Morning came cloaked in violet fog.
The storm from the night before hadn't broken—it had simply seeped into the bones of the world. The mountaintop fortress remained eerily quiet, as if even the stones were listening.
Ren Zian stood at the war table, freshly washed and armored in reinforced silkweave. A silver circlet glowed faintly around his wrist—the residual mark of the Astral Pact. His expression was focused, but his thoughts reeled. With Seris's final whisper still embedded in his soul, and Lyra's vision of the Temple of Hollow Echoes, the road ahead had become one path: forward, no matter the price.
Arin entered the chamber without knocking. She wore the deep crimson armor of her highland tribe, streaked with sun glyphs. Her dual swords rested at her back.
"Scouts confirm the Soul-Taker reached the lower ravine," she reported. "It's slow, but relentless. It only stops when it senses a dying pactholder."
"So it's hunting me," Ren murmured.
Arin didn't deny it. "Or anyone bonded to you. Lyra. Even Nyelle."
He clenched his jaw. "Then we leave. Today."
"Already planned for it," she said, tossing him a sealed scroll. "This is the fastest route to the Temple of Hollow Echoes. But... it's uncharted in parts. There are no return paths."
"I don't intend to return without the next bond," Ren replied.
Just then, Nyelle entered, supporting Lyra, who was walking under her own strength but visibly weakened. Her golden eyes locked with Ren's.
"I'm going too," Lyra said softly.
"No," Ren said instantly. "You're not ready."
Lyra smiled faintly. "Then I'll be ready on the way."
Ren looked to Nyelle, but she gave a resigned shrug. "She's stubborn. Reminds me of someone."
He sighed. "Fine. But you follow orders. If things turn bad—"
"—I'll stand behind you," Lyra finished.
Preparations were swift. Within an hour, the party assembled: Ren, Arin, Nyelle, Lyra, and two silent scouts cloaked in windwalkers' garb. The gates of the mountain opened to swirling mist, and they descended into the valley below.
The path was serpentine, etched through cliffs and luminous fungi-lit caves. Time seemed odd here—hours felt like moments, and the air carried a faint hum of music, like whispered lullabies from the void.
They reached a fork in the road marked by ancient runes.
Nyelle paused. "This wasn't on the scroll."
Arin unsheathed her left blade, its steel shimmering with detection glyphs. "Illusions. They're testing us already."
Lyra stepped forward, eyes glowing faintly. "No. Not illusions. Memories. This place feeds on regret. It's choosing paths based on what we fear."
A chill passed through the group.
Ren faced the left path, which shimmered with a faint silver hue. From its depths, he could almost hear a child's voice calling him—his younger self. The path on the right pulsed with crimson heat, echoing Kael's roar and the battlefield's fury.
He looked back at them. "Stay close. We take the left."
Each step into the silvery path felt like descending into a memory he never lived—but deeply knew.
They entered a glade with a lone willow tree in the center. Beneath it sat a woman in a pale gown, face veiled in mist. She looked up as they approached.
"Welcome, Ren Zian," she said in a voice made of glass and stormlight.
He stepped forward. "Are you the keeper of the Hollow Echoes?"
"No," she replied. "I am what you left behind. And what you must accept before the next pact."
The mists thickened. Around them, whispers rose—not just voices, but emotions given form. Regrets. Betrayals. Desires unsaid.
Suddenly, the woman transformed—her mist forming into Seris.
Ren gasped, heart seizing.
Lyra shouted, "It's a trap!"
But Seris didn't attack. Instead, she looked into Ren's eyes.
"Would you hold me again, if it meant burning a thousand timelines to ash?"
The words twisted around his pact mark.
And then she vanished, leaving a single glowing sigil in the air.
Ren touched it, and his skin flared with light. The second stage of his Astral Core pulsed alive.
Nyelle whispered, "That was a trial of self... and he passed."
As the mists cleared, a long obsidian bridge extended beyond the glade—leading to the true Temple of Hollow Echoes.
But overhead, the sky cracked with divine thunder.
The gods were watching now.