We sat there in the thick silence of shared exhaustion, the echoes of our recent trial still clawing at the edges of my mind. The heat of the river burned in the distance, its glow casting flickering shadows across the jagged landscape. Zefpyre stood like a sentinel at the riverbank, his dark blue flames flickering unnaturally, casting him in a grim, otherworldly light.

  Mattie leaned against me, her body trembling with the weight of what she had just endured. She looked up, her eyes glassy with unshed tears, her voice breaking as she spoke. "I saw them," she whispered. "All of them. Every soul from that town... the ones who died because of me. Because I couldn’t control my powers."

  Her words hung in the air, heavy as the heat that radiated from the river. She closed her eyes, her face twisted in pain as if reliving the horror. "I saw it happen all over again," she continued, her voice cracking. "The magic consuming them, devouring everything. And their spirits... I can feel them. They're coming for me."

  I tightened my arm around her, pulling her close, trying to anchor her to the present. But her pain was a living thing, coiling around us both, and I could feel her drowning in it.

  "It’s my fault," I said quietly, the confession slipping out like blood from an open wound.

  She turned her head, her brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

  "Because of what I did," I said, the words tasting like ash, "they had to punish you too. They couldn’t just let me bear it alone. My actions dragged you into this hell, and then they twisted the knife by forcing you to be mentored by me—" I shook my head, the weight of my guilt suffocating. "I’m sorry, Mattie. My choices keep putting you in worse and worse situations."

  For a moment, she just stared at me, her face unreadable. Then, to my surprise, she smiled—a weary, bitter thing that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  "Boss man," she said, her voice steadier now, "I asked for you to be my mentor."

  I blinked, caught off guard. "You... what?"

  "I chose this," she said, her tone firm despite the weariness in her voice. She struggled to sit up, her hand gripping mine for support. "Do you know why?"

  I shook my head, too stunned to respond.

  She gave a small, almost defiant laugh. "Because I’ve always wanted to be trained by the best."

  Her words hit me harder than any blow I’d taken in this wretched place. I stared at her, this young woman who had endured so much, who had seen her own nightmares brought to life and still had the strength to smile.

  For a moment, I couldn’t speak. The air around us felt heavy, but not with despair this time—something else, something almost like hope.

  I reached out and rested my hand on her shoulder. "Mattie," I said, my voice low, "you’re stronger than I ever could’ve imagined."

  She shrugged, her smile softening. "I just follow the boss man’s lead."

  We sat there, the two of us, leaning on each other in the flickering blue light of Zefpyre’s flames. The river hissed and roared in the background, a constant reminder of the trials ahead. But for the first time in a long while, I felt something other than dread.

  I felt like maybe, just maybe, we’d find our way out of this. Together.

  The three of us moved forward, each step dragging like the weight of a thousand regrets. The scorched path led us to the outskirts of a civilization long swallowed by the teeth of time. Broken arches jutted from the cracked earth like the ribs of some long-dead beast, their surfaces eroded and scarred by centuries of torment. Shattered walls leaned precariously against each other, their facades etched with faded carvings—faces and stories of people who had once lived, now distorted into grotesque parodies by the relentless passage of time.

  The air was heavy here, thick with the stench of ancient despair. Whispers flitted through the ruins, faint and hollow, like the ghosts of forgotten lives trying to remember themselves. Shadows crawled across the ground, cast not by the flickering blue flames of Zefpyre but by some unseen, unknowable light.

  “Feels like the place itself is watching us,” Mattie murmured, her voice trembling but steady enough to keep going.

  In the heart of this decayed city stood a structure that pulled at the eyes and the soul alike. A well, impossibly intact amidst the decay, constructed from shimmering obsidian glass and jagged slabs of hellstone. The obsidian reflected faint, distorted images of the ruins around it, while the hellstone radiated an eerie crimson glow, pulsing like a heartbeat.

  The well’s edges were carved with intricate runes that seemed to writhe when looked at too long, as though alive and struggling against some unseen binding. The air around it was colder, though the infernal heat of the underworld still clung to us, making the cold all the more unnatural.

  Zefpyre paused, his flame dimming to a faint, contemplative flicker. “This place... it’s wrong,” he muttered, his voice low and reverberating like distant thunder.

  I nodded, my eyes locked on the well. It seemed to hum with a sinister energy, an undeniable pull that made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. “It’s not just the place,” I said, my voice harsher than I intended. “It’s whatever that is.”

  Mattie stepped closer, her gaze fixed on the carvings around the well’s rim. “Boss,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, “those runes... they’re calling something. Or keeping something in.”

  I followed her gaze, my stomach twisting. She was right—those runes weren’t just decoration. They were a prison, a cage for something that should never see the light of day.

  As we approached, the whispers grew louder, turning into a cacophony of voices. They weren’t the murmurs of the dead anymore; they were screams, shouts, begging for release, warning us to stay away, or urging us closer. It was impossible to tell.

  Mattie hesitated, her eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and terror. “What do we do, Julius?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly.

  Together, we moved toward the obsidian and hellstone monolith, the whispers rising to a deafening crescendo as though the ruins themselves were alive, screaming out in anticipation—or dread.

  We stood around the well, its obsidian surface shimmering like a dark star, when a shadow peeled itself from the ruins and resolved into a figure. It was as if the man had stepped straight out of the void, his presence impossibly quiet yet suffocatingly commanding.

  What struck me first wasn’t the movement or his sudden appearance—it was the fact that he was alive. A rarity in this place, if not an impossibility. He wore assassin’s robes of pristine white, a stark and defiant contrast to the ruined, ash-stained world around us. A plain, featureless mask concealed his face, its eerie blankness more unnerving than any expression might have been. Across his body, blades of every size and purpose were sheathed and strapped, an arsenal so vast he could have equipped an entire battalion.

  The long sword on his back glinted faintly in the ruddy glow of the hellstone well, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I saw symbols etched along its blade—words that shimmered like they were alive. I sucked in a breath, ready to act. But before I could speak, his voice sliced through the tension.

  Low and calm, like the whisper of a guillotine descending, he said, “I wouldn’t step any closer to the well... unless you want to wake what slumbers inside.”

  The warning hung in the air, sharp and cold. Without a second thought, the three of us took a synchronized step back, the weight of his words forcing our feet to retreat as though we’d been commanded by some primal instinct.

  The assassin stood motionless for a moment, his head tilting slightly as if he was observing us—or judging. “I am not here to harm you,” he continued, his tone unreadable. “I was tasked with guiding you to the next river.”

  Zefpyre’s voice, low and resonant, cut through the silence. “Why?”

  There was more in that single word than the question itself: suspicion, defiance, and an unspoken challenge. But the assassin didn’t answer. He simply turned, his movements as fluid and deliberate as the shifting of shadows.

  His white robes stood out like a beacon against the dark, desolate landscape. Even as the creeping mist wrapped around him, it failed to obscure him, as though the very air dared not touch him. The crimson glow from the well seemed to shy away from his figure, leaving a stark silhouette etched in the gloom.

  I exchanged a glance with Mattie, who looked as uneasy as I felt. She didn’t need to speak; her eyes said enough: Can we trust him?

  I shrugged, unsure if we had a choice. “Follow him,” I said, my voice barely audible. “For now.”

  And so we did, trailing the assassin’s ghostly form through the ruins. Each step carried us deeper into the ancient city, the whispers of forgotten voices growing fainter behind us.

  The landscape twisted around us, reshaping itself into a barren wasteland as desolate as the end of all things. Pools of black, tar-like substance bubbled and spat in grotesque bursts, sending up fumes that clung to our nostrils and coated our tongues with a rancid, oily taste. The air itself felt alive, pressing down on us with a suffocating weight that made each step feel like trudging through quicksand.

  The man in white strode ahead, unbothered by the oppressive atmosphere. His movements were deliberate, precise, as though he was dancing along the edge of a blade. He stepped carefully, avoiding certain patches of ground as if they were traps waiting to spring. Without exchanging a word, we fell into line behind him, our survival instinct demanding we mimic his every move.

  The silence of the wasteland was a living thing, broken only by the squelch of the bubbling tar and the slow, methodical crunch of our boots against the brittle ground. But then, like a distant drumbeat, I heard it—movement. At first, faint, just an echo that could have been the shifting of the wind. But it grew louder, closer.

  The scrape of claws on stone. The rhythmic pounding of hooves. The low, hollow thunder of wings cutting through the thick, toxic air. Whatever was out there, it was coming for us—and fast.

  My heart hammered in my chest, each beat screaming at me to run, to get away, to put as much distance as I could between myself and the unseen horrors closing in. But our guide didn’t waver. His pace never quickened, his calm composure unshaken by the impending threat.

  I forced myself to match his stride, swallowing the primal urge to flee. Each step was an act of will, my instincts clawing at me to break ranks and sprint blindly into the mists. Ahead of me, Mattie’s breathing grew uneven, shallow gasps betraying the terror overtaking her. Then I heard it—a faint whimper, barely audible over the cacophony closing in around us.

  “Mattie,” I whispered, my voice cracking as I tried to keep it steady. “Stay close. Keep moving.”

  Her silhouette shifted slightly as she nodded, but she didn’t turn around. I could feel her fear radiating through the haze, a raw and visceral thing.

  The sounds grew louder, the air vibrating with the presence of unseen monstrosities. Still, the man in white moved forward, unhurried and unwavering, his pristine robes almost glowing in the foul darkness. His certainty was maddening.

  And yet, we followed. One step at a time, through the stench, the pressure, and the fear, we followed. Because to do anything else was to invite the nightmare to consume us whole.

  The world shifted again, abrupt and jarring, like flipping through too many pages in a cursed tome. Before us rose a temple, its jagged silhouette clawing at the choking gray sky. The structure loomed impossibly high, its blackened stones glistening as if wet with blood or some darker ichor. At its forefront stood a massive owl statue, carved from obsidian so polished it seemed to drink the dim light. The owl’s empty eyes bore down on us, cold and unrelenting, while its wings were outstretched in a pose of silent judgment.

  Behind the statue, a cloaked figure emerged from the shadows, its form indistinct except for the wicked curve of a scythe resting against its shoulder. The weapon gleamed in a way that mocked the dull gloom around it, and the figure radiated a presence that made the air feel sharper, colder.

  Our guide stopped abruptly and turned to face us, his white robes a stark contrast against the malevolence of the temple. His voice was calm, almost casual. “Welcome to the Parliament of Shadows.”

  A cold knot of fear coiled in my gut, quickly overtaken by the hot surge of anger. “You tricked us,” I spat, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to steady it. “This isn’t the second river. This isn’t what you promised.”

  I stepped forward, my fists clenched, but before I could press him further, the man gave no response—just a slight bow of his head as if mocking our outrage. Then, like smoke caught in a sudden breeze, he dissipated into the shadows, leaving us alone before the imposing temple.

  I turned back, instinctively hoping for some other path, but what met my gaze drained the blood from my face. A horde of creatures gathered in the distance, their twisted forms writhing in the toxic haze. Hellhounds, harpies, and beasts so grotesque they defied description clawed and stalked toward us. The very air quivered with their bloodlust, and the ground seemed to tremble beneath their approach.

  Mattie, ever defiant, tried to break the silence with forced bravado. “How bad could they be?”

  Zefpyre’s voice was low, grim. “You don’t understand. This place isn’t a challenge; it’s a graveyard. The Parliament of Shadows isn’t just feared in this world—it’s the most feared league of assassins across the entire multiverse. If we’re here, we’re already as good as dead.”

  His words hung heavy, their weight pressing down on us as surely as the thick, oppressive air. The reality of our situation settled in, a cruel, sinking sensation that left no room for denial.

  With no other options, we turned toward the temple, each step a battle against the creeping fear that threatened to freeze us in place. The owl’s empty gaze followed us, an ever-present reminder of the judgment waiting within. My chest tightened as I felt the cold fingers of dread clawing at my heart. If the beasts didn’t kill us, whatever lay beyond those doors surely would.

  The world shifted again, abrupt and jarring, like flipping through too many pages in a cursed tome. Before us rose a temple, its jagged silhouette clawing at the choking gray sky. The structure loomed impossibly high, its blackened stones glistening as if wet with blood or some darker ichor. At its forefront stood a massive owl statue, carved from obsidian so polished it seemed to drink the dim light. The owl’s empty eyes bore down on us, cold and unrelenting, while its wings were outstretched in a pose of silent judgment.

  Behind the statue, a cloaked figure emerged from the shadows, its form indistinct except for the wicked curve of a scythe resting against its shoulder. The weapon gleamed in a way that mocked the dull gloom around it, and the figure radiated a presence that made the air feel sharper, colder.

  Our guide stopped abruptly and turned to face us, his white robes a stark contrast against the malevolence of the temple. His voice was calm, almost casual. “Welcome to the Parliament of Shadows.”

