5 THE DESCENT
The Bleeding Hollow was not named for its color—but for the way the land wept. Crimson sap oozed from the cliffside trees, and mist hung thick as blood. The ravine yawned wide beneath Riven and Liora, a black wound in the earth.
Riven adjusted the strap on his pack, eyes narrowing at the path ahead.
We go down there? Liora asked, peering over the edge.
That's what the First said. The Vault of Echoes lies buried deep. This place is cursed. Even the air feels wrong.
It feels like it hates us.
"It does."
They found the old chain lift half-buried in moss and rust. Iron cages once used by miners or grave robbers. Now only skeletons clung to the cables, jawbones frozen mid-scream.
Riven yanked the lever. The creaking groan of ancient metal echoed across the gorge. With a jolt, the cage descended.
Inside, Liora held her blade tight.
What are we looking for?
A name. A true one. The curse was made in words. If we find the root language, I might sever it.
What if you can't?
Then we run. Or I burn with it.
She didn't argue.
They reached the bottom. The cage thudded into bone-littered earth. No light. Only a sickly glow leaking from the walls—bioluminescent fungus shaped like runes.
This place feels alive, Liora whispered.
It remembers. Everything touched by the Mark.
They walked slowly through cavernous tunnels, winding ever deeper. Riven could feel it—something below pulling at his chest. Not just magic.
History.
The memories again.
A flash—he was a scholar, once. Bearded, older, tracing sigils in chalk, desperate to decipher the curse before it unraveled him. He'd failed. He remembered the taste of blood as he collapsed over his desk.
Another—he was a child, sobbing as strangers marked his skin. They told him he was chosen. He didn't understand. Not then.
He stumbled.
Riven? Liora grabbed his arm.
They're getting stronger. The deeper we go... it's like I'm splitting apart. Each step, a version of me peels away.
Then hold onto me. This version. Right now. Said liora.
He nodded, breathing hard. Together, they pressed on.
Up ahead, the tunnel widened. They entered a chamber lined with old statues—hooded figures, their faces blank, arms raised as if offering something invisible.
A pool of black water sat in the center.
What is this?
Riven approached the water.
A memory well. I've read about them in one of my past life. Places where magic memories sink and pool.
So what happens if you touch it?
You see. You feel. Everything it holds.
He knelt.
Are you sure? Liora asked.
No. But we're out of time.
He dipped his hand into the black.
And the world fell away.
Riven's scream died before it left his throat. There was no air, no form, no sound—only memory, roaring through him like a flood.
He stood in a battlefield. Not of this time, not this life.
Smoke blotted out the sky. Bodies burned in piles. A younger Riven, clad in silver armor, knelt in the ash. He cradled a dying girl in his arms—hair like wildfire, skin pale as frost. She looked like Liora.
I found the name, she whispered, coughing blood. But the price... was us.
Riven—the past version—held her tighter. Don't leave. Please—don't.
She reached up, pressed her bloodied hand to his chest.
You'll find me again. You always do.
Then she faded.
The vision tore away. Another took its place.
A cold mountain cave. An older Riven, blind, groping through darkness, muttering pieces of a forgotten spell. His hands were raw from carving sigils into the stone with his nails.
He spoke one word—Riven felt it ripple through time.
Aetherkai.
And something deep inside reacted.
The Mark pulsed. Burned. It liked the word.
---
Another flash.
Riven as a king. A crown of bones. His people rioted in the streets. They shouted his name, cursed it. He unleashed the Mark—turned them to shadows. His queen—Liora—stabbed him through the chest.
This isn't love. This is obsession. she wept.
He bled black. Smiled.
Even in death, I'll remember you.
The well shuddered.
Reality snapped.
Riven yanked his hand back, gasping. Cold sweat drenched him.
Liora stood over him, worried.
What did you see?
He stared at the pool, still glowing.
Versions of me. All of them chasing something they could never hold. But there was a word. One that mattered.
What word?
Aetherkai.
Even saying it made the chamber hum.
That's the root. It's part of the curse's true name.
The walls began to shift.
Stone groaned.
A passage opened beneath the pool, stairs descending into utter dark.
Guess we said the magic word, Liora muttered.
Let's find the rest.
---
To Be Continued...