Chapter 9: Echoes of the Past
The forest pressed in on them as Lyra and Kael made their way deeper into Whisperwood's outskirts. The shrine's revelations hung heavy in the air between them, unspoken but ever-present. Kael walked a few steps ahead, his posture tense, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his blade.
Lyra, however, couldn't stop replaying the Hollow Saint's words. Your mentor... was the first to seek my power... the first to abandon me. She gritted her teeth, forcing the thoughts aside. Whatever Oran's role in this, she would uncover the truth on her terms.
"I've been meaning to ask," Lyra said, breaking the silence. "This... deal you made. What exactly did it cost you?"
Kael glanced over his shoulder, his expression guarded. "Why do you want to know?"
"Because you've been dodging the question since we met," Lyra replied. "If I'm going to trust you, I need to know what I'm dealing with."
Kael's jaw tightened, and for a moment, Lyra thought he might refuse to answer. But then he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly.
"The deal cost me my memories," he said finally. "I don't know who I was before I came here. The shadows took it all—my name, my past, everything. All I know is that I've been here long enough to see what this curse does to people. Long enough to know that no one gets out unscathed."
Lyra frowned, her mind racing. "Then why stay? Why not leave the first chance you got?"
Kael's gaze darkened. "Because I've tried. And every time I do, the town pulls me back. Whisperwood doesn't let go."
---
Their destination was an old mill on the edge of town, its silhouette barely visible through the thick mist. Kael had insisted they check it out, claiming it had been a gathering place for the town's elders before the curse took hold.
The mill was in ruins, its walls crumbling and its waterwheel rotted away. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and decay.
"Whatever we're looking for, it's not here," Lyra said, scanning the debris-strewn floor.
"Not on the surface," Kael replied. He crouched near a section of the floorboards and pried one loose, revealing a narrow staircase that spiraled into darkness.
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "Convenient."
"Don't get too excited," Kael said. "If this is what I think it is, we're about to walk into the heart of the curse."
They descended in silence, their footsteps echoing in the confined space. The air grew colder the deeper they went, and Lyra's grip on her dagger tightened.
At the bottom of the stairs, they found themselves in a vast underground chamber. The walls were lined with shelves filled with ancient tomes, jars of strange substances, and relics that seemed to hum with latent power.
"This isn't just a mill," Lyra said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's a repository."
Kael nodded grimly. "The elders were desperate to break the curse. They gathered anything they thought might help—spells, artifacts, even... sacrifices."
Lyra's stomach churned at the word. "Sacrifices?"
Kael gestured toward a stone altar in the center of the room. Its surface was stained dark with what could only be dried blood.
"This is where they tried to bargain with the Hollow Saint," Kael said. "And when he refused, they turned to darker methods."
Lyra approached the altar, her eyes drawn to the carvings etched into its surface. They were the same symbols she'd seen in the underground chamber and the chapel, but now they seemed to shift and writhe, as if alive.
As her fingers brushed the stone, a sudden surge of energy coursed through her, and the world around her blurred.
---
She was no longer in the repository. Instead, she stood in the same hall she'd seen in her vision at the chapel, the robed figures gathered around the altar.
This time, however, she wasn't a passive observer. She was part of the scene, her hands bound, her knees pressed to the cold stone floor.
"Do you understand the gravity of what you've done?" a voice demanded.
Lyra looked up to see a figure standing before her, his face hidden beneath a hood. But she didn't need to see his face to recognize him.
"Oran," she said, her voice trembling.
He didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the altar.
"You were supposed to guide us," another voice said, this one belonging to a woman. "You swore an oath to protect this town. And now you stand here, refusing to do what is necessary?"
"I swore to protect people," Oran said, his voice steady. "Not to sacrifice them."
The woman's expression twisted in anger. "Then you leave us no choice."
Before Lyra could react, the scene dissolved, and she was back in the repository, Kael's hand on her shoulder.
"Lyra," he said, his voice urgent. "What did you see?"
She took a shaky breath, her heart pounding. "Oran. He... he refused to go through with it. That's why they turned on him."
Kael frowned. "Turned on him how?"
Lyra shook her head, trying to piece it together. "I don't know. But whatever happened, he didn't finish the ritual. And now the curse is tied to his bloodline."
Kael's gaze darkened. "Then they'll come for you next."
As they left the mill, Lyra couldn't shake the feeling that they were running out of time. The curse was unraveling, its tendrils tightening around her with every step she took.
But she wouldn't back down. Not now. Not when the truth was so close.
"Whatever happens," she said, her voice firm, "I'm ending this. For Oran. For Whisperwood."
Kael looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Just be sure you're ready for what that means. Sometimes ending something means becoming part of it."