  A cold knot of fear coiled in my gut, quickly overtaken by the hot surge of anger. “You tricked us,” I spat, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to steady it. “This isn’t the second river. This isn’t what you promised.”

  I stepped forward, my fists clenched, but before I could press him further, the man gave no response—just a slight bow of his head as if mocking our outrage. Then, like smoke caught in a sudden breeze, he dissipated into the shadows, leaving us alone before the imposing temple.

  I turned back, instinctively hoping for some other path, but what met my gaze drained the blood from my face. A horde of creatures gathered in the distance, their twisted forms writhing in the toxic haze. Hellhounds, harpies, and beasts so grotesque they defied description clawed and stalked toward us. The very air quivered with their bloodlust, and the ground seemed to tremble beneath their approach.

  Mattie, ever defiant, tried to break the silence with forced bravado. “How bad could they be?”

  Zefpyre’s voice was low, grim. “You don’t understand. This place isn’t a challenge; it’s a graveyard. The Parliament of Shadows isn’t just feared in this world—it’s the most feared league of assassins across the entire multiverse. If we’re here, we’re already as good as dead.”

  His words hung heavy, their weight pressing down on us as surely as the thick, oppressive air. The reality of our situation settled in, a cruel, sinking sensation that left no room for denial.

  With no other options, we turned toward the temple, each step a battle against the creeping fear that threatened to freeze us in place. The owl’s empty gaze followed us, an ever-present reminder of the judgment waiting within. My chest tightened as I felt the cold fingers of dread clawing at my heart. If the beasts didn’t kill us, whatever lay beyond those doors surely would.

  I stood there, weighing my options as if deliberating over my own execution. To the left, the horde—twisted abominations with too many teeth and not enough mercy—gnashing and clawing to make a meal of us. To the right, the Parliament of Shadows, assassins so efficient they could have killed us a hundred times over without us even realizing it. Yet, here we stood, untouched.

  "Zefpyre," I muttered, flicking my gaze toward him, "why haven’t they killed us yet?"

  He shrugged, the dark blue flames of his form flickering like a sigh. "Maybe they don’t want to make a mess on their doorstep," he quipped, sarcasm dripping from every word.

  Mattie, ever the wildcard, spoke up. "I’m going in." Her voice was steady, resolute.

  "Mattie—" I started, but she didn’t wait for permission or a debate. She strode forward, her head held high, and disappeared through the threshold of the temple without so much as a glance back.

  I pulled a fresh cigar from my coat pocket, lit it with a snap of my fingers, and took a long drag, letting the smoke curl around me like armor. “Well,” I muttered to no one in particular, “if I die, at least my mother will finally be happy.”

  With that, I stepped forward, the ancient stone beneath my boots groaning like it resented every step.

  Behind me, Zefpyre’s voice floated through the oppressive air. "We’re not even gonna consider fighting the monster horde? I mean, think about it—their corpses could be worth a fortune! Valuable resources, Julius! And for Mattie? A great learning experience. Heck, I’ll even stop talking for a week—okay, okay, a month!”

  I kept walking, the threshold looming closer.

  "A year, Julius! Final offer!" he called after me.

  I stopped just inside the shadow of the doorway, not bothering to turn around. “Oy!” I bellowed. “Get your ass in here!”

  I didn’t wait for his answer. The temple swallowed me whole, the light outside fading into nothingness. Behind me, I heard Zefpyre’s reluctant footsteps and his grumbled complaints trailing off. The air inside was cold, damp, and thick with a sense of foreboding so palpable it felt like a noose tightening around my neck.

  Whatever waited for us in this place, it wasn’t going to be friendly. But then again, neither were we.

  The antechamber greeted us like a tomb, silent and foreboding. Seven doors stood embedded in a monolith of gleaming ruby, their surfaces reflecting the dim, flickering light that filtered through cracks in the ancient stone ceiling. Sinister gold lettering sprawled across the face of the monolith, mocking us with a cruel riddle:

  Seven doors stand before you, each cloaked in shadow, each a path unknown.

  Three to the left, one central, three to the right—their purpose shifts as steps are sown.

  Enter, and the order changes, the labyrinth never the same.

  A wrong choice brings ruin; a correct one furthers the game.

  Door One offers safety, but safety’s not your goal.

  Door Two is death, where shadows claim your soul.

  Door Three loops you back, resetting your plight.

  Door Four reveals horrors, consuming all light.

  Door Five chains you, imprisoned and lost.

  Door Six grants treasure but at a steep cost.

  Door Seven is a mystery, fate’s wicked jest.

  Seven steps you must take, to pass this infernal test.

  The answer lies not in strength nor might,

  But in cunning resolve to navigate the night.

  I let out a low growl and took a long drag from my cigar, the smoke curling around my head like a noose. "Nope. Nope. Nope. Fuck this," I muttered, turning on my heel to leave. But the exit we’d just walked through had vanished, leaving only the monolith and the seven damned doors.

  "Perfect," Zefpyre drawled, his flame-flickered voice dripping with sarcasm. "I told you we should’ve taken our chances with the monsters outside. We're two powerful practitioners and… Mattie."

  "Hey!" Mattie snapped, her hands on her hips. "If I had a couple of centuries, I’d be as strong as you two. Give me some credit!"

  "Of course, dear," Zefpyre replied with a mocking bow. "Now, any ideas on solving this death trap?"

  I squinted at the riddle, running my fingers through my hair. "Read it out loud again. Seven steps. Seven damn doors. What do you think? We have to walk through all of them, one at a time?"

  Mattie frowned, her brow furrowed in thought. "It says Door One leads to safety but not where we want to go. That sounds like a warning. And the second door? Death. That’s clear enough. But if the riddle’s labeling them, maybe it’s just the first set of doors that matches the description. Maybe every step forward changes the game."

  She walked toward the far-left door, her hand resting lightly on its surface. "So, this is Door One, right? Safety. But not the right path."

  Zefpyre’s flames crackled low. "That makes Door Two death. Fun. And the middle one…" He gestured lazily at the central door. "Must be horrors."

  I nodded, puffing on my cigar as my mind churned. "What if we just take the easy way? Door Three loops back. We could go through it six times, then choose Door One or Six for the last step."

  Mattie shook her head, her face pale but determined. "This isn’t about taking the easy road, Julius. Think where we are—a guild of assassins. This has to be a test for potential members. They’d never want someone who’d take the simplest path."

  I exhaled slowly, the smoke mingling with the room’s oppressive air. Before I could voice another theory, Mattie strode forward and gripped the handle of the sixth door.

  "Mattie, wait!" I barked, but it was too late.

  She wrenched the door open, and the room began to rumble violently. The other doors melted like wax, pooling into shimmering, hellish puddles. The gold lettering on the monolith flared, then vanished.

  Zefpyre’s flame flared to cobalt blue. "Quick! Fuck—move through the doors!"

  The walls groaned, the floor beneath us beginning to crack. My cigar fell from my lips as I bolted forward, following Mattie. The air reeked of sulfur and burned ozone, and the ground itself seemed to heave in protest.

  The air inside the sixth door was thick, oppressive, as if the room itself could sense the weight of our desires. Three objects sat on pedestals, each bathed in an eerie, otherworldly light. My breath hitched when my eyes fell on the center item—a spellbook, bound in aged leather and etched with runes older than memory. My family’s spellbook.

  It had been passed down through generations, predating the age of Camelot itself. A relic I was told I would never touch. It was meant for my sister, an heirloom my mother swore would never be mine. Yet here it was, within arm’s reach.

  I stepped forward, my hand already twitching for it, but Zefpyre’s shadow moved to block my path. His cold blue flame flickered like a warning. "It’s a trap," he growled, his voice carrying the weight of grim certainty. "Nothing comes free in this world, and certainly not your heart’s deepest desire. The cost will be steeper than you can imagine."

  I clenched my fists, the allure of the spellbook pulling at me like a siren’s call. But Zefpyre’s words rooted me in place.

  Mattie stood frozen, her gaze locked on a delicate platinum ring on another pedestal. Two moonstones flanked a pearl set in the band, its pale luminescence almost hypnotic. I didn’t know the ring’s significance, but the way her hands trembled betrayed just how much it meant to her.

  The last object seemed almost laughably mundane—a chunk of coal, unremarkable in every way. But I knew better. Nothing in this place was simple. Nothing was what it seemed.

  In the far corner, the seven doors reappeared, shadowed but waiting. The room’s intent was clear: tempt us, break us, and then trap us forever.

  Mattie’s eyes welled with tears, her voice barely a whisper. "Boss Man... how steep do you think the cost really is?"

  I turned to her, taking her trembling hands in mine. "We’re not going to find out," I said firmly, forcing her to meet my gaze. "These things aren’t for us, Kid. They’re bait, pure and simple. Come on. Let’s figure out the next door and get the hell out of here."

  It took every ounce of willpower to step away from the spellbook, the ring, the coal. Every step felt heavier, as though the room itself was dragging us back, demanding we take what it offered. But we pressed forward.

  At the second set of seven doors, I realized I was still holding Mattie’s hand. I didn’t trust her not to bolt, not after the way she’d looked at that ring.

  Zefpyre floated ahead, his flame dim, his usual cocky demeanor absent. "If this is one of the 'good' doors," he muttered, his voice flat, "then I’m thinking a room full of horrors doesn’t sound so bad right now."

  Before I could stop him, he glided to the fifth door and pushed it open.

  "FUCK!" I shouted, yanking Mattie back. "Will you two stop opening goddamn doors before we decide together?"

  The room began to shake violently, the walls groaning like a wounded beast. The remaining doors burst into searing flames, their heat so intense it blistered the air.

  There was no time to argue. We rushed through the open door as the chamber crumbled around us, the roaring flames devouring everything in their path. Behind us, the spellbook, the ring, the coal—they vanished into the inferno, consumed like forgotten dreams.

  The room was a void carved from nightmares. Shadows dripped from the walls like oil, pooling on the floor before slithering away, alive with malevolent intent. A heavy, suffocating darkness hung in the air, broken only by faint flickers of light that danced like dying embers. The sources of those lights were indistinct—phantom lanterns or the dim glow of unseen eyes, watching, waiting.

  Figures moved within the gloom, their shapes shifting and incomplete. One moment, a clawed hand emerged from the darkness, reaching, scraping against unseen surfaces. The next, it was gone, replaced by a serpentine tail that slithered silently across the floor.

  The horrors had no true form. They were fragmented echoes of things that should not exist: jagged limbs, too many eyes, maws that yawned open to reveal black voids within. They made no sound save for the occasional rasping of breath or the wet, organic noise of flesh sliding against unseen barriers.

  The walls themselves seemed alive, pulsating with dark veins of shadow that pulsed like a heartbeat. Whispers filled the air, unintelligible but maddeningly persistent, a thousand voices murmuring in a language that twisted the mind.

  The floor was uneven, covered in tendrils of darkness that writhed and coiled around anything they touched, leaving behind a numbing cold that sank deep into the bones. Every step forward felt like walking through a tar pit, each movement sluggish, each breath harder to draw.

  And then there were the eyes—glowing pinpricks of malevolent light that appeared and disappeared without warning. They were everywhere and nowhere, each pair locking onto the intruders with an intensity that promised unspeakable pain.

  As if mocking their presence, the room seemed to shift and breathe, closing in one moment and expanding the next. The shadows deepened, the horrors drawing closer, until it felt as though the darkness itself would swallow everything whole.

  This was not a place meant to be understood, let alone survived. It was a crucible of despair, a labyrinth of living nightmares where the only escape was the mercy of a quick death.

  The shadows fought us every step of the way. I’d never seen anything like it—a living tide of black, clawing and hissing, whispering lies and horrors that tried to crawl into your mind and take root. Each step toward those seven doors in the distance felt like dragging myself through a swamp made of nightmares.

  I kept moving, spell in hand, cutting through tendrils of darkness that surged too close. Zefpyre’s blue flame flickered behind me, throwing wild, dancing light that barely held the tide at bay. Mattie was just ahead of him, quiet but steady, her resolve shining in the way she moved—until she stumbled.

  She didn’t just stumble. She fell, hard, hitting the ground with a cry that tore through me like a blade. I froze for half a second, turning just in time to see the shadows swarming her like vultures circling fresh meat.

  “Go!” she screamed, her voice breaking as she struggled against the black tendrils pulling at her limbs. “Leave me! Get to the doors!”

  Something inside me snapped. “Fuck that!” I bellowed, rage drowning out the whispers. My legs moved on their own, carrying me back to her as I shoved through the writhing shadows. “I’ll never leave you behind! Maybe Zefpyre, but never you!”

