The Ancient Sanctuary was breathing.
It was neither wind nor ordinary magic. It felt as though the stones themselves were slowly shifting, responding to Celestine's presence. The soft glow along the pillars did not fade; instead, it pulsed with a steady rhythm, like a heart resuming its beat after centuries of silence.
Celestine stood at the center of the platform, sword firm in her grip, carrying the invisible weight of everything she had learned. Elyndra's voice still echoed in her mind—not as clear words, but as a memory that was not entirely her own… and yet had always been part of her.
Leonhardt surveyed the surroundings with absolute focus. Every muscle in his body was poised to react. He had fought monsters, men, and even beings touched by divinity, but this place stirred something different—an unsettling sense of being judged by something that had no need for eyes.
"This place…" he murmured. "It's not just a ruin."
"No," the Guardian replied, his voice heavy. "It is a point of convergence. Everything the gods rejected eventually finds its way here."
Celestine took a step forward.
The ground responded with a brighter glow, and an invisible pressure rolled through the air. It wasn't hostile—but it was demanding, as if the Sanctuary required more from her than mere presence.
"Something has awakened," she said. "Not like Seraphiel… this is different."
The Guardian nodded slowly.
"The Sanctuary shelters echoes. Incomplete consciousnesses. Wills that were never allowed to move on."
"You are not the first to awaken them… but you are the first to survive long enough to be acknowledged."
Before Leonhardt could ask what that meant, the floor ahead of them parted in silence. There was no explosion, no roar—only a smooth, deliberate shift, revealing a spiraling staircase descending into darkness beneath the Sanctuary.
A cold energy rose from below, causing ancient torches along the walls to reignite on their own, one by one.
Celestine felt the Void within her stir.
Not with fear.
With anticipation.
"If we go down there…" Leonhardt began.
"There will be no immediate return," the Guardian finished. "What lies below does not accept the curious. Only those who make a choice."
Celestine closed her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened them, there was no hesitation left.
"Then we descend."
She stepped onto the first stair.
With each step downward, fragmented images flickered along the walls: forgotten battles, human figures kneeling before merciless lights, and between them—shadows being cast out of history. They weren't complete visions, but sensations—despair, rage, abandonment.
Leonhardt struggled to breathe.
"Celestine… this all feels wrong."
"It is," she replied without slowing. "But it's real."
At the base of the staircase, the space opened into a vast chamber. At its center stood a structure resembling a shattered throne, bound by chains of dimmed light. And there, kneeling before it, was a human figure.
—or something that had once been human.
The head lifted slowly.
Empty gray eyes. No pupils.
"Another… bearer?" the voice echoed, fractured, as if several spoke at once.
Leonhardt raised his sword instinctively.
"Stay behind me."
But Celestine stepped forward.
"Who are you?"
The figure tried to rise, but the chains reacted instantly, biting deeper into her form.
"I was called many things," she said. "Traitor. Aberration. Divine error."
The Guardian's expression hardened.
"A failed bearer."
The entity laughed—a dry, broken sound.
"Failed… because I refused to obey."
A tight ache formed in Celestine's chest.
"What did you do?"
"I tried to destroy the system," the figure replied. "Before you. Before Elyndra completed the seal."
The Void within Celestine vibrated violently.
"And I failed," the entity continued. "I was broken, chained… and forgotten."
Her empty gaze lifted toward Celestine.
"But you… you are different."
"You don't carry only the Void."
"You carry possibility."
The chains began to tremble.
The Guardian stepped forward.
"Do not listen to her. This being is unstable. Freeing her—"
"—could destroy everything," Leonhardt finished.
Celestine tightened her grip on the sword.
The weight of the decision pressed down on her shoulders—heavy as the heavens that had condemned her.
"Maybe," she said steadily. "But maybe the world needs to be broken… to stop repeating the same mistakes."
For the first time, something like hope flickered across the entity's empty gaze.
The chains groaned.
And for the first time since entering the Sanctuary, Celestine realized something—
It was not merely watching.
It was waiting.
—for her choice.