It took three days of travel, following ley-line fluctuations and half-faded sigils. By the time we arrived, I understood the name.
The Abyss wasn't just black—it swallowed color. Sound. Time. A scar in the world itself.
Lilith cast a stabilization ward. "The last time I came here, I lost two students and half my mind."
"Comforting," Yuria muttered.
We descended as a group—Seraphina, Valmira, Lilith, and me. The others stayed behind. Too risky.
It took hours. The darkness pressed like velvet. The shard pulsed in my hand, growing warmer with every step.
At the bottom, we found it: a circular platform, untouched by dust. In its center, a broken throne. Floating above it, a single black crystal—shimmering faintly.
Lilith inhaled sharply. "That's not a shard."
"No," I said, voice dry. "It's the mold they used to forge them."
Seraphina stepped back. "Then this is where it all started."
Valmira approached the crystal. "And maybe where it can end."