  “Hey!” Zefpyre shot back, his voice dripping with irritation even as he blasted a shadow beast with his flame. “That’s uncalled for!”

  I didn’t care. I reached Mattie, grabbing her by the arms and hauling her to her feet. She was shaking, tears streaking her face, and for a moment, I could see the fear she tried so damn hard to hide. “I’ve got you, kid,” I said, keeping my voice steady even though my heart was hammering in my chest. “We’re doing this together. Always.”

  She nodded, and I could feel her grip tighten on my hand as we started moving again. Zefpyre grumbled something under his breath behind us, but he kept blasting anything that got too close, his flame a defiant beacon in the endless dark.

  The doors still felt miles away, even though I knew we were closing the distance. Every step was a battle, every breath a fight against the suffocating air that felt like it wanted to drown us. The shadows hissed and roared, their voices a thousand knives scratching at my mind, but I kept moving. We all did.

  By the time we reached the doors, we were wrecked. Mattie’s hand trembled in mine, and even Zefpyre’s flame seemed dimmer, flickering like it might go out any second. The seven doors loomed before us, massive and foreboding, their outlines pulsing faintly in the strange light that seemed to radiate from nowhere.

  “Which one?” Mattie’s voice was barely a whisper, her words trembling on the edge of breaking.

  I didn’t think. I couldn’t afford to. My eyes locked onto the third door on the left. “That one,” I said, my voice steady, sure, despite the storm raging inside me.

  Without hesitation, I pushed it open.

  Light poured through, blinding and pure, banishing the shadows in an instant. I didn’t wait to see what came next. We stepped through together, leaving the darkness behind—at least for now.

  The light enveloped us as we stepped through the door, warm and all-encompassing, washing away every ounce of fear, pain, and exhaustion I carried. For the first time in what felt like lifetimes, I could breathe—really breathe—without the weight of shadows pressing down on my chest.

  We stood in a world that could only be described as perfect. Rolling meadows stretched out before us, blanketed in wildflowers that shimmered in a thousand hues, their petals moving gently in a breeze that carried the faintest scent of honey and fresh rain. A crystal-clear stream wound lazily through the grass, its waters sparkling like liquid diamonds under a sky so blue it almost hurt to look at.

  Above us, the sun hung low, golden and soft, casting a light that didn’t scorch but embraced. The air itself felt alive, buzzing faintly with an energy that seeped into my bones, filling me with a quiet, unshakable joy I hadn’t felt since I was a child.

  I looked to my left, where Mattie stood, her face lit up in awe. She didn’t speak, didn’t need to. Her wide eyes and soft smile said everything. The tears she’d shed earlier were gone, replaced by something I’d almost forgotten she could feel—peace. For once, her shoulders weren’t hunched, her fists weren’t clenched. She just… was.

  Above me, Zefpyre perched on a low branch of a golden tree, back in his sleek black cat form. His blue flames had vanished, replaced by fur that gleamed like polished obsidian in the sunlight. He was still, his usual sharp remarks silenced for once. His tail flicked lazily, and his glowing eyes scanned the meadow with something akin to wonder. It was strange seeing him like that—quiet, almost peaceful. For a creature born of chaos and fire, he seemed unnervingly at home in this serene place.

  I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. My eyes were drawn to the horizon, where the meadows gave way to hills dotted with ancient, towering trees. Their leaves shimmered gold and silver, whispering softly in the breeze like a melody just out of reach. And in the distance, perched on a hill, was a small cottage with smoke curling lazily from its chimney.

  It hit me then—this place wasn’t just beautiful. It was home. Not the one I came from, but the one I’d dreamed of in the darkest nights, the one I’d wished for when everything felt hopeless. It was a world where nothing hurt, where the past couldn’t haunt you, where every breath felt like a gift instead of a burden.

  I found myself walking without meaning to, my feet carrying me toward the stream. Its water was so clear I could see every smooth stone at the bottom, every flicker of silver as tiny fish darted through. I crouched down and dipped my hand in, and the moment the cool liquid touched my skin, a wave of peace rolled through me, stronger than anything I’d ever known.

  Mattie laughed behind me, the sound pure and unguarded, and when I turned, I saw her spinning in the meadow, arms stretched wide as the flowers swayed around her. It was the kind of laugh that could shatter walls, that could remind even the most jaded heart what joy really felt like.

  For a moment, I let myself believe. Believe that this was it, that we’d found what we were searching for, that the horrors we’d faced were behind us, that maybe—just maybe—we could stay here.

  But in the back of my mind, a small, quiet voice whispered a warning. Perfection like this didn’t come without a cost. And in a place this perfect, the real question wasn’t what you gained. It was what you’d have to lose.

  Still, I didn’t say it aloud. For now, I let Mattie dance. I let Zefpyre sit by the stream, his face tilted toward the sun. And I let myself breathe, even if it was just for a little while longer.

  I lay there in the lush grass, the scent of wildflowers and rich earth filling my senses as I exhaled a slow stream of smoke from my cigar. The air was warm, and the sound of birdsong mingled with the distant rustling of leaves. I could hear Mattie’s laughter—a carefree, unrestrained sound I hadn’t heard before. She danced and frolicked like a child through the endless field of flowers, her smile so radiant it seemed to light the air around her.

  Zefpyre, in his sleek black cat form, was living every feline’s dream. His amber eyes glinted as he stalked a bird flitting just out of reach. I watched him crouch low in the grass, tail flicking, every muscle coiled with precision. Then he leaped, claws extended, only to miss the bird by a hair. He landed with feline grace, his irritation fleeting as he immediately resumed the chase. Seeing him pounce and swat at the air, I almost smiled. Almost.

  But serenity never lasts long in a world like ours.

  A shadow moved at the edge of my vision, stark and unnatural against the golden light of this paradise. I turned my head, and there it was—a figure draped in flowing black robes, its presence undeniable. The Grim Reaper. The air grew colder around me, but neither Mattie nor Zefpyre seemed to notice. They remained lost in their blissful reveries. The Reaper glided toward me, its movements fluid and otherworldly. When it stopped, it lowered itself beside me, somehow folding into a seated position.

  "You could stay here, you know," it said, its voice a low, resonant whisper that carried both finality and strange warmth. "Forever."

  I exhaled another stream of smoke, glancing at the Reaper’s skeletal hands folded neatly over its lap. "Forever sounds a lot like death, doesn’t it? Isn’t that your whole shtick?"

  The Reaper chuckled—a dry, hollow sound. "Usually, yes. But here, I have no power. And none of you are vying to join my order, so I’m simply... observing. Consider this a rare reprieve."

  I narrowed my eyes, searching for the hook in its words. "What’s your angle? Why chat with me now?"

  It tilted its head slightly, the shadows of its hood deepening. "No angle. Just an opportunity. Soon, every eye in the underworld will be upon you again. Until then, I thought I’d take a moment to talk before you’re thrown back into the chaos."

  "Doesn’t your boss frown on you fraternizing with the living?"

  The Reaper shrugged, an oddly human gesture. "Perhaps. But I’ve been trying to get fired for decades. Grim work, you know," it said with a dry laugh. "Took the job on a whim at a career fair—regretted it ever since. Tried unionizing during the Nixon era, but it didn’t go well. The afterlife doesn’t have great labor laws."

  I raised an eyebrow at that, caught off guard by its candor. "Is this place even real?"

  "Of course," it said with an air of amusement. "This is Eden. The birthplace of existence."

  I blinked, the weight of its words settling over me. "Eden? The Eden?" I looked around again, the perfection of the world suddenly sharper, almost overwhelming.

  "So it’s a test," I said, the skepticism creeping back into my tone.

  "In a sense," the Reaper admitted. "Everyone who enters the Temple of Shadows must face their own trials. This is yours."

  "Why bring us to the Temple at all?" I pressed.

  "The Temple rests on the River of Pain," it said simply. "A fitting location to teach apprentices the art of death."

  "That’s barbaric," I muttered.

  "Barbarism is above my pay grade," it said, almost flippantly. "I didn’t create the guild. I’m just an unwilling associate."

  I glanced at Mattie, her joy a stark contrast to the weight bearing down on my chest. Zefpyre had given up on his bird for the moment and lay sprawled in the sun, content.

  "Why aren’t you offering them this choice?" I asked.

  The Reaper’s hood tilted toward me. "Because they’ll leave when the time comes. You, however, might choose to stay."

  "And why would you care if I did?"

  The Reaper hesitated, then lifted its hood. My breath caught. Beneath it was a woman’s face—pale and ethereal, with piercing pink eyes that reminded me of Cassidy. But the face itself was unfamiliar.

  "You’re related to her," I said, my voice cracking.

  The Reaper nodded. "Cassidy is my many-times-great niece. She loves you fiercely, so much so that her feelings echo across time and space. You’re just too much of a fool to realize it."

  "If I stay," I said, my throat tightening, "I’d never see her again."

  "No," the Reaper confirmed. "But I would make sure she knew you were in paradise."

  It stood then, pulling its hood back over its face. "You have a choice, Julius. The first of many. Stay, and eat the fruit of the garden. Or leave and face what lies ahead."

  And with that, the Reaper vanished, leaving me alone with the weight of the choice I never wanted to make.

  I sat there, the weight of my cigar in hand, watching them in their bliss. Zefpyre prowled the fields like a shadow come alive, and Mattie danced with a lightness that didn’t belong to the burdens we carried. They were happy—truly, impossibly happy. And that made it worse. The guilt gnawed at me, a dull ache I couldn’t shake. This place, for all its peace, wasn’t where we belonged.

  Stopping my life to spend eternity in Eden? The thought curdled in my gut. It felt wrong. Time didn’t move here, not in any way that mattered. Minutes, hours, days—it blurred into a single, endless moment. Eventually, I heard Mattie’s footsteps in the grass. Her face was flushed, her grin as wide as the horizon.

  "Boss Man," she said, her voice carrying a lightness I hadn’t heard in years, "I think it’s time to leave."

  "Sit down, kid," I said, gesturing to the grass beside me. She dropped down, folding her legs like the child she sometimes still was.

  "You’re wise beyond your years, you know," I told her, glancing sideways. "Most people would stay here, no second thoughts."

  Mattie looked at me, her eyes bright and thoughtful. "I don’t think this place is a trap for me," she said quietly.

  I smiled, a small, bitter thing. "Like I said, wise beyond your years. Go get the cat. It’s time to pick the next door."

  She nodded and dashed off. When they both returned, we all sat down in a loose circle. Zefpyre curled his sleek black body on the grass, tail flicking, while Mattie hugged her knees to her chest.

  "I’ve been thinking," Mattie said, breaking the silence. "This might be the first time we’ve all sat together, without running or fighting. We should enjoy it while it lasts."

  She looked over at Zefpyre. "So, why did your flames turn blue?"

  Zefpyre paused his grooming, one paw mid-lick. His golden eyes glinted with pride. "The river," he said with an air of superiority, "purified my elemental form. Blue flames are hotter, purer, more potent. A proper upgrade, if I do say so myself."

  He puffed out his chest, and for a moment, I could almost believe he was pleased with himself.

  "Mattie," I said, "is there anything you want to talk about?"

  She hesitated, her fingers tugging at the grass. Finally, she exhaled. "This place, Boss Man. It’s... it’s been hard. Every moment here, I’ve had to relive the worst moment of my life. The destruction, the death... all because of me."

  Her voice cracked, and I felt the familiar sting of my own failures.

  "Mattie," I said softly, "you’re looking at someone who caused a calamity that nearly destroyed an entire realm. I think I win that round."

  She glanced at me, her brow furrowing in disbelief.

  "As practitioners of magic," I continued, "we make mistakes. And others suffer for them. Magic... it’s not just power. It’s intent, will, forced onto the world. That force leaves scars—on us, and everyone around us."

  For a moment, she seemed to consider that, then nodded.

  "What was that ring?" I asked, changing the subject. "The one you saw earlier."

  Her lips twitched into a small smile. "Oh, just a trinket of unimaginable power. Infinite wisdom and all that."

  I chuckled, a low, dry sound. "Yeah, seems like trash. Come on, let’s head to the doors."

  We stood, brushing ourselves off. The peace of the moment lingered as we started the walk back, but the shadows of what lay ahead loomed larger with every step.

  The Garden stretched out before us, a boundless sea of green under a sky so clear it felt unreal. Flowers in colors I couldn’t name swayed in a breeze that didn’t touch my skin, their perfume heavy and intoxicating. The sound of birdsong wove through the air, a melody too perfect, too practiced. It was beautiful. Too beautiful. Like everything in this place, it felt wrong, a dream too vivid to trust.

  We walked in silence, the three of us, each lost in our own thoughts. Mattie skipped ahead, her hands brushing the tops of the wildflowers. Zefpyre padded beside me in his feline form, his blue eyes scanning the surroundings like a predator on edge. His tail flicked with every step, the only sign of his unease.

