The passage beyond the chamber of silence was taken with hesitant steps, as if the absolute absence of sound had left deep, invisible marks on the skin and bones of the two travelers. When Arien and Nyra emerged from that space where even time seemed suspended, the sensation was of returning from a world forbidden to the murmur of life. The timid echo of their movements, beating against damp stone walls, was not just noise: it was a kind of reverse baptism, the restitution of the right to belong to matter and sound. The mineral scent, saturated with moss and sweat, clung to their clothes and skin as a constant reminder that there, every breath was a victory. Still trembling, they experienced the vertigo of a new silence—now not absolute, but pregnant with unspoken meanings, where even the air seemed attentive to their steps. Every inch of skin carried memories of nothingness, and every glance exchanged was a silent confession of the fear of, at any moment, losing themselves once again.
The weight of this return had barely settled into their bodies when a new threat announced itself—not coming from noise, but from the absence of it. It was a sensation that first settled in the bones, a chill in the pit of the stomach, a warning before consciousness itself. They stopped, instinctively, and Nyra grabbed Arien's arm, her fingers digging into his sleeve with the strength of someone who hears a predator's cry before seeing it. Something in the air changed, dense like a storm forming without clouds. Their breath hung in suspense, and the space behind them darkened more than would be possible by the absence of light alone: a shadow gained volume, taking over the walls, whispering old promises of pain. It was as if the labyrinth itself shrank to give way to that presence—something far beyond a beast, something that blended form and memory, matter and legend.
The creature emerging from the darkness was not merely large—it was impossible to measure in common terms, for it changed proportion at every moment, squeezing into the narrowest passages as if made of matter and illusion. Its main body, like an abyssal serpent, was clad in polished bones, translucent in some places, from which escaped flashes of cold light, as if small dead suns pulsed beneath ice. Between each bony plate, what appeared to be flesh pulsed: a viscous, black substance, always in motion, as if it harbored storms or memories of ancient curses. There was no symmetry to its head; mouths opened and closed in unexpected places, some filled with teeth set in spirals, others exhaling a bluish mist that chilled the air. The eyes, countless and scattered randomly over the monster's entire body, had only a strange, hypnotic glow, as if made to confuse whoever dared to stare into them. Each time the creature moved, stunted limbs of root, stone, or scale dragged across the ground, leaving marks that immediately closed behind, denying any trail or record of its passing. Helical spines spun on its back, releasing golden sparks and electric buzzes, mixing the scent of old bones with an unknown mineral aroma. From its throat, deep, muffled growls escaped, reverberating through the walls like swallowed thunder, making the air oppressive, heavy, as if part of their own fear materialized right there.
Nyra, in a terrified whisper, uttered:
— "It's a Kurum-Azhr, Arien… One of the Promise Devourers. They say they only appear when someone dares to swear an oath they cannot keep."
Arien felt his heart freeze, as if he'd been seen by an ancient, jealous god.
— "Why is it after us?"
Nyra replied without taking her eyes off it, her words clipped, fighting not to give in to panic:
— "Because we came to the altar. Because we want the truth… and truth always demands a price."
The corridor ahead was narrow, flanked by stone walls covered in bluish lichens, pulsing like exposed hearts, and the passage seemed to tighten as they advanced, making every step a choice between continuing and giving in to panic. The moss underfoot was viscous, almost treacherous, and the reflections from Arien's blade danced side to side, trying to illuminate what was hostile in the shadows. Yet, the true danger thickened behind them. The floor began to tremble with an irregular frequency, at first barely perceptible, then growing in waves that seemed to synchronize the rhythm of their hearts with that of a predator buried beneath the rock. Golden veins, like roots of light, appeared and disappeared among the cracks, drawing living maps that led not to escape, but to the origin of terror.
