Arin's head throbbed, still echoing with the visions the shard had forced into him. Every heartbeat felt heavier, every shadow in the chamber alive with intent. Lira's hands were on his shoulders, steadying him, but even she looked unsettled. The air was thick, almost poisonous, with anticipation.
He finally forced a breath. "The shard… it remembers me. Everything. The throne, the banners… everything I tried to forget."
Lira's eyes widened. "Then we're standing in the remnants of the Fallen Kings' own chamber."
He nodded slowly. "Not remnants… active echoes. It's like the chamber itself is alive, feeding on memory… on fear."
The shadow figure didn't move. It hovered near the pedestal, tendrils of darkness stretching like black smoke across the floor. The shards of light from the Obsidian Vein reflected in those tendrils, making them twitch and writhe like snakes in a storm.
Arin stepped forward, gripping the hilt of his reforged blade. "If it wants something… it will take it. And I won't give it freely."
The shadow paused, almost considering his words. Then a whisper curled around them, not spoken aloud, but felt in their bones:
Choose. Or be consumed.
Lira's voice trembled. "Choose what? Arin… what is it asking?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he let instinct guide him. He reached for the Obsidian Vein.
The moment his fingers brushed the glowing crystal, the chamber erupted. Shadows surged, twisting and screaming in forms of the Fallen Kings' past victims, their eyes hollow, their mouths moving in silent rage. The air burned with cold fire.
Arin's grip tightened on the shard. Energy coursed through him—not like a skill from the System, but something older, primal, awakening within him. His vision blurred, revealing another layer of reality: the city of Ironveil above, broken and alive, reacting to this chamber's power.
The shadows lunged. But for the first time, Arin didn't flinch. He slashed with the shard, and a ripple of echoed energy shattered the forms, sending them back into the darkness. They screamed, a soundless wail that seemed to linger in the marrow of his bones.
When the chamber settled, silence returned—but heavier now, oppressive, almost sentient.
Lira looked at him. "You… controlled it?"
Arin shook his head slowly, trying to understand it himself. "No. It didn't obey me. Not yet. But it recognized me. It remembers the Fallen King… and maybe, it's waiting for me to claim it."
A new thought struck him, cold as steel: this wasn't just a relic. It was a test. And the longer he lingered, the more the chamber itself would decide his fate.
He turned to Lira. "We take it with us. But from here… every step is a gamble. Whatever rules this place, it doesn't forgive mistakes."
They left the chamber with the Obsidian Vein in hand, but the shadows didn't vanish. They trailed them, whispers of judgment and revenge filling the corridors, following each heartbeat, every step.
And in the back of Arin's mind, a single thought settled like a blade:
The Fallen Kings' world isn't done with me yet.