  Then, in the distance, we saw it: the center of the Garden. A light brighter than the sun seemed to pour from a single point, illuminating the scene in stark, holy clarity. As we drew closer, the source of that light came into view.

  A massive anvil, black as obsidian and carved with celestial symbols, stood in the heart of the Garden. Plunged deep into its surface was a sword ablaze with a fire that seemed alive. The flames weren’t red or orange but a brilliant, shifting white-gold, flickering and twisting with an almost sentient grace. The heat rolled off it in waves, but it wasn’t the searing burn of fire; it was something ancient and divine, the kind of heat that scoured the soul.

  Around the anvil stood a host of angels. They were motionless, like statues carved from light and shadow. Their forms shimmered with an ethereal glow, and their eyes—piercing, unyielding—were fixed on us as we approached. Each one was armed, swords of their own slung across their backs or resting in their hands. Their wings stretched high, feathers shimmering like molten silver in the strange light.

  Mattie stopped dead in her tracks, her hand flying to her mouth. "Boss Man," she whispered, "do you see this?"

  "I see it," I muttered, my voice rough. "Don’t stare too long. They don’t look friendly."

  Zefpyre hissed low in his throat, his fur bristling. "Angels," he spat, the word dripping with disdain. "Self-righteous guardians of nothing. Don’t make any sudden moves."

  The air was heavy now, thick with a pressure that made it hard to breathe. Every step toward the flaming sword felt like pushing through a storm. The angels didn’t move, but their presence alone was enough to send a shiver down my spine. They weren’t here for us; they were here for it. The sword.

  "This is it, isn’t it?" Mattie asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "The sword from the Garden. The one that bars the way back to Eden."

  "It’s not our prize," I said sharply, grabbing her arm. "Don’t even think about it. We don’t need to pick a fight with them."

  Zefpyre padded ahead, his tail flicking dismissively. "The sword’s not for us, nor are they. Keep moving. The doors are ahead."

  Sure enough, beyond the anvil and its fiery sentinel, the faint outline of seven doors shimmered in the distance. Their familiar shape was a stark reminder of the labyrinth we still hadn’t escaped.

  As we passed the flaming sword, the heat seemed to pierce through every barrier—clothes, skin, even thought. It burned not as fire does but as truth, laying bare every sin, every regret. I gritted my teeth and kept walking. Mattie’s face was pale, her hands trembling at her sides, but she didn’t falter. Even Zefpyre, ever composed, moved faster, his ears flat against his head.

  The angels watched us in silence. Not a word, not a gesture. Just those piercing, celestial eyes following our every move. It wasn’t until the sword and its guardians were far behind us that I realized I’d been holding my breath.

  "Boss Man," Mattie said after a moment, her voice trembling, "do you think they’d have stopped us?"

  "I don’t plan on finding out," I replied, lighting another cigar to steady my hands. "Let’s just focus on getting through the next door."

  None of us looked back.

  The seven doors loomed before us, silent sentinels in the stillness. I watched Mattie furrow her brow, her lips moving silently as she worked through the riddle in her head. She paced in tight circles, fingers twitching like a pianist working an invisible keyboard. Zefpyre sat a few steps away, licking a paw, his tail flicking with a lazy irritation. But even in his feline form, I could see the tension rippling through him. None of us were ready for what was next.

  "I see nothing wrong with repeating doors," Mattie finally said, her voice cutting through the heavy silence. "The riddle never said we couldn’t."

  I took a long drag from my cigar, exhaling smoke that curled like restless phantoms. "So, which door would you repeat, kid?"

  Mattie tilted her head, her dark eyes narrowing in thought. Before she could answer, Zefpyre spoke up, his voice carrying that smooth, self-assured purr. "Door One was nice. Comfortable. Safe."

  "Safe is a lie here," I said, flicking ash to the ground. "I doubt going through One again leads back to Eden. That place? That was a one-time deal, even for us. That door’s dead now."

  I caught the flicker of disappointment on Zefpyre’s face, but he said nothing. Mattie, still caught in her calculations, glanced at him. "What about Door Six?" she asked hopefully. "It gave us what we wanted before."

  I shook my head. "Six is temptation, kid. It won’t be so kind the second time."

  "Door Three?" she offered hesitantly.

  "The riddle said it resets your plight," I said, grinding the cigar under my heel. "That means starting over. Seven doors, seven chances. I don’t think we’re getting more than one shot at this."

  That left us with the options no sane person would choose: Door Four or Door Seven. Door Two was a guaranteed death sentence, and Door Five… well, I wasn’t about to risk eternal captivity for any reason.

  "Door Four," I finally said, my voice low. "We’re not gambling on mystery, and horrors? At least we know what we’re walking into."

  None of us spoke for a moment, the weight of the decision pressing down on us like a lead blanket. Slowly, we moved toward the fourth door, its dark wood and iron fittings seeming to pulse in time with my heartbeat.

  This time, there was no rush, no reckless dive into the unknown. The three of us stood together, staring at the door as though it might spring to life and swallow us whole. Mattie reached out first, her hand trembling but steady enough to press against the cool, unyielding surface. Zefpyre nudged the door with his paw, glancing at me with those luminous blue eyes.

  "Well, Boss Man?" Mattie asked. Her voice was soft, but there was steel beneath it.

  "Push," I said.

  Together, we pushed. The door creaked open, the sound like bones grinding against stone. The light beyond was neither warm nor welcoming. It was the cold glow of uncertainty, the kind that gnaws at your resolve and tests your every step.

  And yet, the world behind the door didn’t collapse this time. No flames, no shadows clawing to drag us back. It was as though Eden itself was watching, giving us one last chance to reconsider. The breeze carried a faint whisper, neither a warning nor an invitation. Just... a presence.

  I lingered, staring back at the doors we’d left behind. A part of me wanted to turn back, to test the promise of paradise one last time. But that wasn’t my path. Not now.

  One by one, we stepped through the threshold, the unknown swallowing us whole.

  The door slammed shut behind us, and the world shifted violently beneath my feet. I stumbled forward, my boots landing not on stone or grass but on damp, splintered wood. The air hit me like a slap—salt and sea spray, sharp as knives, filled my lungs. A deafening roar surrounded us, the scream of wind and the crash of waves so chaotic that it felt like the ocean itself had gone mad.

  We were on a ship—a battered, creaking vessel tossed about by waves that reached higher than any building I’d ever seen. The deck tilted violently as the ship fought to stay afloat, the mast groaning under the strain of the tempest. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the black, roiling clouds above. The rain came in sideways, slicing through the air like shards of glass.

  "Where the hell are we now?" I shouted, my voice barely carrying over the chaos.

  Mattie clung to the railing, her knuckles white. "This can’t be real!" she screamed back, her hair plastered to her face by the torrential rain. Zefpyre, in his cat form, dug his claws into my coat, his fur soaked and clinging to his wiry frame. His blue flames sputtered, fighting to stay alight in the storm.

  Before I could answer, a guttural voice boomed out from the other side of the deck. "Arghhh, ye’ve come aboard me ship, have ye? Ye poor, lost souls! Welcome to the Maelstrom’s Wrath, the finest vessel to ever brave the wretched seas!"

  I turned to see him: the Captain. He stood at the helm, his figure silhouetted by a crack of lightning. The man was a caricature of every sailor's nightmare. His right leg ended in a splintered peg, his left hand gripped the wheel while the right was a rusted hook. An eye patch covered one eye, but the other gleamed with manic energy. His coat was tattered, its original color lost to decades of salt and sun. Water streamed off his broad-brimmed hat, and his grin was filled with teeth that looked more like jagged bits of coral than bone.

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  "Captain Salty, at yer service, arghhhh!" he bellowed, his laughter cutting through the storm like a blade. "But ye might’ve chosen the wrong ship, ye landlubbin’ fools! These waters ain’t for the faint o’ heart, arghhh!"

  The ship lurched again, and I grabbed a rope to steady myself. "What the hell kind of test is this?" I growled, my voice lost to the chaos. Mattie slid across the deck, her boots finding no purchase on the slick wood. I lunged, catching her arm before she was thrown overboard.

  "Hold tight, lass!" Salty called out. "The sea takes no pity, arghhh! She’ll claim yer bones and feast on yer soul if ye ain’t careful!"

  "Great pep talk!" I snapped, hauling Mattie back to her feet.

  The Captain laughed again, his one good eye twinkling with delight. "The Maelstrom’s Wrath don’t sail fer cowards, arghhh! If ye wanna survive, ye better learn to trust the sea! She’s got no mercy, but she rewards the bold!"

  Zefpyre hissed, his claws digging into my shoulder. "This lunatic’s going to get us all killed," he growled, his voice sharp in my ear.

  Salty must’ve heard him because he turned toward us with a wild grin. "Killed? Arghhh, not if ye listen to ol’ Salty, ye won’t! Grab the lines! Secure the sails! If ye want to live, fight like the devil himself is on yer tail!"

  The ship pitched violently, and I barely managed to keep my footing. The waves towered over us, crashing down with a force that seemed intent on swallowing us whole. The sails flapped wildly, the ropes snapping like whips in the wind.

  "Mattie!" I shouted. "Get to the mast and tie it down! Zefpyre, if you’ve got any magic left, now’s the time!"

  "And what will you be doing, Boss Man?" Mattie yelled, her eyes wide with terror but filled with determination.

  "Trying not to drown!" I barked, grabbing a line and pulling with all my strength.

  "Arghhh, that’s the spirit, matey!" Salty roared, his laughter echoing over the storm. "Welcome to the high seas, where life’s a gamble and death’s a dance! Let’s see if ye’ve got the guts to make it out alive, arghhh!"

  The storm howled on, relentless and unforgiving, as we fought to keep the ship afloat.

  The ship lurched violently again as the sea raged around us, and I braced myself against the railing, glancing at my companions. Zefpyre, no longer in his cat form, had reverted to his flame elemental self, his blue fire burning brighter and fiercer now that Eden's magic had faded. The torrential rain and salty spray hissed against his flames, creating a ghostly steam that clung to him like a shroud. He moved with an unsettling calm, his fiery form flickering against the chaotic storm, as if the madness of the sea couldn’t touch him.

  "Well, this is just fantastic," Zefpyre growled, his voice crackling like a firestorm. "Eden’s peace wore off just in time for us to face this." He glared at Salty, who was still laughing like the storm was some grand joke.

  "Get yer wits about ye, Flame-Lad!" Salty barked, his hooked hand waving toward the mast. "A storm don’t care what ye are—it’ll tear through fire and flesh just the same, arghhh!"

  Zefpyre shot him a smoldering look, but to his credit, he grabbed a coil of rope and started securing the flailing sails. His fire seemed to burn even hotter against the relentless rain, the flickering flames lighting the deck like a beacon in the tempest.

  The storm softened to a simmering rage, but the sea was far from tranquil. The captain grinned madly as the outline of the island grew sharper on the horizon, shrouded in a mist that seemed alive, twisting and writhing like it wanted to drag us back.

  “Steady now, me hearties,” Salty growled, his voice a low rumble as he gripped the wheel with his hook and peg leg braced firm. “The prize be close, but the sea don’t surrender her treasures without a fight! Arghhh!”

  Before we could savor even a sliver of relief, a massive shadow began to swell beneath the waves, darkening the water around us. I froze, watching the size of it grow, the surface of the ocean trembling as if in fear.

  “What the hell is that?” Mattie shrieked, clutching the railing as a monstrous, slimy tentacle broke the surface, glistening with rain and sea spray. It rose high, impossibly high, before crashing back into the water with a deafening roar.

  Zefpyre, his flames sputtering as the damp crept closer, hovered near the mast. “Tell me that’s a hallucination, Julius!”

  I grimaced, gripping the wheel alongside Salty to keep us steady as another tentacle breached the waves, followed by a third, and then a fourth. “Not a hallucination. Just another goddamned nightmare.”

  “Arghhh, tis the Guardian of the Deep!” Salty hollered with a laugh, as if facing down an ancient kraken was nothing more than a Sunday hobby. “She don’t take kindly to trespassers! But we’ve got no choice, lads and lass—through her wrath, we sail!”

  ?? “Oh, the kraken’s claws and her mighty grip,

  Will crush the soul of the sturdiest ship!

  But onward we sail, through peril and strife,

  For the prize at the end is worth yer life!” ??

  “Mattie! Secure the lines!” I barked as the ship tilted dangerously, a massive wave shoved aside by one of the beast’s thrashing limbs.

  “On it!” she shouted, her hands blistered from the rope as she struggled to tie down the flailing sails.

  Zefpyre hovered close, his light dim, his flames faltering. “I can’t hold out much longer, Julius! This storm—it’s drowning me!”

