The chamber beneath Ilyr was not silent.
It breathed.
Kael felt it the moment they passed through the sealed archway—a slow, rhythmic pressure in the air, like lungs expanding and contracting somewhere inside the stone. The relic in his hand pulsed in response, its warmth flaring and fading in time with the unseen breath.
"This is as far as most people ever come," the woman said quietly. "Few are allowed past the myths."
The corridor narrowed, its walls carved smooth by hands long gone. Faint bioluminescent veins traced the stone, casting pale light over symbols Kael now recognized with sickening clarity.
Names.
Not gods.
People.
They reached a vast vertical shaft. At its center hung a column of iron and crystal, descending into darkness below and disappearing upward into the suspended water. Chains—smaller than the sky-chains above, but identical in design—wrapped around it in spirals, humming softly.
And at the heart of it—
Kael stopped breathing.
A body.
Human-shaped, suspended upright within the crystal core. The figure's limbs were extended, bound by metallic tendrils that pierced flesh without blood. Skin pale, almost translucent. Hair drifting gently as if underwater, though the air here was dry.
The chest rose.
Fell.
Alive.
Kael staggered forward despite himself. "No… no, this is—"
"A living anchor," the woman said. "One of the first."
The figure's face was calm, eyes closed, mouth slightly parted. There was no sign of pain carved into its features. Only exhaustion so deep it felt permanent.
"How long?" Kael whispered.
She didn't answer at first.
"Before the myths," she finally said. "Before the Orders. Before the gods had names."
Centuries.
Kael's knees nearly gave out.
"This isn't possible," he said hoarsely. "A human can't survive that long."
"They can," she replied, "if the sea wills it."
The crystal core brightened suddenly. A faint glow spread through the tendrils, racing along the chains embedded in the shaft walls. The hum deepened, resonating through Kael's bones.
The anchor's eyes opened.
They were not white.
They were deep, endless blue—the same shade as the abyss between tides.
Kael felt something touch his mind.
Not violently.
Not kindly.
You carry soil, the voice said. It did not come from the figure's mouth. It existed everywhere at once. I remember that weight.
Kael's breath came shallow. "You're… aware?"
I am awake when the sea listens, the anchor replied. And the sea is listening now.
The woman stepped back, her expression tense. "It hasn't spoken in generations."
Kael stepped closer to the crystal. "What are you?"
The anchor's gaze shifted, focusing fully on him.
I was called Erynd, it said. Once.
A name.
Not a title.
Not a god.
A person.
"I don't understand," Kael said. "Why keep you alive?"
Because I am the chain, Erynd replied. And the chain is not iron.
The crystal flared brighter. Kael's vision blurred as images flooded his mind—memories not his own.
A young man standing on land, watching the sea swallow a city. Hands raised in council chambers. Fear. Conviction. Pride.
We believed control was mercy, Erynd said. We believed sacrifice was finite.
Kael clenched his fists. "Did you choose this?"
A pause.
At first.
The tendrils pulsed faintly.
Then others chose for me.
The shaft shuddered violently. Dust rained from above as the chains screamed, echoing down through the structure. Far below, something struck the lower foundations with immense force.
The sea was growing impatient.
"You can't leave it like this," Kael said, voice breaking. "This is torture."
Erynd's gaze softened—if something so ancient could soften.
If I am released, it said, the chain fails.
"And if the chain fails?"
The sea surges.
Kael turned to the woman. "How many like this exist?"
"Hundreds," she said. "Perhaps more. Some sleep. Some dream. A few… speak."
Kael felt bile rise in his throat. "And the Orders know?"
"They know enough," she replied. "Not the names. Not the faces. Just the result."
Another violent tremor rocked the shaft. The crystal cracked slightly, a thin fracture spidering across its surface.
Erynd inhaled sharply.
It is testing you, the anchor said. The sea does not understand refusal anymore.
Kael raised the relic instinctively. The soil blazed with light, brighter than before. The crystal responded, glowing in answer.
The chains recoiled.
For the first time since their forging, they pulled inward instead of outward.
The shaft groaned.
The woman stared in disbelief. "What are you doing?"
"I don't know," Kael said honestly. "But it's reacting to this."
Land, Erynd whispered, wonder threading the word. I had forgotten its warmth.
The sea roared below, no longer distant.
A presence pressed upward, vast and furious, slamming against the barrier with renewed force. The crystal shattered further, fragments floating weightless around the anchor.
You are a fault, Erynd said to Kael. A contradiction.
Kael met the anchor's gaze. "Can you be freed without breaking the chain?"
The answer came slowly.
Not entirely.
The woman drew her blade. "Then we don't free it."
Erynd's eyes flicked to her.
Cowardice built this world, it said evenly.
Kael stepped forward, placing his hand against the cracked crystal. It was warm. Human.
"If I take your place," he asked quietly, "would it hold?"
The chamber fell silent.
The woman spun toward him. "Are you insane?"
Erynd's gaze sharpened, something like urgency flickering within it.
No, it said. You are not compatible. The sea would reject you—or consume you.
Another impact shook the shaft. The chains screamed in agony now, metal tearing against ancient bindings.
The choice is coming, Erynd warned. Soon.
Kael withdrew his hand slowly, heart hammering.
Above them, somewhere beyond stone and water, the hanging world trembled.
And for the first time, Kael understood:
Breaking the chains was not an act.
It was a sentence.