The switchback descent from the ziggurat's monolithic tiers was an agonizing trap.
What had looked like a straightforward staircase on the ascent became a winding labyrinth on the way down, forcing the team to march at severe angles that nearly doubled the distance. The diagonal gravity pulled relentlessly at their bodies, draining stamina and leaving them exposed along the canyon walls.
By the time they reached the lower terrace, the vast view from the summit had vanished into shadow. The pale seam-causeway Marcus had spotted earlier was nowhere to be seen. Without a clear line of sight, they navigated through a maze of crystalline projections and bottomless voids.
"We're roughly heading in the right direction," Lysara said, leaning heavily on her carved staff. "I think. That thing's lingering drain is making navigation difficult."
"How difficult?" Marcus asked, scanning the darkness.
"Difficult enough that I wouldn't bet our lives on it." Her jaw tightened. "I've lost the flow of the rift-currents. It's like trying to read a map through mud."
The admission settled heavily over the group.
They crossed two small causeways without incident. Each led only to another barren terrace swallowed by darkness.
On the second terrace, Marcus stopped. A familiar sensation crept across the back of his neck. Not the focused pull of a single rift-wraith. Something else.
The feeling of being watched.
"Lysara."
Her grip tightened on her staff.
"I feel it too."
Marcus's eyes narrowed.
"How many?"
"More than one."
The passage ahead widened into a low chamber carved directly into the canyon wall. Cracks spread across the floor like shattered glass, converging toward the center.
Shadowy forms drifted among them.
Not one.
Several.
Layers of grit and darkness overlapped until individual shapes became difficult to distinguish.
"At least four," Lysara whispered. "Possibly five."
Taryn's hand tightened around her bandolier.
"They've blocked the route?"
"Looks that way."
Marcus studied the room.
"This isn't a hunting ground."
"What is it?" Taryn asked.
"A feeding site."
His gaze followed the concentration of fractures beneath the wraiths.
"They're gathering where the energy is strongest."
"And the seam-causeway is behind them."
Marcus nodded.
Kael studied the formation. They weren't spread out to attack. They were spread out to contain. A gap remained near the outer edge of the chamber.
Small.
Dangerous.
Possible.
"The weakest point is near the flank," Kael said. "They're covering territory, not holding a line."
Taryn stared at him.
"That's still a gamble."
"It's the only one we have."
Marcus shifted into stance.
"Run."
They sprinted.
Boots hammered against cracked stone.
The gap held.
For a moment.
Then one of the wraiths moved. It didn't charge. It simply appeared. One instant it drifted at the edge of the chamber. The next, it materialized barely two feet away. The drain slammed into them.
Kael felt fragments of old memories tear loose at the edges. Faces. Voices. Pieces of a life that suddenly felt distant.
Beside him, Taryn stumbled with a strangled gasp.
"Keep moving!"
Marcus drove a dagger through the creature.
The blade passed through harmlessly, but the disruption scattered the form into dozens of violet threads.
It was enough.
The team burst from the chamber and stumbled onto the edge of another causeway.
Marcus immediately frowned.
"This isn't it."
The bridge beneath them was narrower and rougher than the seam-causeway he'd observed from above.
"It's another route."
"We're not going back," Taryn said.
"No."
Marcus stepped forward.
"We cross."
The bridge carried them to a flat terrace of unremarkable stone. The moment Marcus stepped onto it, he froze. Heat pulsed through his palm. Not pain. Not the draining cold of the wraiths.
Recognition.
Marcus looked down. The silver sigil glowed brightly. Deep within the blue light, a thread of gold-white radiance stirred to life.
His breath caught. The sensation was strangely familiar. Like remembering a place he had never actually seen.
"Marcus?" Taryn asked.
He continued staring at his hand.
"I don't know."
The golden spark slowly faded.
"But the sigil recognized something."
Something nearby. Something important. No causeway, platform, or visible structure seemed connected to it.
Yet the feeling lingered.
A pull.
A direction.
A clue.
"We need to move," Lysara said quietly. "The wraiths are still behind us."
Marcus closed his fist. The warmth disappeared. The questions would have to wait.
For now, survival came first.
He turned toward the darkness ahead and resumed the march.
The others followed.
Behind them, the feeding grounds vanished into shadow.
Ahead, the unknown waited.