  I snarled under my breath, forcing the wheel back into place as Salty leaned into it with his hook. “You hold it together, Zef! We’ve survived worse, and we’ll survive this!”

  ?? “Through the kraken’s maw, we weave and fight,

  For the treasure lies beyond the night!

  Her fury rages, her tentacles bite,

  But a pirate’s heart will win the fight!” ??

  The kraken’s enormous, unblinking eye emerged from the water, glistening like molten gold and locked on us with predatory intent. Another tentacle lashed out, scraping along the side of the ship with enough force to send splinters flying.

  “Julius!” Mattie yelled, clinging to the railing as the ship bucked like a wounded beast. “This thing’s going to tear us apart!”

  “Not if we tear through first!” I growled, sparing a glance at Salty, who was grinning through the chaos, his mad eyes locked on the island’s distant glow.

  ?? “With sails in tatters and hope near lost,

  We sail through hell, no matter the cost!

  For the prize be near, just beyond her grasp,

  An island of treasure in our hands at last!” ??

  “Salty, steer us close to the waves—keep her tentacles guessing!” I ordered, running to help Mattie secure the rigging.

  “Arghhh, aye, aye, ye foolhardy bastard!” the captain roared, spinning the wheel with reckless abandon as the ship tipped dangerously close to capsizing.

  Zefpyre darted through the rain, his form flickering weakly. “I can’t keep the sails dry! We’re running out of time, Julius!”

  I clapped him on his ethereal shoulder, ignoring the blistering heat still radiating from his struggling flames. “Just keep the ship together, Zef. We’re not dying here—not today.”

  The kraken loomed larger, its shadow enveloping us as its massive body surfaced, a writhing mountain of slimy flesh. The storm roared in unison, as if the very ocean was conspiring against us.

  And yet, through it all, Salty’s laughter and his sea shanty carried on:

  ?? “Through the storm and the kraken’s hold,

  We chase the prize, a dream of gold!

  For beyond the waves, where shadows lie,

  An island waits, under endless sky!” ??

  “Hold fast!” I yelled as another tentacle slammed down, splintering part of the deck. The ship groaned in protest, but it held together. For now.

  The island loomed closer, its glow brighter, as if calling to us through the chaos. But the kraken wasn’t done yet, and neither was the storm. We weren’t safe—not even close.

  The sea churned with unrelenting fury, waves clawing at the ship like the gnarled hands of the damned. The kraken rose in its monstrous glory, its tentacles lashing the air and sea alike. Thunder cracked overhead, illuminating the battlefield of wood, water, and chaos.

  Salty’s wild laughter echoed through the cacophony as he clung to the wheel, his hook gleaming in the lightning’s glow. His peg leg braced against the deck, he bellowed:

  ?? “Oh, the kraken’s wrath is a fearsome plight,

  But we’ll send her down to the briny night!

  For a captain’s pride, for treasure untold,

  We fight for glory, bold and bold!” ??

  “Mattie! Zefpyre! We’re doing this now!” I shouted over the storm, the salty spray stinging my eyes.

  Mattie was already moving, her hands glowing with magic. She slammed her palms together, creating a surge of energy that shot toward one of the kraken’s massive tentacles. The blast struck true, sending the limb recoiling with a deafening screech.

  “Take that, you oversized calamari!” she screamed, her voice raw with adrenaline.

  Zefpyre, flickering weakly but determined, soared into the fray. His blue flames licked at the rain-soaked air, sizzling and steaming. “I can’t keep this up long!” he warned.

  “Do what you can!” I shouted, weaving a spell of my own. With a guttural incantation, I hurled a lance of shadowy energy at the kraken’s hulking form. It struck the beast in its grotesque eye, making it bellow in rage.

  The ship pitched violently as a tentacle slammed into the deck, splintering wood and sending debris flying. Salty held the wheel steady, his hook and hand working in tandem to keep us afloat.

  ?? “Through the storm and waves, we’ll carve our way,

  The kraken won’t see another day!

  For a captain’s ship is his true love’s call,

  And no beast shall see her fall!” ??

  Mattie conjured a shield of shimmering light to block another tentacle’s strike, but the force sent her stumbling back. “This thing doesn’t die!” she cried.

  “It’s not supposed to,” Zefpyre growled, his flames swirling into a blazing inferno. He dove at one of the writhing tentacles, burning a gash into its slimy flesh.

  I charged forward, my fists crackling with dark magic. I slammed my enchanted fist into the tentacle trying to crush the mast, the impact sending a shockwave through the air. The limb recoiled, splashing back into the sea.

  But the kraken wasn’t done. Its massive head surfaced, the size of a small island, with a maw lined with teeth like jagged cliffs. It roared, and the force of it nearly knocked us off the deck.

  “Salty!” I shouted. “We need you in this fight!”

  Salty laughed, a mad gleam in his one good eye. “A captain never leaves the wheel, matey! But I’ve got just the thing for yer troubles!”

  He reached down with his hook, pulling a pistol from his belt. With one arm steadying the wheel, he fired a shot that struck the kraken’s eye, making it howl in pain.

  “Keep it distracted, lads and lass! This ship needs a steady hand!”

  ?? “Oh, the kraken fights with fury and dread,

  But soon she’ll lie with the ocean’s dead!

  For a captain’s duty is fierce and true,

  To steer his ship, to see her crew!” ??

  The kraken lunged with its massive maw, and I barely had time to cast a barrier of shadows to deflect it. The ship groaned under the weight of the attack, water spilling over the deck.

  “We’re not going to last much longer!” Mattie yelled, her hands glowing as she unleashed another volley of magical blasts.

  Zefpyre, now a flickering wisp of his former self, hissed in frustration. “I can’t burn it fast enough!”

  “Then let’s aim for the heart!” I growled.

  The three of us turned our focus on the kraken’s massive form, unleashing everything we had. Magic tore through the air, searing its slimy flesh and driving it back. But the beast was relentless, its tentacles whipping through the chaos, each strike a near-death blow.

  Suddenly, Salty cackled, his voice rising above the storm. “It’s time to end this, ye scallywags!”

  With a mighty heave, he yanked the wheel to one side, turning the ship sharply. A massive tentacle crashed onto the deck, slamming into the mast and pinning it down. Salty hobbled forward, his hook gleaming in the storm’s light.

  “Only a pirate’s hand can slay the Guardian of the Deep!” he roared.

  He leapt onto the pinned tentacle, his peg leg stomping with thunderous determination. With a wild laugh, he drove his hook deep into the kraken’s flesh. The beast screeched, its cry shaking the heavens, as Salty twisted the hook and tore through its monstrous limb.

  ?? “Oh, the kraken falls, her grip undone,

  The captain’s prize, the battle won!

  For the sea is ours, her wrath now tamed,

  And the island waits, with treasures claimed!” ??

  The kraken writhed in agony, its massive form sinking back into the depths. The storm began to wane, the waves calming as the beast retreated. Salty stood triumphant, his hook dripping with victory.

  “Arghhh, that’s how ye slay a beast!” he declared, hobbling back to the wheel. “Now, onward to the island, me hearties!”

  We stared at him in disbelief, battered and soaked but alive. With the kraken defeated, the island’s glow grew brighter, calling us forward.

  The battered ship creaked and groaned as it steadied in the now-calming waters, but Mattie wasn’t having it. Her boots slammed against the slippery deck, her fists clenched tight, her face red with fury.

  “Are you kidding me?!” she screamed, pointing at Salty. “You had that hook the whole time? We almost died fighting that thing, and you just casually stab it like it was nothing?! What the hell, old man?!”

  Salty, unfazed by her rage, grinned with the crooked teeth of a man who had lived a life of salt and storms. He spun the wheel with his good hand, the hook glinting ominously in the fading light, and broke into another round of his seemingly endless shanty.

  ?? “Oh, the sea takes all, but it gives her best,

  A sailor’s worth is a sailor’s test!

  For the ocean’s heart is cruel yet fair,

  With treasure to find and storms to bear!” ??

  “Don’t you dare start singing!” Mattie shrieked.

  “Oh, lass,” Salty said with a chuckle, “ye can’t rush fate! A kraken’s no beast to be slain lightly, arghhh. It’s a matter o’ respect, see? Ye wait till the moment’s ripe, then strike true! Now, where was I?” He scratched his chin with his hook, pausing briefly. “Ah, yes! Back when I wrestled the giant lobster king of Pelagos, arghhh, ye wouldn’t believe the size of his claws!”

  Mattie lunged forward, hands glowing with furious magic, but I caught her around the waist just in time. “Easy, kid!” I grunted, holding her back as she thrashed against my grip. “He’s not worth it.”

  “He’s insane!” she spat, still struggling.

  “No argument there,” I said, tightening my hold. “But he’s also steering the ship, and I’d rather not die in a whirlpool because you melted him.”

  Meanwhile, Zefpyre slumped against the mast, his flames sputtering weakly in the damp air. His once-brilliant blue fire was reduced to faint embers clinging stubbornly to life. He let out a soft hiss of frustration, his glowing eyes dimmed.

  “This is it,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the remnants of the storm.

  “Don’t say that,” I snapped, letting go of Mattie as her fury simmered into sullen muttering.

  “It’s the truth,” Zefpyre replied, his tone calm but resolute. “The rain’s winning, Julius. Fire and water… we don’t mix. I’ve fought longer than I should have. Maybe it’s time.”

  “No!” Mattie interjected, her anger replaced by panic. “Don’t you dare say that, Zef! We’re almost there. You just need to hang on a little longer!”

  He gave her a weary smile, the kind that carried centuries of weight. “You’re a good kid, Mattie. You’ve got heart. More than most humans I’ve met. Never lose that.”

  Mattie’s lip quivered, but she clenched her fists and glared at him. “You’re not dying, you hear me? Not on my watch.”

  Zefpyre turned to me, his gaze steady despite the flickering light. “Julius… I always considered you a friend. Not that I’d ever admit it before now. You’re stubborn, reckless, and infuriatingly disregard all the rules that you believe don’t apply to you. But you’re also loyal to a fault. That’s rare.”

  “Stop talking like you’re writing your own eulogy,” I said, the words sharper than I intended. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re part of this team, and we don’t leave anyone behind. Not even you.”

  Zefpyre chuckled softly. “If only it were that simple.”

  Before he could say more, the ship burst through the last wall of storm clouds into an eerie calm. The sky above was clear, the sea still, a stark contrast to the chaos we’d just endured. In the distance, the silhouette of an island emerged, its golden sands glinting like treasure under the sun.

  Salty grinned broadly, his peg leg clunking as he turned the wheel toward the island. “There she is, lads and lass! The Island of Endless Rum, Treasure, and Fair Lasses awaits! We’ll be legends, arghhh!”

  The trio exchanged exhausted, wary glances. Zefpyre’s flames flickered slightly brighter in the newfound calm, a fragile hope rekindling as they prepared to land.

  Salty’s voice rang out, hoarse and jubilant, as he finished his shanty, his hook raised high like a chalice.

  ?? “Oh, rum and gold and lasses fair,

  A pirate’s life without a care!

  To Tortuga’s shores, where dreams come true,

  Drink and dance ‘til the devil takes you!” ??

  With a final, triumphant "Arghhh!" he slammed the wheel and stomped toward the gangplank. The battered old ship creaked in protest, but Salty didn’t look back. His peg leg clunked against the planks as he hummed his tune, his hook scratching idly at his unshaven chin.

  The trio followed him cautiously, stepping onto the docks. The air hit them like a punch—thick with the smell of rum, sweat, and something else that was hard to define but unmistakably sinful. Tortuga was alive with noise and movement, a chaotic paradise of debauchery.

  Scantily clad men and women, their bodies adorned with trinkets and tattoos, lounged on barrels, leaned against the masts of docked ships, and danced to the sound of fiddles and drums. Laughter and shouting spilled out from countless taverns, the glow of lanterns casting flickering shadows over the maze of wooden piers.

  Salty spread his arms wide, taking in the scene as though it were his kingdom. “Ah, Tortuga! Ye beautiful wench! I’ve sailed the seas my whole life for this moment, arghhh! Rum, treasure, and lasses as far as the eye can see!” He turned back to them with a wink. “Don’t wait up for ol’ Salty! The night’s young, and I’ve got decades of debauchery to make up for!”

  Without another word, he limped off into the chaos, blending seamlessly with the other rogues and misfits. His ship, along with the countless others docked here—a fleet of pirate legend, the kind of gathering that would never be seen again—stood as silent witnesses to the revelry.

  Mattie wrinkled her nose. “This place is… something.”

  Zefpyre, his flames finally recovering in the calm, smirked faintly. “If by ‘something’ you mean it smells like an orgy broke out in a rum distillery, then yes.”

