The fine gray ash of the Void-Kin Scout settled into the deep cracks of the black plaza floor. But the mechanical reset didn't happen as expected.
The gray mist stayed thick, and the sickly green light from the stone remained steady. Marcus stood over the fading remains. His runic daggers were ready in his left-forward guard. His silver eyes scanned the stillness of the brutalist Gothic ruins.
The physical evidence was clear. The Spire missed the kill, showing a problem with the trial's settings.
"The frequency hasn't reset," Lysara stated. Her tone became tense and analytical as she raised her light-staff from the stone. "The energy grid still indicates an active trial. The Spire does not acknowledge the Scout's death as a resolution."
"Since the Scout didn't join the trial," Marcus said, his calm voice breaking the heavy silence. "It was an intrusion. A separate entity entering a sealed crime scene. We're still entangled in a puzzle we have yet to unravel."
The energy grid's readings hinted they had fallen into a trap. "If that wasn't the trial, then what is?" Taryn's voice trembled, urgency lacing her words as she sought answers.
Taryn's fingers scrambled over her leather bandolier. Stone dust coated her auburn hair. "If that thing wasn't the trial, Marcus... then what is? We've cleared the floor, and we're still locked in the cage."
Marcus looked away from the ash pile. His investigator mind noted the room's structural lines. He didn't look at the shifting shadows or the featureless faces of the giant stone statues. He aimed his main blade past them, toward the huge black slab rising in the center of the plaza's massive ribcage.
"The tracker was a distraction," Marcus said. His balance shifted with grace as he led with his left shoulder. "The Scout was tapping into the local rifts, but it wasn't the anchor."
The core of their problem was at the center of the altar. To get the Spire's attention and move forward, we must activate the true resolution from the slab.
Lysara fixed her violet gaze on the coordinates he showed her. Her forearm sigil pulsed as she examined the underlying structure.
"He's right. The background frequency of the choir isn't radiating from the mist anymore. It's anchoring at the base of the monolith."
The Nameless Choir's chanting changed. The chaotic sounds turned into one deep frequency that hummed through Marcus's bones. The dark floor pulsed beneath their feet, signaling the chaos that had unfolded. They spelled out a clear path.
"The path is on the floor," Marcus said. He tightened his grip on his daggers. The Shattering-sigil on his palm started to match the pulse of the monolith. "Hold the line behind me. We close the file on Floor One right now."