The tunnel swallowed the light behind him.
Evin moved forward because stopping meant collapsing, and collapsing meant the remnants would surge again, and he didn't know if he would survive the next eruption. His legs trembled with each step. The stone beneath his boots felt uneven, as though it shifted under his weight.
The air was colder here.
Thicker.
Stagnant enough that each breath scraped his throat.
He trailed one hand along the wall to stay upright. Water clung to the stone, seeping from hairline cracks and running down in thin rivulets. It was cold enough to numb his fingers instantly.
The remnants inside him whispered quietly, not the screaming torrent from before, but a constant murmur — like a hive settling after being struck.
Evin didn't know whether that was better or worse.
He took another step, and the tunnel seemed to breathe around him — the faint flicker of air shifting across his cheek. He stiffened instantly.
Someone had passed through here recently.
He wasn't imagining that.
Not this time.
He swallowed hard. His throat felt raw and too tight.
"No more surprises," he whispered to himself.
The Veil pulsed faintly at that, a ripple under his skin, like it disagreed.
His shadow followed in uneven intervals, jerking slightly behind him as if keeping pace required effort. It grew longer when the tunnel dipped, then snapped back into shape when he straightened. Once, it flickered, splitting into two before merging again.
Evin kept his eyes forward and pretended not to notice.
The tunnel sloped downward, the incline gradual at first, then steeper. The old stonework changed — the carvings became simpler, more utilitarian, less polished. These walls were never meant for clergy footsteps or processions. They were the bones of the Sanctum. Foundations. Maintenance shafts. Forgotten corridors.
He passed rusted hooks embedded in the stone.
Broken crates rotting into heaps of splinters.
Discarded tools so old their metal had corroded to dust.
Every sound he made seemed too loud.
His breathing.
His footsteps.
His heartbeat.
They echoed down the tunnel and returned faintly distorted, as though the walls were reshaping the sounds before giving them back.
Evin kept walking.
He wasn't sure how long he traveled before his body faltered again. His vision stuttered, sliding out of alignment, turning the straight path into a double image. His legs buckled and he caught himself on the wall, chest heaving.
The remnants stirred at his distress.
Hold—
Move—
Down—
Not here—
Their voices collided like distant thunder.
He tried to steady his breathing, drawing air into lungs that felt too tight. He slid down the wall until he was half-kneeling, one hand pressed to the floor.
His fingertips pulsed with faint shadow.
Not surging.
Not lashing.
Just… leaking.
He clenched his fist until they dimmed.
"Not again," he muttered. "Not here. Not now."
His body trembled, but the Veil stayed where it was — restless, but not violent. The chaos of the earlier eruption had left it drained or sated. For now.
He stayed there until he could breathe without shaking.
One breath.
Two.
Five.
When he finally pushed himself upright, his legs barely obeyed.
He moved on.
The tunnel grew narrower. The ceiling dropped low enough that he had to hunch. Water pooled in dips along the floor. His boots splashed quietly with each step. The remnants hissed when the cold water touched him, like they resented the intrusion.
Something in the darkness ahead shifted.
Evin froze.
Not a remnant.
Not a shadow.
Not the Bishop.
Tap.
A single, delicate sound.
Like wood tapped once against stone.
A cane.
Evin held his breath.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Slow. Steady.
Approaching.
The tapping continued for three beats — then stopped the moment Evin moved.
He turned sharply, scanning both directions. Nothing but the tunnel behind him, empty and dripping. No silhouette. No figure. No lantern light.
His pulse hammered so loudly it drowned out the remnants' murmurs.
"Who's there?" he whispered before he could stop himself.
The tunnel answered with silence.
Deep.
Patient.
Not hostile — but not friendly.
A silence that listened.
Evin stared into it until his eyes burned. Eventually, the remnants inside him stirred again, pushing him forward.
Not safety.
Just a direction.
He walked.
The tunnel bent sharply, and the air shifted — warmer here, faintly lit by something ahead. Evin squinted, trying to make out the source.
A small room opened up as he rounded the corner.
A storeroom, long abandoned. Shelves had rotted into collapse, their contents spilled into piles of damp cloth and shattered pottery. The stone walls were darkened from years of neglect. Dust hung in the air like smoke.
In the center of the room sat a single lantern.
Lit.
Evin stopped in the doorway.
No footsteps had passed him.
No one had squeezed by him in the tunnel.
He would have heard.
He would have seen.
And yet the lantern was burning — flame steady and bright, casting warm glow that made the shadows dance long across the floor.
His own shadow quivered sharply, reacting like a startled animal.
Evin didn't move.
The remnants hushed suddenly, as if something beyond the tunnel or the room had their attention. Silence expanded inside him in a way it never had before.
He realized with a chill:
They were listening.
To what?
He didn't know.
But the silence inside him was worse than the whispers.
Far worse.
Evin stepped into the room.
One step.
Shadow twitching.
Hand instinctively brushing the wall beside him.
He moved closer to the lantern, its warm glow a stark contrast to the cold hall behind him. He crouched slowly, studying it.
No soot around the wick.
No melted wax spill.
This lantern hadn't been lit long.
Someone had placed it here for him.
Deliberately.
He reached out a shaking hand…
and stopped an inch from the handle.
Some part of him didn't want to touch it.
He swallowed, forcing breath through his lungs, feeling the remnants pressing outward in discomfort.
Behind him, the tapping started again.
Farther away now.
Somewhere deeper in the tunnels.
Measured. Steady.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Evin straightened slowly, every muscle taut.
"Who are you?" he whispered, voice raw.
No answer.
Only the tapping, receding into the darkness behind another turn in the tunnels — as if whoever carried that cane was already moving on.
Already expecting Evin to follow.
The lantern flickered faintly, as though reacting to the distant sound.
Evin took one final breath, reached out, and lifted the lantern.
The flame brightened.
The remnants stirred in alarm — then fell silent again.
And Evin stepped into the deeper dark, knowing someone was waiting for him.
Someone who already knew his path.
Someone who might finally speak.