  I scanned the docks, ignoring the hedonistic spectacle. We didn’t have time to get caught up in the madness. “Come on,” I said, my voice low but firm. “The doors have to be here somewhere.”

  As if answering my words, a faint shimmer appeared in the distance, just past the throngs of revelers. Pushing through the cacophony of drunken pirates and half-naked dancers, we found ourselves standing before the familiar sight of the seven doors. They gleamed faintly, untouched by the filth and chaos around them, as though they didn’t belong to this world.

  Mattie exhaled, her eyes darting to the doors and back to the celebration behind them. “Let’s make this quick,” she muttered.

  I nodded. “Agreed. The sooner we leave this place, the better.”

  Zefpyre cast one last glance at the docks, his smirk fading into something more serious. “Let’s hope the next door isn’t worse than this.”

  With that, we stepped forward, ready to face whatever lay beyond.

  The weight of the choice hung in the stale air between us. The seven doors loomed ahead like silent sentinels, each harboring its own cruel truth. My hand instinctively went to my coat pocket, brushing against the fresh cigar tucked there—my one comfort in this unholy labyrinth.

  “This was the horror door, wasn’t it?” Zefpyre’s voice broke the silence, raw and crackling with the faint heat of his elemental form. He was still rattled, and rightly so. “Without a doubt, it was. I nearly died!”

  I gave him a sidelong glance, lighting my cigar with a flick of the match. The amber glow danced in my eyes as I took a drag, savoring the bitter taste of relief. “But you survived,” I said, my voice steady. “That’s all that matters. We’ve learned something important. These doors—they don’t repeat the same challenge, even if the theme stays the same. We can go through them again, but my gut says it’s a bad idea to push our luck too many times in a row.”

  Mattie nodded, her face hardened by determination. “Four doors down, three to go,” she said. Her voice carried the weight of someone far older than her years. “I think we should do door six again next. Then door one. And the last…” Her gaze flicked to the seventh door, a faint shimmer of something—hope or dread—in her eyes. “That one has to be the final door. It just feels right.”

  “Mattie,” I said, narrowing my eyes at her, “are you sure you can handle the treasure door again? It almost broke you the first time.”

  She straightened her shoulders, her youthful defiance cutting through the weariness in her voice. “Each of these doors targets one of us specifically. That first treasure door—it was my trial. It nearly destroyed me because it preyed on my weaknesses, my greed. But it wasn’t meant for either of you. I could see it in the way you both resisted whatever it offered. The shadows in the horror door? They came for all of us the first time, but the second… they had their sights set on Zef.”

  I cut her off, my voice low and edged. “And Eden…” I trailed off, inhaling a deep pull from the cigar. “That was mine.”

  Mattie nodded, her sharp eyes flicking between me and Zefpyre. “Exactly. Which means the next treasure door won’t be for me. It’ll be targeting one of you.”

  “It won’t be me,” I said with a bitter smirk, my words slipping between clenched teeth. “Nothing in this world can give me my heart’s truest desire.”

  Zefpyre tilted his head, his flames dimming slightly in curiosity. “You actually know what it is?”

  My hand trembled as I reached for the cigar, the ember glowing like the painful memories it stirred. “I do,” I muttered, the words heavier than the smoke that lingered in the air. “And I learned it the hard way.”

  Mattie’s gaze softened for a fleeting moment before hardening once more. “That settles it. Zef, if we walk through the treasure door again, it’ll be your trial. Boss man,” she turned to me, her voice steady but laced with unease, “can you keep him in check if it comes to that?”

  I let out a low chuckle, the cigar clamped between my teeth as I exhaled a plume of smoke. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

  The decision was sealed with the weight of inevitability. Mattie furrowed her brow, calculating the shifting positions of the infernal doors with a precision that betrayed her youthful face. When she reached for the sixth door, her hands were steady. The moment it creaked open, the roar of rushing water thundered through the space like the wrath of a vengeful god. It wasn’t a sound you heard; it was one you felt—a primal, bone-shaking warning.

  From the ether behind us, Captain Salty’s voice erupted in a panicked wail, his pirate bravado utterly shattered. “Oh, dear gods of the Oceans! Lords of the Immortal Seas! I just got here! Please don’t kill us!” His cries reached us even through the cacophony, and I couldn’t help but let out a low, bitter chuckle. The poor bastard was doomed to melodrama.

  The three of us stepped through the threshold, leaving Salty and his desperate pleas behind. The doors slammed shut with an echo of finality, sealing us into whatever madness lay ahead. The sound of their fading creak carried an eerie certainty: there was no going back.

  What greeted us on the other side made me freeze in place. It wasn’t the crashing wave I’d expected or the flood of water I had braced for. No, this was worse—a confrontation with the impossible.

  Before us stood three figures, each more unreal than the last.

  The first was a Flame Golem, its molten body radiating a searing heat that distorted the very air around it. It flickered with an almost sentient rage, its glowing core pulsing like a heartbeat. Each movement oozed menace, a barely restrained fury embodied in flame and stone.

  Beside it stood an old man, cloaked in robes so ancient they seemed woven from time itself. His face was a lattice of wrinkles, his eyes burning with an unnatural light that hinted at knowledge too vast and terrible for mortal minds.

  And then there was the third figure—him. My blood ran cold, and the cigar I’d been savoring nearly fell from my lips. My uncle. The man I had buried long ago.

  He was unchanged, frozen in time like some cruel mockery of memory. His expression was one I had seen a thousand times, equal parts stern and knowing, as though he could see right through me.

  “What the hell is this?” I muttered, my voice low, more to myself than anyone else.

  Neither Mattie nor Zefpyre spoke, their silence heavy with confusion and unease. I clenched my fists, the familiar weight of my past threatening to drag me under. Whatever awaited us here wasn’t just a challenge; it was a reckoning. And I wasn’t sure we’d come out the other side whole.

  I stood frozen, the shock rippling through me like an earthquake. My uncle—why him? Of all the cursed figures this treasure room could conjure, it had to be him. I glanced at Mattie and Zef, and their faces were mirrors of my own turmoil. Neither of them looked eager to face the figures before us. Zef muttered under his breath, a low, venomous growl bubbling with anger. Mattie turned to me, her voice strained but controlled.

  “Boss Man, let’s just leave.”

  The moment she spoke, the Old Man addressed her. His voice slithered into the room like oil over water, dripping with mock affection.

  “Oh, Mattilyne, don’t you want to talk to your dear old Grandpapa?”

  Mattie’s face turned a livid shade of red, rage boiling to the surface. Mana poured from her core, spilling out of her like an overflowing dam, lighting the air with raw, untempered energy. I stepped toward her, voice firm but steady.

  “Breathe. Stay calm. Don’t lose control.”

  The Old Man chuckled, the sound nauseatingly sweet and condescending.

  “Don’t you remember all the special times we had together?” His tone turned slow, almost mocking, with a vile undercurrent that made my stomach twist.

  Then the Flame Golem spoke, its voice a deep, resonant growl that echoed off the walls.

  “Hah! Still a pathetic excuse for a Flame Elemental, I see. I knew you didn’t have what it takes to be my successor. Your mother coddled you—made you weak.”

  “I AM NOT WEAK!” Zefpyre erupted, his body igniting in a violent blaze, flames licking dangerously close to the walls of the cursed room.

  “Oy!” I barked. “Keep your shit together! Remember where we are. This isn’t real.”

  “Oh, but it is real, Julius,” came my uncle’s voice, dripping with false camaraderie. “Couldn’t be more real.”

  I turned to face him, and it hit me like a dagger to the chest. My uncle, so much like my father in every cruel way. I clenched my fists as he smirked at me, his words like barbs.

  “How’s my little brother, boy? Still keeping you in line?” His voice was calm, conversational, the casual cruelty of it more cutting than a blade.

  I glared, unable to speak.

  “Huh, thought so. Must’ve given up on your worthless ass. Makes sense. At least your sister has power, potential. A prodigy, unlike you.”

  “Shut. Up,” I growled, my teeth grinding together.

  He laughed, low and mocking. “I’m sure there’s nothing you’d love more than to kill me right now, but you’re too weak. Too pathetic. How you became a Master Wizard is beyond me.”

  And that was when it hit me. This room wasn’t about granting our greatest desires. No, it was far more sinister. It was feeding us our deepest thirst for revenge. It was offering us the chance to destroy the very things we hated most.

  I looked at Zefpyre, his flames spiraling into a barely controlled inferno, and then at Mattie, her mana a volatile storm. “This is a trap,” I said, my voice sharp and certain. “The room wants us to attack. We can’t take the bait. We just need to get to the next door.”

  The Flame Golem laughed, the sound like the grinding of stone. “Cowards. Cowards flock together.”

  I felt Zefpyre’s rage radiating off him like heat from a furnace. Before he could unleash the devastating spell I knew he was preparing, I cast my own magic to subdue him, my energy barely holding.

  “Mattie, we need to leave. Now!”

  Her grandfather’s voice oozed through the air again. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t go. Stay with me. We haven’t had fun together in so long...”

  Her magic spiked again, raw and chaotic. I gritted my teeth and poured what little strength I had left into holding them both back. I threw Zefpyre over one shoulder, flames scorching my skin, and Mattie over the other, her mana crackling like lightning against my already strained body.

  The figures mocked us as I stumbled forward, their taunts twisting the knife with every step.

  “You’ll never make it!”

  “Pathetic, all of you!”

  “Turn back! Face us like the failures you are!”

  I limped toward the doors, my legs barely carrying me, my body screaming in agony. Each step felt like dragging the weight of the universe. When I reached the threshold, I collapsed against the frame, gasping for breath. The shifting sigils on the doors blurred before my eyes as I tried to solve their cursed riddle. My mind swam with exhaustion and pain, the numbers refusing to align.

  I muttered a silent prayer as I pushed the door open, praying the next room wouldn’t be the death of us.

  The door groaned as it opened, a sound ancient and weary, as though it carried the weight of all the ages behind it. Light spilled out—not the harsh glare of torches or the unsettling shimmer of magic but a soft, golden glow, warm and welcoming. As the three of us stepped through, the air changed. Gone was the oppressive humidity of the storm and the acrid scent of burned flesh; instead, a serene calm settled over us, carrying with it the faint aroma of parchment, aged leather, and ink.

  Before us stretched a sight that defied imagination: a library, vast and infinite, its towering shelves vanishing into the horizon and climbing so high that their tops disappeared into the clouds. The architecture was impossible, a paradox of gothic arches, crystalline bridges, and staircases that spiraled not just upward but outward, sideways, and through dimensions beyond comprehension. Walls of shimmering glass displayed views of constellations spinning in slow, silent symphonies. Here was a place where time did not dare to intrude, where knowledge itself held dominion over all else.

  I staggered forward, my body still ravaged by Zefpyre’s flames and the strain of dragging my companions through the previous ordeal. Pain throbbed in every limb, each step like a hammer strike against my wounded pride and battered flesh. My coat was singed and torn, my hands blistered, but I refused to falter.

  Mattie trailed behind me, her steps hesitant and her face hollow. Her usual spark, that fierce defiance of hers, had been stripped away by the vile specter of her grandfather. She looked around the library without truly seeing it, her shoulders slumped as though the weight of her past was a physical thing, pressing down with relentless cruelty.

  But Zef. Zefpyre.

  He stood motionless in the entrance, his flames dim but flickering with renewed life. His eyes—normally aloof and guarded—were wide with childlike wonder. The golden glow reflected in his molten gaze as he took in the sheer magnitude of the library. For a moment, he was no longer the snarky, embittered elemental who carried the scars of rejection and ridicule. He was, instead, a soul seeing his truest dream come to life, his heart aflame with unrestrained excitement.

  “By the Embers…” Zefpyre whispered, his voice trembling. “This… this is a treasure beyond measure.”

  The sound of his awe pulled me back to the present. I leaned against a nearby lectern for support, its smooth marble surface cool against my burned palms. I forced myself to look around, taking in the majesty of the place. The shelves weren’t merely filled with books—they were filled with everything. Scrolls, tablets, holograms, glowing orbs that pulsed with stored memories, and tomes bound in materials that defied identification.

  Each step deeper into the library revealed more wonders. A table bore an ancient map of a world that shifted and changed as you observed it. A scroll floated mid-air, unraveling and re-rolling itself to reveal the complete history of a forgotten civilization in an instant. Above us, suspended in the ether, great rings of text circled, glowing with knowledge written in languages older than the stars themselves.

  Zefpyre darted forward, his fiery form casting flickering shadows across the ancient shelves. His fingers traced the spines of books as though they were sacred relics. “This is it,” he breathed. “The culmination of every thought, every dream, every discovery. The knowledge of all who have ever lived.”

  “Zefpyre,” I rasped, my voice rough and weary, “don’t get lost in it. This place has a way of pulling you under.”