Then came the sound: not a roar, but a dense absence, filled only by the wet, sticky noise of claws sliding over moss and membranes rubbing against the cracks of the labyrinth. The monster's emergence was a collapse of space, filling the corridor with an impossible mass: the creature folded and multiplied into itself, bone plates bearing inscriptions that briefly glowed before fading into shadow. Each eye reflected not only Arien and Nyra, but also forgotten voices, ancestral figures, corrupted memories, and scenes of ancient pacts, making it impossible not to feel their own past being hunted. Wherever it passed, the beast distorted space: walls rippled like water beneath its weight, and tentacles of shadow stretched out, almost touching the heels of the fleeing pair. This was not just a physical chase—it was a hunt of eras, an insatiable hunger driven by the need to punish any promise daring to become truth.
— "Run!" — Nyra cried, breaking the trance and sending them both into a blind dash.
The flight became frantic, the monster's sounds blending with the blood pounding in their ears.
— "It's going to catch us!" — gasped Arien, trying to look back without losing his balance, blade ready in hand, even knowing it was not meant to be fought, but survived.
Nyra, pulling him forward, murmured words in an ancient tongue—perhaps prayers, perhaps curses.
— "If it touches you, it will rip your promises from your flesh, Arien. Don't stop! Don't look it in the eyes!"
The corridor tightened, the walls seemed to curve inward, as if the labyrinth itself didn't want them to escape. At one point, Nyra tripped over a dark root.
— "Leave me, Arien! If I fall, go on! The altar must be reached!"
— "No way!" — he shot back, going back to help her.
The creature's claws scraped the floor behind them, raising shards of stone and golden sparks. A shadowy tentacle brushed Arien's arm, chilling him to the bone, and a flood of memories raced through his mind—the face of his sister, his mother's last embrace, guilt, doubt.
He shouted:
— "You won't take me, curse! Not yet!"
Nyra, recovering, threw a bundle of roots behind them, but they only caused the creature to split into three, each part tunneling through the earth, appearing ahead and behind them, as if space was no longer a barrier.
— "It bends the path, Arien! Run! Now!"
Even as they fled, Arien tried to lash out behind them, the Static Flame's whip slicing the air in blue arcs, each impact throwing sparks that transformed into small figures—fragments of memories of ancient fights, echoes of battles never won. The attacks struck the beast's bone plates, breaking off chips that quickly recombined with its viscous body, as if wounding it was merely a concession to despair. The labyrinth itself seemed to pulse, sometimes easing escape with secret passages, sometimes narrowing the way as if it wanted to witness the final confrontation.
The bridge to the altar appeared ahead like impossible salvation. The abyss below them pulsed with the same hunger as the creature.
— "Together!" — said Nyra, and they grasped hands before launching themselves onto the bridge, feeling their own screams swallowed by the void.
When the corridor finally opened into a colossal chamber, Arien and Nyra nearly stumbled, their chests heaving, bodies driven only by the urgency of fear and hope. The circular hall, its walls covered with polished stones reflecting the light as if keeping ancient constellations, seemed suspended in the void—a true reliquary of secrets lost in the belly of the world. The floor ended abruptly in a bottomless abyss, and the darkness there was so dense it devoured vision. In the center, untouchable, stood the black altar: a slab of smooth stone, immortal in appearance, crossed by three shining grooves where a blue and golden glow flowed like ancient blood pulsing in filaments of living memory. Before the altar yawned a frightening void—and spanning this abyss, only two ancient bridges, narrow, made of irregular blocks. Each block was engraved with symbols of forgotten pacts and promises sealed in remote ages, gleaming in the shadows with the intensity of ancestral spirits' gaze. The wind, there, did not blow for relief: it spun in an almost invisible vortex, bringing ancient murmurs and fragments of forgotten voices, as if destiny itself whispered among the stones.
For a moment frozen in time, the creature stood still at the entrance to the hall. Its presence was like a living wall, and its eyes multiplied in the gloom, absorbing and returning the reflections of all that had been lost in the labyrinth—pain, fear, courage, and ruin. The Kurum-Azhr seemed to hesitate, as if savoring their terror, stretching shadowy tentacles that touched both floor and air, threatening to advance at any moment. The silence, broken only by the muffled sounds of their breathing and the altar's pulse, became almost unbearable. In that instant, Arien realized that, more than blocking the passage, the monster was testing their will: each glance cast images into the dark—the fire consuming Mahran, the circle of stones soaked in mourning, the forest dying slowly. It was a silent invitation to surrender, a whisper of defeat that tried to coil around the heart.
