The moment Ravel stepped through the archway, the air changed. The scent of damp roots and forest moss vanished, replaced by something colder. The temperature dropped enough that his breath misted in front of him. A faint glow illuminated the space beyond the threshold, though no torches or fungi produced it. The light came from the ground itself.
A long corridor stretched ahead. Its floor was carved from smooth stone that shimmered like wet glass. Thin streams of water trickled down the walls, tracing patterns that looked almost like writing but shifted whenever he tried to make sense of them.
Seris stepped through behind him. She stopped and looked back. "The path closed."
Ravel turned. The archway they entered through was gone. Nothing but solid stone stood where they had passed moments before.
Seris nodded. "We are inside the Crown."
There was no panic in her voice, only acceptance. She sheathed her sword slowly, not out of comfort but because the echoes here seemed to twist sound, and she did not want metal ringing through this place.
Ravel held the sphere closer to his chest. The glow inside it sharpened, becoming more focused. "It feels like it knows this place."
"It should," Seris said. "The Weeping Crown is built on memory. The First Makers used it as a sanctuary before the fall."
"What sort of sanctuary?"
"One for truths that were too heavy to carry openly."
Ravel's throat tightened. "I am guessing we will meet those truths."
"Most likely."
They continued down the corridor. The air thickened with moisture. Ravel noticed the ground sloping downward, which meant they were descending toward something deeper, older.
The light beneath the floor grew brighter. Ravel glanced down. Shapes began to move within the stone. Fading silhouettes. Arms. Faces. Bodies that appeared and vanished like reflections in water.
He stepped back instinctively.
Seris placed a hand on his arm. "Do not fear them. They are echoes."
"Echoes of what?"
"People who once walked here. People who died here. People the Crown remembers."
"That does not help."
"It was not meant to."
They walked farther, and the corridor opened into a vast circular chamber. A shallow pool of water filled most of the space, glowing with pale blue light. In the center of the pool stood a single stone pillar wrapped in thousands of thin roots that trickled water like tears.
The Weeping Crown.
Ravel stared at it, struck silent. The pillar rose high into the chamber's ceiling, disappearing into darkness. Streams of water ran down its surface, each droplet leaving a glowing trail before falling into the pool.
Seris breathed out steadily. "This is older than anything above. I did not think it still lived."
Ravel approached the edge of the water. The sphere pulsed, stronger and faster now. The glow inside the stone pillar flickered in time with the sphere's beat.
"It is reacting," Ravel said. "It is calling to it."
"Or recognizing it," Seris said. "The Crown remembers what the world has forgotten."
Ravel stepped into the water. It was cold enough to sting. Ripples spread across the pool. As each ripple moved outward, images surfaced beneath the water. Faint and fragmented.
The First Makers standing in a ring of light.
Shadows crawling over roots like living smoke.
A towering figure of twisted limbs reaching for the spheres.
A circle cracking.
The ritual breaking.
Ravel gasped and stumbled back.
Seris grabbed him. "Steady."
Ravel shook his head. "The water shows memories just by touching it."
"Yes," Seris said softly. "And the deeper you walk, the stronger they become."
Ravel looked at the pillar. Its roots pulsed.
"What do I do with the sphere?"
Seris pointed to the base of the pillar. The roots there formed a cradle, barely visible under the glowing water. "Place it there. That is where the First Makers kept their spheres when the Crown needed to speak."
Ravel swallowed. "Speak?"
"Yes. But it speaks in memories, not words."
Ravel stepped deeper into the pool. The water rose to his knees. The ripples intensified. Memories began to swirl faster across the surface. He saw glimpses of tall figures running through forests, holding glowing orbs. He saw a circular chamber filled with six pedestals, each holding a sphere. Then an explosion of red light.
His steps faltered.
Seris steadied him again. "You must focus," she said. "The Crown will try to overwhelm you. Do not let it pull you under."
Ravel nodded shakily and approached the pillar.
The cradle of roots waited.
"You can do this," Seris said behind him. Her calm voice pushed back the panic rising in his chest.
Ravel lifted the sphere. It vibrated strongly, as if urging him forward. He lowered it slowly into the cradle.
The moment the sphere touched the roots, the chamber erupted with light.
Ravel stumbled back, shielding his eyes. The water surged upward. The roots around the pillar writhed like living vines. The entire crown pulsed, and the pool transformed into a swirling mirror of memories.
A voice filled the chamber.
Not the forest.
Not the First Makers.
Something older.
The circle is broken. The last spark remains. The shadow rises again. The path must be restored.
Ravel's heart pounded. "Who is speaking?"
Seris looked as shocked as he felt. "Not a memory. Not an echo. Something conscious."
The water surged again.
This time the images in the pool sharpened.
Six spheres.
Six pedestals.
But one pedestal was empty.
The empty pedestal glowed brightly, pulsing in time with the sphere Ravel had placed in the roots.
The voice whispered again.
One has returned.
Ravel's breath caught. "Returned to what?"
The images shifted.
A massive tree with branches like arms spread across an entire valley. Its trunk towered like a mountain. At its base was a carved door shaped like a spiral.
The voice spoke again, louder.
Return to the Rootspire.
The vision shattered.
The glow dimmed.
The water calmed.
The sphere lay still in the cradle.
Seris stared at the pillar, astonished. "The Rootspire. That is not a place I ever wanted to see."
Ravel turned to her. "Where is it?"
Seris hesitated. "Far from here. Beyond the forest's reach. Beyond the safe lands. It is where the First Makers built their final refuge and their final mistake."
Ravel stepped forward and retrieved the sphere. As he lifted it, he felt different. As if the sphere had grown heavier with meaning.
"So the next step is the Rootspire," he said.
Seris nodded. "Yes. And whatever waits there is older and more dangerous than anything in this forest."
Ravel tightened his grip. "Then we go."
Seris looked toward the now-closed passage. "The Crown will release us. But it will not protect us beyond this point."
Ravel met her gaze. "I am still going."
Seris gave him a slow nod. "Then I will follow."
Light began to gather around the archway behind them.
The Weeping Crown had shown the path.
Now it was time to leave its truths behind and walk toward the Rootspire, where the next memory waited in the dark.