The aqueduct swallowed them whole.
Stone arches older than the empire curved overhead like the ribs of a fossilized god. Black water trickled down the central channel—slow, thick, reflecting nothing. Torches had died centuries ago; the only light came from Veyra's bleeding thorns. Each drop hit the stone with a soft hissss and glowed faint pink before fading.
They walked single-file.
Seraphine in front—barefoot, ghostlike.
Veyra behind her, dragging Wrathbinder like a reluctant bride.
Kael last, shadows trailing him in a cloak that grew heavier with every step.
No one spoke for nearly an hour.
Only Veyra's rattling chains and the plink… plink… of distant water broke the silence.
Then—Seraphine stopped.
They stood in a circular chamber where seven tunnels converged. In the center waited a dried fountain carved in the shape of a weeping woman. Her stone eyes had been gouged out long ago.
Seraphine knelt and touched the cracked basin.
"I died here," she said, almost casually. "The first time, anyway."
Veyra rolled her shoulder, the bone grinding loud in the quiet.
krk—krk
"Congratulations. Want a medal or a coffin?"
"Both, eventually," Seraphine murmured.
Kael didn't hear them.
He was staring at the walls.
Names.
Thousands of them, scratched deep by desperate fingernails. Some so fresh blood still beaded in the grooves.
His gaze found one near the floor.
KAEL VOSS WAS HERE – 1004 IC
Scratched the night he and Alcris came down here on a dare, drunk on stolen communion wine.
Below it, in Alcris's perfect cathedral script:
AND ALCRIS VALEMONT WILL NEVER LET HIM FALL
The letters were worn smooth—as if someone had traced them, over and over, for years.
Kael touched the stone. The shadows recoiled from his hand, hissing like scalded cats.
He remembered that night.
Sixteen years old.
Alcris laughing, golden hair plastered to his forehead, pressing their bleeding palms together in the dark.
"If one of us falls into the Abyss," Alcris said, "the other jumps after. Promise."
Kael had promised.
Now, he dragged his nails across both names, carving a fresh line until stone dust bled.
Veyra watched him, expression unreadable.
"Old boyfriend?" she asked.
"Old corpse," Kael said.
Seraphine rose. "We rest here. The hunters won't enter saint graves."
She lifted a hand.
FWOOM—
Black-white flame rippled across the chamber, revealing the truth hidden beneath the dark.
Bones.
Hundreds of skeletons in rusted armor, still wearing scraps of white tabards. Saint Hounds lay curled among them, skulls split. Every corpse faced the same tunnel—the one directly ahead.
Every face was frozen in the same perfect, soundless scream.
Veyra gave a low whistle. "Looks like a party I missed."
"The First Crusade," Seraphine said. "They dragged me through here after Illyria. Seventeen Saints. Three relics. One survivor."
She pointed to a small skeleton near the fountain—child-sized—still clutching a broken dawnlight sword turned dull and glassy.
"Me," she finished.
Kael stared at the tiny bones. Something cold twisted in his gut.
Veyra broke the silence.
"So. What happens at dawn, witch? You said you'd kill us when the sun came up."
Seraphine tilted her head, really looking at Veyra for the first time.
"I said I'd decide whose story ends."
She knelt, prying the broken sword from the child-skeleton's fingers with unsettling gentleness.
"I have decided," she said. "None of yours. Not yet."
Veyra snorted. "Change of heart because we're cute?"
"No," Seraphine said. "Because the Abyss is singing a new song tonight. Three voices in harmony. It hasn't done that since Illyria."
She turned the shattered blade over, its light long dead.
"I want to hear how it ends."
Kael felt the Hunger stir—curious, not ravenous.
He slumped against the fountain, exhaustion hammering through him.
WHUM—
"Then we live until dawn," he said. "And after that… we kill whatever comes next."
Veyra dropped beside him with a groan, chains pooling like spilled blood.
"Works for me. Wake me when something worth stabbing shows up."
She was out in seconds, head lolling against his shoulder. Her thorns softened, retracting as rage drifted from her body.
Seraphine sat across from them, legs folded neatly, child-sword across her lap.
Kael met her eyes.
"Tell me about the queen," he said softly. "The one who freed you."
Seraphine's fingers stilled.
"Elyra," she whispered—tasting the name like old wine. "Sixteen. Couldn't bring herself to kill a spider. Believed kindness could save the world."
She glanced at the child skeleton.
"I showed her what kindness costs. She asked me to burn it all anyway."
Silence.
Thick. Heavy.
Then:
"She's still inside me, you know. A piece of her. The part that hasn't learned to hate yet."
Kael closed his eyes.
"I had a piece like that once," he said. "His name was Alcris."
Far away, something massive shifted in the tunnels.
GRRRRRRRRRM—
Dust rained from the ceiling.
The Abyss was coming.
Coming to listen to its new song.
And beneath the aqueduct—where saints had screamed and died—
three monsters slept shoulder to shoulder for the first time.
Dawn was hours away.
But the Hunger waited.
It always did.