The stairs didn't end cleanly.
They bled into the stone like someone had carved downward and simply… kept going. No polish. No symmetry. Just raw rock reinforced with age, pressure, and intent. The deeper we went, the colder the air became—not chill, not damp—still. Like the castle itself was holding its breath.
I raised my hand without speaking.
Everyone stopped.
The corridor ahead widened into something resembling a forgotten hall. Pillars leaned at odd angles, their carvings worn down to ghosts of meaning. My aura prickled faintly—not flaring, not responding violently—but aware.
Then the sound came.
Bone scraping stone.
Not rushed. Not chaotic.
Measured.
"More enemies," I said quietly.
They rose from the floor.
Not bursting up like battlefield undead. Not clawing or shrieking. These skeletons stood, assembling themselves with deliberate motion—spines locking into place, armor plates sliding into alignment like they remembered how they were supposed to fit.
And that's when my stomach tightened.
Their armor wasn't broken or shattered.
It was old.
Newoagan.
Outdated crests. Obsolete sigils. A design the current knights didn't wear anymore.
"These aren't random," Seraphyne muttered, daggers sliding into her hands.
"No," Aelira said, eyes narrowing. "These weren't raised recently… they were preserved..?"
The skeletons moved.
Not charging.
Advancing.
Formation intact.
"Liraeath, Shield." I ordered. "No overextending."
The clash was sudden but controlled.
Steel rang against bone—not dull, not brittle. These remains had been reinforced. Aura-treated. Maintained. One skeleton swung a halberd with trained precision, forcing Liam back two steps before Theon intercepted with a heavy block that cracked ribs but didn't shatter them.
"They're guards," Liraeth said quietly, plasma aura flickering as she smashed through a spine. "Someone's maintaining them."
I cut through two with clean arcs—water aura tightening my movements, white lightning snapping through joints, severing structure instead of brute force.
Still, they didn't panic.
They fought like men who had once been alive—and remembered how.
When the last one fell, there was no cheer.
No relief.
They collapsed inward, dissolving into dust and bone fragments that scattered across the floor like ash.
Everyone stood there breathing hard.
Weapons stayed raised.
No one lowered their guard.
"Routine," Kazen said grimly. "This wasn't a defense response."
No one argued.
Varein closed his eyes, focusing. "Necromantic aura confirmed," he said. Then hesitated. "But… it's wrong."
I looked at him.
"Not raw death mana. Not battlefield residue. This isn't hunger-driven necromancy."
I understood before he finished.
"This feels…" I searched for the word. "…regulated."
Sir Aldred went pale.
"That shouldn't exist," he said quietly. "Necromancy is chaos by nature."
"This has to be a work of powerful jaki, just like the forest." I replied.
We moved on.
The hall ended at a sealed chamber.
Two stone doors—massive, ancient—etched with royal crests and holy sigils, interwoven so tightly they were indistinguishable from one another.
Sanctioned.
Approved.
Authorized.
Inside was silence.
Scrolls lay stacked in careful disorder. Stone tablets embedded in the walls. A shattered crystal recording device lay cracked near the center, faint residual aura still clinging to it like breath on glass.
Aelira stepped forward, translating aloud.
"Saintess Cycle."
She swallowed.
"Radiant Compliance."
The room felt heavier.
"Crown Preservation Protocol."
The words settled like lead.
"They weren't advisors," she said slowly. "Saintesses were… anchors."
The truth unfolded piece by piece.
Bound to locations.
Their presence stabilized monster activity, regulated aura flow, suppressed unrest.
Peace—artificial, enforced.
But the cost—
"They lose autonomy," Liraeth said softly. "Slowly."
Disobedience resulted in suppression. Pain. Sealing.
I remembered Lumiel's stiffness. Her pauses. The way her aura had fractured instead of flowing.
She wasn't escorted.
She was transferred.
Liam broke the silence first.
"If this prevents wars…" he said carefully. "Is it wrong?"
Seraphyne rounded on him. "If it takes her freedom, yes."
Kai looked unsettled. "What happens when one breaks?"
Sir Aldred didn't hesitate. "Kingdoms fall."
Arion looked at me.
"If this is how the world works… what do we do?"
I didn't raise my voice.
"We don't pretend it's for the greater good."
We found the recording next.
Damaged. Flickering.
Lumiel's voice—younger. Tighter.
"If I refuse… who suffers instead?"
Silence followed.
I clenched my jaw.
She hadn't been forced.
She'd been cornered.
The voice returned then.
Calm. Educated. Close.
"Kingdoms are unstable," it said. "Free will causes war. Saintesses are necessary sacrifices."
"History doesn't remember the chains," it continued. "It remembers the peace."
"Then history's lying," I said flatly.
My aura reacted.
Not violently—but rejecting this space.
Water pressure built outward, subtle but undeniable. The structure resisted. The structure strained.
Aelira stared at me.
"Aura types like yours can't be bound," she whispered. "That's why you're dangerous to this system."
Stone began grinding.
The chamber started sealing.
Not collapsing—closing.
"They're delaying us," I said. "Not killing."
"Fall back," I ordered. "Now."
As we escaped into deeper passages, one truth settled heavily in my chest.
Lumiel wasn't just in danger.
She was part of a machine.
And machines don't stop—
Unless someone breaks them.