  But he wasn’t listening. He plucked a shimmering orb from a nearby pedestal, his flames licking at its surface as he held it aloft. The light within swirled, casting strange runes across his face. His eyes burned brighter, his smile unguarded for the first time in what felt like forever.

  Mattie, meanwhile, hovered near a towering bookshelf. Her hand reached out but stopped short, trembling. The shelves bore titles she couldn’t possibly have read, yet the weight of their contents seemed to press against her, threatening to spill every terrible truth she’d ever avoided. Her breath hitched, and she turned to me, her eyes pleading.

  “Boss Man,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “what’s the point? Why him, why did this cursed place bring me him. Tests are suppose to teach you something what is the point of a test if it just… ruins you?”

  I wanted to answer, but the words caught in my throat. I didn’t know if this place was salvation or damnation, a gift or a curse. All I knew was that it was too much. Too vast. Too infinite.

  “We never know why we face the challenges in front of us, but life has an uncanny ability of giving us…,” I finally said. “Just what we need.”

  My words seemed to reach her, and she nodded, though the haunted look in her eyes didn’t fade.

  Zefpyre turned to us, his flames flickering wildly. “Julius, Mattie—don’t you see? This is it. This is what we fight for. This is what magic should be.I can not believe my Eye we found it, The Grand Library of the Universe, the Birthplace of Knowlege! ”

  I wanted to share his excitement, to feel the same wonder that lit him from within. But my body was failing, and my mind was consumed by the weight of the doors we’d left behind and the ones yet to come. I pushed off the lectern and limped forward, my hand brushing against a book that whispered secrets I dared not hear.

  “We don’t have time for this,” I said, my voice sharp despite my exhaustion. “The doors won’t wait forever.”

  Zefpyre hesitated, his flames dimming slightly. “But Julius—”

  “No,” I snapped. “We’ve already paid the price to get here. Don’t let this place take more.”

  He stared at me, torn, but the fire in his eyes didn’t die. He placed the orb back on its pedestal, his fingers lingering before finally pulling away.

  As we moved deeper into the library, its endless halls shifting and rearranging with every step, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were trespassers in a place far beyond our understanding. And as much as I wanted to believe otherwise, I knew this library wasn’t merely a repository of knowledge. It was a test. A temptation. A trap.

  The library was an unending labyrinth of knowledge, a place where logic surrendered to wonder. The stacks were not mere shelves but sprawling ecosystems. Books written in languages long dead or never spoken lay beside scrolls of shimmering light, holograms humming softly, and even living creatures that seemed to embody the stories they held. Plants grew from the walls and floors, their leaves etched with text and their blossoms radiating gentle, otherworldly light. The air itself was thick with whispers, a chorus of thoughts and ideas drifting in from the multiverse.

  We wandered through it, lost in the endless maze of discovery, with no sense of direction or purpose. Every corridor seemed to lead into itself, looping and twisting like a cosmic riddle. The floor beneath us shifted subtly with every step, its patterns rearranging like a puzzle too vast to solve. It felt as though the library was alive, watching us, gauging our intentions.

  Then we found it—a solitary information desk, standing starkly in the middle of the chaos. Behind it sat a humanoid fox-like creature, its fur a soft russet and its eyes glimmering with intelligence and age. It looked up as we approached, its expression warm and inviting.

  “How may I help you?” it asked, its voice calm, measured, and kind, like a lullaby for weary souls.

  Mattie stepped forward, her voice betraying the confusion that clung to all of us like a fog. “Um… we’re looking for seven magical doors,” she said hesitantly, “the ones that lead to the last part of the cursed trial.”

  If the fox was surprised by the question, it made no sign. Its movements were precise and unhurried as it summoned a glowing console before it. Its fingers—graceful, clawed things—typed in a language I couldn’t comprehend, the characters flowing like liquid fire across the surface of the display. The fox nodded to itself as it worked, letting out thoughtful hums and murmurs.

  Then it paused. Its gaze lifted and settled on Zefpyre, sharp but not unkind.

  “You’ve come a long way, traveler,” it said, its voice softer now, almost reverent. “Welcome to the paradise you’ve been searching for.”

  Zef stood frozen, his flames flickering erratically, caught somewhere between shrinking and roaring. He opened his mouth to respond but faltered, his usual bravado stripped away. For a moment, he looked more vulnerable than I had ever seen him, a flicker of the boy who had dreamed of something greater, something like this.

  “I remember when I found my way here,” the fox said, its smile wistful. “I know what it is to believe in legends and then to walk into one.”

  Zef finally found his voice, shaky but filled with awe. “I… I can’t believe this place is real. That the legends… they’re true.”

  The fox chuckled, a low, melodic sound. It gestured around us, its hand sweeping across the boundless expanse of the library. “If you think this is amazing, you’ve barely scratched the surface. This place is everything and more.”

  Zef’s flames stilled, his entire form trembling with emotion. “Can I stay here?” he asked, the words barely audible, as if afraid to give them weight.

  The fox’s smile didn’t waver, but there was a glint of something deeper in its eyes—understanding, perhaps, or regret. “You could,” it said. “But you must understand—once you are in the Library’s service, you will be forever. You will become a part of its infinity.”

  Mattie stepped forward, her voice breaking. “Zef, please… don’t.”

  I placed a hand on her shoulder, steadying her as much as myself. “Give him a moment,” I said, my voice low but firm. I turned to Zef, meeting his eyes with a silent nod. “We’ll be right over there,” I said.

  He didn’t respond, his gaze locked on the fox as if the entire weight of his existence hung on the next few moments.

  I guided Mattie a few steps away, giving him space while the Library loomed around us, its infinite expanse an undeniable temptation. Every fiber of this place seemed to pull at us, offering the answers we sought but at a price none of us fully understood.

  Mattie turned on me, her eyes sharp and her words honed like daggers. “Why are you trying to get rid of him?” she hissed, her voice low but laced with fury. “I know the two of you have a complicated relationship, but he’s still family… annoying family, but family.”

  I met her glare with a tired smile, the kind that carries years of knowing better. “Kid,” I said, my voice heavy with the weight of experience, “you’re just starting your walk as a Practitioner of Magic. Each and every one of us is searching for something, something logically impossible. That’s the driving force of our progression, the reason we keep pushing even when it breaks us.”

  Mattie didn’t flinch, her words cutting through mine. “I don’t have anything like that.”

  I chuckled, the sound dark and dry, like the scrape of a blade on stone. “Not yet, kid. Not yet. But you will. Trust me. It’s one of the many burdens of being a talented practitioner of magic—knowing you’ll find something worth chasing and that it’ll cost you everything to reach it.”

  She opened her mouth to retort, but I held up a hand, silencing her. “This place?” I said, gesturing around us. “It isn’t some elaborate trap cooked up by The Parliament. The first door, the one we stumbled through, truly is a place of safety. But it’s not the safety we expected. It’s the kind of place that offers a way out, a chance to abandon the fight and live in eternal happiness.”

  Her brow furrowed, and she stared at me with skepticism. “How do you know that?”

  I let the question hang in the air, heavy and unspoken, before answering. “I know because I was given the same offer Zef’s getting right now,” I said, my voice low and rough. “Back in Eden. That was my paradise, my chance to leave it all behind. This? This is his Eden, his version of joy. And he needs to decide for himself whether he’ll stay or go.”

  Her voice cracked, but she pressed on. “What about the quest? What about the stones?”

  I tapped the bag slung over my shoulder, the one weighted with the cursed Soul Gems. “We can still take care of these,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “With or without him.”

  Her defiance softened into something rawer, more vulnerable. “But we’d never see him again,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

  I sighed, the sound carrying more than exhaustion—it carried resignation. “Sometimes, kid,” I said, my tone as hard as the truth itself, “when you truly love someone, you have to make the ultimate sacrifice and let them go. It’s the only way they can experience real joy.”

  Mattie’s lip quivered, her walls crumbling as tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill but not yet breaking free.

  I leaned in, my voice quieter now but no less firm. “Also, take never out of your vocabulary,” I said, a bitter smirk playing at the edges of my mouth. “The twists of fate have a nasty habit of mocking you when you use it too much. You say something will never happen, and suddenly it’s happening all the time. Trust me, that’s a lesson you don’t want to learn the hard way.”

  She nodded, her resolve faltering, and I saw the first tear escape, tracing a slow line down her cheek.

  I groaned, shaking my head, and wrapped my arms around her. “You know, kid,” I muttered, “you’re turning me into a softy.”

  Mattie let out a small laugh, the sound fragile but genuine. “Boss man,” she said, her voice lighter now, “you’ve always been a softy. You just never wanted to admit it.”

  I didn’t argue. Some truths didn’t need words.

  Mattie and I didn’t exchange words at first. We simply stood there, bound by shared exhaustion and the unspoken weight of everything we’d endured. For a moment, it was enough—just existing, finding comfort in silence. Then she broke it, her voice hesitant, curious. “What did you mean when you said Zef is getting the same offer you were given?”

  I froze, caught off guard by her question. Part of me had hoped she wouldn’t ask, that she’d let the remark slide into oblivion. But there was no avoiding it now. I took a breath, the words heavy as they left my lips. “The Grim Reaper visited me in Eden,” I said, my voice low and steady. “She laid out my options, explained the paths I could take. In the end, I chose to stay on this road. To keep fighting.”

  “She?” Mattie’s voice cut through the stillness, tinged with shock.

  I couldn’t help but smirk, a dry laugh escaping me. “Yeah… the Grim Reaper is a she. Is that really what you’re focusing on?”

  Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she looked away, embarrassed. “Sorry, I just… didn’t expect that.”

  “Neither did I to be honest,” I replied, letting the amusement fade. “But it’s not the point. Why didn’t I choose to stay? Because I’m still searching. For my logically impossible. My holy grail. The reason I practice magic. The reason I keep fighting.”

  “What is it?” she asked, her voice soft, almost reverent.

  I reached out and ruffled her hair, a rare show of affection. “Sorry, kid. That answer’s way beyond your pay grade.”

  She scowled, brushing my hand away with a glare. “Fine. Keep your stupid secrets.”

  Before I could respond, Zefpyre approached us. There was something different about him, something in the way he carried himself. His presence felt… solid. Grounded. As if he’d unearthed some fundamental truth and had made peace with it.

  I met his gaze. “Is this goodbye?”

  He scoffed, his lips curling into a familiar smirk. “Like you could get rid of me that easily. I get far too much pleasure from harassing and annoying you. Without me, who knows what kind of mess you’d get yourself into?”

  A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth despite myself. “So… not goodbye. At least not now.”

  Mattie beamed, relief softening her features. “I’m glad you’re staying with us. I would’ve missed you.”

  Zefpyre, in true form, completely ignored her sentiment. Instead, he turned on his heel, gesturing with casual confidence. “Now that we’ve settled all that, I know the way to the doors.”

  But Mattie wasn’t done yet. “Aren’t you worried you’ll never find this place again?”

  He stopped and turned, his expression kind for once, almost serene. “Don’t worry about that,” he said. “Today’s visit was more of an introduction. Now that I’ve been here, I know the way back. The Grand Library isn’t a punishment—it’s a gift for those who’ve been searching. The day will come when I have to make the ultimate sacrifice in the pursuit of knowledge. But today isn’t that day.”

  His words hung in the air, weighty but resolute. For a moment, none of us moved. Then he motioned toward the unseen path ahead, his voice light but firm. “Now, enough stalling. We’ve got one last door to walk through.”

  Zefpyre led the way through the labyrinthine halls of the Grand Library, his steps light but purposeful. The air here seemed alive, humming with latent energy, each step echoing in the infinite expanse of knowledge surrounding us. Shelves stretched beyond sight, holding not just books but scrolls, tablets, even ethereal wisps of light that floated like captured memories. The scent of old parchment mixed with something electric, something otherworldly, as if the air itself buzzed with secrets yet to be spoken.

  Mattie walked beside me, her hands brushing against the spines of the tomes as if by touch alone she could absorb their wisdom. Her expression was a mix of wonder and lingering turmoil, the weight of her grandfather’s specter still visible in her tense shoulders. I couldn’t blame her—our steps felt too loud in this place, as though the Library itself disapproved of our intrusions.

  Zefpyre, though, moved differently. His usual chaotic energy was tempered now, replaced by a strange serenity. He paused occasionally, his fingers trailing over intricate carvings etched into the walls, his eyes scanning glowing glyphs that flickered to life at his touch. He didn’t speak much, but when he did, his voice was calm, assured.

  “Every hall tells a story,” he murmured, gesturing to a mural of a dying star painted in molten gold on a nearby wall. “The rise and fall of civilizations, the birth of forgotten gods… it’s all here.”