Without wasting time, both darted for the first bridge, feeling the wind rise from the abyss like invisible hands trying to pull them down. The irregular stones groaned and trembled beneath their desperate steps. Every meter traveled was a battle against fear: the ground shook, the bridge swayed, and Nyra stumbled when one slab gave way under her weight, falling silently into the void. Arien grabbed her arm at the last moment, pulling her back onto the narrow path, and they continued—staggering, sweaty, marked with dried blood, like survivors crossing the end of the world itself. Behind them, the Kurum-Azhr slid onto the bridge with unnatural agility: that monstrous mass seemed to scorn the laws of matter, advancing in absolute silence, each step sucking away part of the courage of those daring to defy it. The bridge rippled under its weight, the altar lights flickered, and for a moment the world seemed to warp in waves, as if reality itself threatened to collapse with them.
At the heart of the crossing, the beast rose, blocking all passage. Its body writhed, and an unnatural mouth opened, baring three rows of teeth, each marked by deep runes—signs of hunger, pain, and oblivion. When it roared, there wasn't just sound: it was an ancestral explosion, so brutal it made the stones vibrate, eardrums ache, and the wall lights shatter into golden splinters, as if time itself had been broken apart. The ground seemed to weaken, and the bridge threatened to dissolve beneath their feet. The roar was not just a threat—it was a verdict, an order inscribed in the bones of the world: no one crosses the heart of the labyrinth without bearing the mark of their own fear.
It was at this peak of horror, as Arien readied the final blow, his hand trembling between courage and terror, that the creature simply vanished. As if it had never existed, it dissolved in the air, disintegrating into fragments of shadow sucked into the depths of the abyss. Silence fell heavy, and for a moment the two stood motionless, weapons raised, waiting for an attack that never came. The labyrinth, satisfied, seemed to rest, as if it had only tested the strength of those daring to challenge its secrets.
Dazed, stunned, they crossed the last part of the bridge like sleepwalkers, their hearts hammering, cold sweat running down their necks. They sat at the foot of the altar for a few seconds, breathing heavily, eyes fixed on the deep scars on the ground—marks left by generations of pacts, failures, and rebirths. For a moment, the silence there seemed too heavy to break, but it was Nyra who broke the trance, her voice hoarse but sincere:
— "I thought we wouldn't make it. For a moment… I almost let fear win."
Arien looked at her, his face still pale, and smiled with fraternal exhaustion:
— "You pulled me forward more times than you know. If it weren't for you, maybe I'd have stopped back there. Or been lost for good."
Nyra pressed her forehead to her knees, shoulders trembling between laughter and relief:
— "It's strange, isn't it? We barely knew each other… and now it feels like crossing this labyrinth alone would be impossible."
— "Maybe that's what the labyrinth wants to prove to us. That no one can bear the weight of their own fear alone."
She raised her gaze, eyes shining with gratitude:
— "I won't forget what you did for me there on the bridge. Even with all that behind us… you didn't let go of my hand."
Arien nodded, touching her shoulder lightly, their friendship sealed in the heat of danger:
— "No matter what comes next. If we're together, I… I think I can face even another Kurum-Azhr. Or at least, try."
The two smiled, feeling there, in the brief relief of reaffirmed friendship, the strength to bear what would come. Each inscription there seemed to pulse, alive, as if waiting for the next vow to be laid between its grooves. The scent of stone was metallic, the air heavy, and everything around vibrated with the intensity of the rite about to begin.
