The moment Arin and Lira left the chamber, the walls behind them shifted—quietly, as if the ruins themselves were sealing away a secret they were never meant to touch. The corridor ahead was narrow, dim, and strangely warmer than before, like something deeper below was breathing heat into the stone.
Lira stepped closer to Arin, whispering, "It feels different now… heavier."
"It's because of this," Arin replied, glancing at the Obsidian Vein clutched in his hand. The shard pulsed faintly, reacting to every sound in the corridor. "It's changing the entire place."
As they walked, Arin noticed something unsettling: their shadows weren't matching their movements. His own shadow stretched ahead of him, bending at angles his body didn't move. Lira's shadow flickered like a candle flame in a storm.
"Don't… look directly at them," Arin murmured. "They're trying to mimic us."
Lira shivered. "Trying to… or replacing us?"
Before he could answer, a sudden metallic snap echoed through the narrow passage. Both froze. The sound bounced again, sharper this time, like a claw scraping across stone.
Arin instinctively raised the shard, and its glow brightened—revealing faint scratches along the walls. Fresh ones. Something had been dragged through here… but not long ago.
Lira swallowed. "We're not alone."
Arin stepped forward carefully, every sense on edge. The light from the shard cast shifting patterns on the stone. The deeper they went, the more the corridor twisted unnaturally, as if it was bending around them rather than simply continuing.
Then, from behind them—
tap.
A single, soft footstep.
Lira spun around. "Arin…"
He slowly turned, gripping his blade.
At the far end of the corridor, where the darkness swallowed the last of the light, something moved. Something tall. Thin. Silent.
Its eyes—two faint, glowing slits—watched them without blinking.
Not a beast.
Not a shadow.
Something worse.
Arin's voice was barely a breath. "A Watcher."
The creature stepped forward, the stone beneath its feet cracking with each calculated movement. Its form was impossible to fully see—like it shifted between smoke and bone. But its focus was absolute.
Lira whispered urgently, "Arin… we can't fight that. Not here."
He knew she was right. A Watcher wasn't meant to be defeated. It was meant to observe… and devour whatever didn't belong in its territory.
Arin tightened his grip on the shard. "We run. Now."
They bolted down the corridor, the Watcher following silently—no footsteps, no sound except the faint scraping of claws skimming the stone behind them. The walls seemed to bend, narrowing as if trying to push them toward the creature.
Lira gasped, "It's closing—Arin, it's closing!"
He slammed his hand against the wall, the shard flaring with a burst of dark light. The stone reacted violently, cracking open in a direction that shouldn't exist. A hidden passage revealed itself, narrow but passable.
"Inside!" Arin shoved her through just as the Watcher lunged. Its hand—long, skeletal, shadow-wrapped—slashed where Arin's head had been a second earlier.
The passage sealed behind them with a deafening thud.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Lira grabbed Arin's arm, breathing hard. "What now?"
Arin raised the Obsidian Vein. Its glow was faint, trembling, but enough to reveal the place they had fallen into.
It wasn't a tunnel.
It wasn't a chamber.
It was a hall—massive, silent, lined with towering statues covered in dust and fractured armor.
Each statue carried the same crest on its chest.
The same symbol from the visions.
The emblem of the Fallen Kings.
Arin stared, frozen.
Lira whispered, "Arin… why do they look like they're kneeling to you?"
He didn't answer.
Because deep inside, a terrible realization was forming:
They weren't kneeling.
They were waiting.