  “Yeah, it’s impressive,” I said, my voice gravelly from exhaustion. “But we’re not here for sightseeing. Find the damn doors.”

  Zefpyre just smiled, his flames flickering faintly along his arms. “Patience, Julius. The Library doesn’t reveal its paths to the impatient.”

  “Sounds like some mystical nonsense to me,” I muttered, though I didn’t press further.

  The halls shifted subtly as we walked, the air thickening, the light dimming. It was as though the Library itself was testing us, judging our resolve. Mattie grabbed my arm at one point, her eyes wide as the floor seemed to ripple beneath us, solidifying only when Zefpyre stepped forward. He moved as if he belonged here, his presence stabilizing the chaos around us.

  Finally, we entered a vast atrium, its ceiling a swirling nebula of stars and constellations, each glowing faintly with untold stories. In the center stood a massive, obsidian lectern, and behind it, seven doors materialized, their frames wrought from pure light. Each door pulsed with a unique energy, their presence commanding and ominous.

  Zefpyre stopped, his fiery aura flaring slightly as he turned to face us. “There they are,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of certainty. “The final doors. One step closer to the end of this cursed trial.”

  Mattie exhaled sharply, her hand tightening around the hilt of her dagger. “We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”

  “Like we’ve got a choice,” I muttered, pulling a cigar from my coat pocket. I lit it with a snap of my fingers, the flame weak but defiant. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  Zefpyre chuckled softly, his eyes lingering on the glowing doors. “Careful, Boss Man. The Library might not like your attitude.”

  “Yeah, well,” I said, exhaling a plume of smoke, “it can add me to its list of grievances.”

  We stood there for a moment, the enormity of what lay ahead pressing down on us. The Library seemed to hold its breath, waiting for us to decide.

  Mattie stepped forward, her eyes narrowing in concentration as she ran her fingers along the faint glyphs that adorned the frame of the first door. The air hung heavy with a tension I couldn’t place, but she stood firm, her confidence unwavering. “This is the Mystery Door,” she declared, her voice steady despite the enormity of the moment.

  Zefpyre raised an eyebrow, flames licking faintly along his arms as he crossed them over his chest. “How sure are you about this?”

  “There’s no doubt about it,” she replied, the edge of challenge in her tone.

  I tilted my head slightly, studying her. “I trust you, kid,” I said gruffly, knowing better than to question her instincts now.

  Her cheeks colored briefly, but she didn’t falter. Instead, she reached for the handle and turned it with a decisive motion.

  The door opened to a swell of music so grand it shook the air around us. Trumpets blared like celestial heralds, joined by a symphony of strings and thunderous drums. It wasn’t a welcome—it was an announcement, a warning that we were stepping into a place where mortals did not belong.

  As we stepped through the threshold, the sight that greeted us made even Zefpyre pause. A temple—or perhaps a throne room—unfurled before us, vast and imposing, carved from obsidian and polished to a mirror-like sheen. The air was cool but alive with an undercurrent of energy that whispered promises and threats in equal measure.

  We emerged into a vast corridor, the likes of which I had never seen. The pathway stretched endlessly ahead, flanked on either side by towering statues that radiated power and menace. These weren’t mere stone effigies—they were monuments to forces beyond comprehension, each one a Lord of Death immortalized in a tableau that spoke of their dominion over the end of all things.

  To our left stood a mummified king, his green-tinged flesh exposed beneath the ornate wrappings of a pharaoh. He bore an atef crown, and in his withered hands, he gripped a flail and staff. His gaze was fixed on us, unseeing yet somehow piercing, as though judging our worth to walk his path.

  On our right loomed a figure shrouded in impenetrable shadow, his features hidden beneath a helm of darkness. A bident rested in his grasp, its twin prongs etched with runes that seemed to writhe when looked at too closely. His presence was suffocating, the very air around him heavy with finality.

  As we moved, the statues continued, each one unique, each one a symbol of death’s many faces. A tall, older man with a long beard stood among them, his single eye burning with a blue flame. His cloak was worthy of a king, his spear gleaming with a power that transcended mere mortality. He watched us with the air of a patient predator, a god who had seen all and waited for nothing.

  The air grew colder with every step, and the pathway itself seemed to narrow, pressing us closer to the oppressive weight of the statues’ gazes. Even Zefpyre, who had burned so brightly in the Grand Library, now walked in muted silence, his fiery aura dimmed to embers.

  Mattie’s voice was barely a whisper. “Are they alive?”

  “No,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I believed it myself. “But they’re watching.”

  The pathway curved, and the statues grew larger, more intricate. They seemed to lean in as we passed, their expressions shifting subtly, or perhaps it was a trick of the light. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat an unwelcome reminder of my fragility in this place of gods.

  At last, the corridor opened into a vast chamber, and there she stood—the Mother of Night.

  A woman cloaked in shadow, her features obscured by the swirling fabric of her robe, stood as the focal point. She was the embodiment of night itself, her presence both maternal and menacing.Her statue towered above all others, a cloaked figure wrapped in shadows so deep they seemed to consume the light around her. Her face was obscured, her form ethereal, as though she wasn’t carved from stone but from the void itself. Yet, there was a strange comfort in her presence, a maternal weight that promised rest even as it whispered of endless night.

  Mattie’s breath hitched, and I felt her hand tremble at her side. “She’s…”

  “Their Mother,” I finished, my voice rough. “The keeper of all death.”

  The air in the chamber was alive with unspoken words, a language older than stars pressing against our minds. I took a shaky step forward, my body screaming from the effort, and bowed my head—not in submission, but in respect.

  “Stay close,” I muttered. “This is her domain, and we’re only visitors.”

  Zefpyre’s gaze was locked on the Mother of Night, his awe palpable. “She feels... eternal,” he whispered.

  “She is,” I said grimly. “And she’s watching.”

  We stood there for what felt like hours, the silence pressing down on us, the statues circling the room bearing witness. Whatever awaited us here, it wasn’t just another trial. This was judgment, and we were in the presence of the arbiters of the end.

  Mattie’s voice wavered. “Are we supposed to… kneel? Pray? Fight?”

  I shook my head, my hand instinctively tightening around the soul gem pouch at my side. “No. We listen. We wait. Whatever comes next, it’s on their terms, not ours.”

  The music faded into an eerie quiet, and in the stillness, the statues seemed to loom closer, their immovable forms filled with an unsettling vitality. One thing was clear: whatever trials we’d faced before, this was a different game entirely. Here, the rules were written in shadows and blood, and death itself was watching.

  A crescent moon ascended behind the towering statue of the Mother of Night, its pale light caressing her form. The stone began to shimmer, then ripple, as though it was merely a veil over something far greater. The transformation was agonizingly slow, deliberate, as if the very universe held its breath. When the last trace of stone dissolved, she stood before us—not an idol, but a living, breathing force. Her presence was infinite, an abyss that consumed thought and left only raw awe in its wake.

  When she spoke, her voice was not sound but sensation, a velvet tide that carried the weight of countless eons. "We have been waiting for you," she said, her words folding around us like a shroud. "Very few are blessed with this opportunity."

  I tried to speak, to respond, but my tongue felt like lead, my thoughts shattered under her gaze.

  "I am the Mother of Night," she continued, her tone both tender and terrifying. "The Mother of Death. Each of these are my children."

  At her words, the statues lining the chamber stirred. What had once been cold, lifeless stone now pulsed with an eerie vitality. They moved with the grace of predators and the dignity of kings, each one now a being in its own right. We were surrounded, encircled by the Lords of Death in their full, dreadful splendor.

  The Mother spoke again, her voice slicing through the heavy silence. "The quest you are on is not easy, but you are serving my purpose. It is an abomination for souls to be prevented from joining my hearth—a soul’s final home."

  Her gaze swept over us, and it was like being laid bare, every secret and fear exposed. "I have instructed my servants, the Parliament of Owls, to treat you as honored guests for as long as you serve my will. While I cannot shield you from all dangers in the Underworld, know that you carry my blessing."

  Mattie, ever the bold one, sank to her knees. Her voice was steady but tinged with awe. "Oh Mother, you could have sent any messenger to tell us this. Why are we here?"

  The Mother’s lips curved into a faint smile, one that carried the weight of stars and the finality of the grave. "Rise, child. Death needs no reverence or formality. You are before your final Mother; we are family. You are here because I wished to meet you. Should you succeed in your quest, the journey ahead will be perilous. The powers stirring are ones even myths have forgotten. I wanted you to know you are not alone."

  Mattie stood, her voice soft yet resolute. "Thank you for your kindness, O Mother. Is there anything we should know? Anything you can do to help us, so we may ensure your will is done?"

  The Mother’s smile deepened, as if amused by the question. "Dear child, you are wise beyond your years. All I can offer is a kiss, should you choose to accept it."

  Mattie hesitated. "Is there danger in taking it?"

  The Mother’s laughter was a low, resonant sound, filling the chamber like the tolling of a great bell. "It is wise to question a gift from one as powerful as I. There is no danger, child. But know this: only those who defy my will shall seek your end."

  Mattie frowned, her brow furrowed in thought. "Those who serve life—do they defy your will?"

  The Mother’s laughter came again, this time lighter, almost fond. "No, the servants of my husband are not my enemies. It is those who pervert life, who seek to escape Death, that defy my will. Life and Death are not adversaries but partners. Together, they uphold the balance that allows the universe to endure and grow. The Circle of Life and the Cycle of Death are one and the same."

  Her words lingered in the air, heavy with truth. Slowly, Mattie knelt once more. Her voice trembled, but it did not waver. "Then, O Mother, Goddess of the Night, Matriarch of Death, I accept your kiss—your sweet blessing, your sweet kiss."

  Though my voice failed me, my body moved on instinct. I knelt beside my apprentice, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Zefpyre do the same, his ever-present smirk replaced by a solemnity I had never seen before.

  The Mother of Night stepped forward, her form casting shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly. And as her blessing descended, the air grew heavy with purpose, the kind that could break worlds—or save them.

  As we knelt in the vast chamber, the Lords of Death surrounded us, their voices rising in unison, a cadence both dreadful and divine:

  Sweet Mother, hear our plea,

  Thy shadow’s grace, thy stars’ decree.

  Send forth thy child where darkness lies,

  To cleanse the sin beneath the skies.

  For those who’ve fallen, unworthy, lost,

  Their trembling souls shall pay the cost.

  The perverted wear an ashen face,

  Their sins shall bloom in blood’s embrace.

  Thy will shall rise upon this night,

  As heralds march in shadowed light.

  O night enshrined in whispers, fear,

  The tombstones mark the path drawn near.

  Baptize their deeds in rivers grim,

  The hymn of screams, a mournful hymn.

  Thy children’s dirge will cleanse the kin,

  Through harrowing rites where death begins.

  Through thee, the cycle turns anew,

  Each soul returned to what is due.

  In crimson acts, thy justice sown,

  A reaper’s seed, thy will is shown.

  Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, our hearts are thine,

  To serve thy night, eternal, divine.

  Baptize their deeds in rivers grim,

  The hymn of screams, a mournful hymn.

  Thy children’s dirge will cleanse the kin,

  Through harrowing rites where death begins.

  And lo, thy kiss, both sweet and dire,

  A spark to set the soul afire.

  Its icy touch, a lover’s bliss,

  Thy faithful marked by death’s soft kiss.

  Through thee, the cycle turns anew,

  Each soul returned to what is due.

  In crimson acts, thy justice sown,

  A reaper’s seed, thy will is shown.

  Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, our hearts are thine,

  To serve thy night, eternal, divine.

  By thy kiss, we rise to bring thee grace,

  Thy children born of shadows’ embrace.

  The words echoed like a dirge through the hallowed hall, resonating with the weight of eternity. Shadows deepened with each verse, and the statues stood watchful, their stony gazes turned to flesh, their silent reverence palpable.

  The Mother of Night moved with the grace of the cosmos itself, a living shadow adorned in the celestial finery of the void. Her presence eclipsed the darkness, a figure of infinite gravity. Slowly, she descended, her form both terrible and tender, and as the chant reached its crescendo, she stood before us.

  With a hand as pale as moonlight, she reached out and kissed each of us upon the forehead. Her lips were as cold as death’s promise, and the icy sensation coursed through my veins, extinguishing the last embers of fear. A strange, uncanny strength filled my soul, a fortification forged from despair and purpose intertwined.

  The hall seemed to dim, the light retreating as if in submission to her will. My breath faltered, my vision blurred, and all sound dissolved into a silence so profound it felt alive. The cold spread, blanketing my thoughts until they faded like whispers lost in the wind.

  The last thing I saw before succumbing to the void was her gaze—vast and unyielding, a reflection of eternity’s abyss. And then, the darkness claimed me, pulling me into its embrace as if I were part of it all along.