The night outside the Obsidian Spire was quiet, unnaturally so. The usual low hum of the city had faltered entirely, as if Ares Vaal itself was holding its breath. Kain and Yuri had been left alone in their quarters after the Warden departed, but the room felt anything but empty.
Kain sat on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the window. The streets below were darkened, lanterns flickering in uneven pulses, casting long shadows over empty avenues. His hands still trembled from the confrontation with the Heart, the lingering resonance of a thousand voices pressing at the edges of his mind.
Yuri leaned back against the wall, knees drawn to his chest, face pale in the dim violet glow of the Soulglass veins. He had stopped speaking hours ago, listening instead. Listening to the silence that was anything but silence.
Then it began again.
A soft scraping, like fingernails along metal, echoed from the walls. Kain's chest tightened. He did not look at Yuri; he already knew his brother felt it too.
"You hear them," Yuri whispered, voice brittle. "They're… moving again."
"They never stopped," Kain said, voice low, measured. "We just… ignored them while the city fed."
The scratching grew louder, faster, layering over itself, becoming rhythm, almost heartbeat. The walls themselves seemed to pulse with movement. Shadows shifted within the Soulglass veins, faces forming and dissolving with each pulse. Some recognizable, some alien. All of them staring, all of them screaming silently.
Then came the smell—metallic, earthy, like blood in sand, thick and choking. It seeped into the room, saturating the air. Yuri gagged, bringing a trembling hand to his mouth.
"They smell like…" he choked, "…like the pit."
"Yes," Kain said. "Every one of them. Every life that fed the Heart. Every one still here, waiting."
The floor trembled beneath their feet, subtle at first, then violently. The bed shuddered, the walls quivering. Something moved under the Spire, deep beneath glass and bone. A collective groan of the city rose, low and ancient. The dead were not asleep. They were awake.
Then the screaming started.
Not one voice. Not a few. Thousands. Layered, unceasing, chaotic. The sound was everywhere, in the metal, in the air, under their skin. Kain stumbled back, hands over his ears, but it did nothing. Yuri dropped to the floor, shivering, pressing his face into his knees.
"They… they're here!" Yuri gasped. "In the walls! In our heads! I can't—"
Kain forced himself upright, eyes fixed on the Soulglass veins. He could see them moving now, twisting, coiling, reaching. Faces of men, women, children, all screaming without sound, their mouths frozen in crystalline terror. One pressed a small hand against the window pane as if begging for release. Another tilted its head, eyes hollow, staring through him.
"They remember everything," Kain said. His voice was tight. "Every death. Every betrayal. Every moment of suffering. It's all here, Yuri. They… they're living it again."
A sudden flash. The room's walls shivered violently. Crystal fractures shot across the Soulglass veins, pulsating in sickly violet. Faces pressed against them, stretching unnaturally, trying to escape the metal prison. Some laughed. Some wept. All screamed.
And then came a whisper, soft, singular, but impossible to ignore:
"Join us."
Yuri's head shot up, his face pale, lips trembling. "No! We can't—"
Another voice layered over it, then another, faster, louder:
"Join us. Join us. Join us."
The whispers became a chant, climbing in volume until the chamber itself seemed to pulse with it. Kain felt his mind bending under the pressure. Memories not his own pressed into him—being buried alive, suffocating in sand, the cold touch of crystal forming inside his chest. The dead wanted him. Wanted Yuri. Wanted them both.
Kain gritted his teeth, fighting to maintain control. "They're not the enemy," he muttered through clenched teeth. "They're trapped… they're asking for release."
Yuri shook violently. "Release! How do we release them?!"
Kain's gaze went to the wall where the child had appeared yesterday. The faint violet glow pulsed there now, spreading like veins through the metal. He could see figures moving within, not just trapped, but aware, reaching out to him. Some stretched impossibly long, trying to bridge the gap between the living and the buried.
"The Heart," Kain whispered. "It's conscious. Not like a machine… not like a prison. It's alive. And it remembers everything. We can't fight it. We have to listen."
Yuri's eyes were wide, unblinking. "And if it hates what it remembers?"
Kain's jaw tightened. "Then it will destroy us."
Another tremor shook the Spire, this one violent enough to tear the floor beneath them. Dust rained down. Kain grabbed Yuri, anchoring him. Through the haze, the faces in the walls pressed forward, hundreds of them, straining to reach out. One particular figure—a man with hollowed eyes and cracked lips—locked gaze with Kain. Its voice pierced through all the others, clear and demanding:
"Bring us back. Stop it. End the cycle."
The chant swelled into a deafening crescendo, the voices no longer contained within the walls—they poured into the room, through the floor, the ceiling, rattling their bones. The brothers staggered under the pressure.
"Don't let them drown us," Kain shouted. "Focus. Listen!"
Yuri blinked rapidly, trying to block out the screaming, trying to follow his brother's lead. Slowly, Kain realized that the pulse beneath the city, the rhythm of the Heart, had shifted again. It was slower now, deliberate, like a warning.
"They're guiding us," Kain said. "They don't want us gone. They want… something else."
The chamber lights flickered violently, then stabilized. The chorus of trapped voices became a murmur again, all eyes pressed against the Soulglass veins, all mouths opening in silent screams. The child's face appeared once more, its crystal hands reaching out. Its eyes—alive—locked onto Kain.
"Please," it whispered, not in words but in memory, in feeling, in raw emotion. "Don't forget us. Don't let them keep us here."
Kain understood. For the first time, he felt it: the dead were not just prisoners or power. They were witnesses, historians, living memory. They remembered the world that had been stolen from them, and they demanded that someone carry that memory forward.
Yuri swallowed hard, voice barely audible. "So… we're supposed to… free them?"
Kain nodded slowly. "We survive the Heart not by fighting… but by guiding it. By acknowledging it. If we reject it… it will consume everything, including us."
The pulse beneath the Spire grew again, stronger, more insistent. Shapes in the walls writhed, hands and faces pressing forward like waves against glass. One hand broke through the surface for a fraction of a second before snapping back.
"We have to go deeper," Kain said. "Where the Heart is born."
Yuri's stomach churned. "You mean… into the city itself. Into the pit. The core."
"Yes," Kain said. "We have no choice. If we stay here… we die slowly, letting them scream forever."
The brothers shared a silent understanding. Fear gripped them, yes—but also purpose. The dead were not enemies, not yet. But if the Heart was left unchecked… it would not merely consume the city. It would consume reality itself.
A final, heavy pulse rattled the room. The blue veins flared violently, casting twisted shadows across their faces. The walls seemed to breathe. The whispers rose once more, desperate but expectant.
"Remember us. Don't forget."
Kain looked down at Yuri, voice steady despite the terror: "Then we remember. And we end this."
Yuri nodded, face pale, jaw tight. "Together."
And with that, they turned toward the corridor. Beyond it lay darkness, sand, glass, bone—and the endless, screaming Heart of Ares Vaal.
The Spire seemed to sigh behind them, the dead watching, waiting for their next move.