The altar was a smooth stone table, black as obsidian, but the deep inscriptions crossing it glowed under the blue and golden light of the labyrinth, like the veins of an ancient heart. The three engraved grooves formed intertwined spirals, channeling the chamber's energy to the center, where a small stone basin rested. There, a translucent, slightly golden liquid pulsed as if with a life of its own, emitting soft waves of light with every heartbeat of those present. As Arien and Nyra approached, the runes and spirals glowed even more, reacting to their presence—it was as if the labyrinth itself awaited this moment.
Nyra, reverently touching the altar's edge, murmured old words in her mother tongue. The air grew denser, charged with a solemn expectancy. Arien followed every gesture, attentive, as she traced a circle around the base, asking permission of ancestral memories. Then Nyra looked at Arien, explaining quietly, almost in secret:
— "This ceremony… is not just a rite of passage. It's a pact. Here, each scar will be our voice before the labyrinth. The third scar marks not only the promise, but the right to move forward, even if it hurts. If anyone falls or betrays the oath, the memory of this altar will be the last witness."
She touched the liquid in the basin, feeling a tingling rise up her arm. Arien noticed her trembling, and asked, lowering his voice:
— "Is it true that only those who accept to be remembered… even after death, can cross?"
Nyra nodded, her eyes brimming:
— "Yes. Here, even mistakes become lessons. This altar serves so that the truth is never forgotten—neither by us nor by those who come after."
Mustering courage, Nyra took the blade, drew a clean cut over her shoulder, and let the blood run into the groove. The golden energy raced along the spiral, and a warm light closed the wound, marking a shining scar, like a living rune.
She declared, her voice steady despite the tremor:
— "This is my oath, before all who have fallen. Never retreat, even if it breaks me. I carry my scar to remember that one only truly lives before the truth."
Arien repeated the gesture, first discreetly drawing the symbol of Mahran among the inscriptions, then touching the liquid—which responded with a cool wave, dense with recognition, not rejection. He made the cut on his forearm and saw his blood mix with Nyra's in the center, blue and gold, the promise of both now sealed in stone.
He raised his eyes to Nyra and to the emptiness around, then declared, feeling the weight and liberation of the vow:
— "I swear before the ashes of Mahran, before all I was and lost, that I seek no solace—only truth, even if it costs me everything. If I am to fall, let it be facing forward. Let my scars speak for me when my voice fails."
The two, hands intertwined, laid their palms on the altar. Heat rose along the spirals, golden light enveloped them both in a luminous mist, as the stone vibrated beneath their fingers. The third scar, invisible but real, was marked there—a link of promise and shared destiny.
At that moment, an ancient voice echoed through the walls, more felt than heard:
— "Three scars seal a new path. If you fall, let it be together. If you triumph, let it be as the living memory of what you dared to face."
The wind swirled, taking the weight of fatigue away, and the two felt a renewed strength, an unbreakable bond. The terror of the pursuit was now just part of the path—a scar transformed into a lesson, written in stone, blood, and light.
As they rose, the altar's marks pulsed beneath their feet, as if bidding farewell to old pacts and pointing the way. The floor, for a moment, glowed beneath their soles, revealing ancestral symbols that disappeared soon after, sealing the ceremony and protecting the oath's secret. Ahead, the corridor seemed darker, but now the shadows bore less threat and more promise—a path where each step was marked by newfound courage.
Arien and Nyra looked at each other, feeling the weight and relief of the ritual. Without a word, they walked side by side, crossing the stone bridge that linked the altar to the other side of the abyss. The cold wind cut their faces, and behind them the altar shone one last time before plunging into silence. As they crossed, they could hear the echo of their own footsteps and the pulse of the marked scars, as if each one told part of the story they still had to live.
Upon reaching the opposite edge, they did not look back. The bridge disappeared, stone by stone, as if the labyrinth itself recognized the pact was sealed and there would be no return. Ahead, the next corridor awaited them—shrouded in twilight, promises, and the certainty that no true oath dies while someone remembers it.
And so, crossing the threshold of the chamber, Arien and Nyra moved forward together, scarred and united, toward the next secret of the labyrinth.