Chapter 31 – Threads of a Dead God
The deeper they descended into the molten tunnels beneath the Flamevault, the more the air seemed to breathe on its own—like the lungs of some buried titan exhaling heat, madness, and memory. Raen felt it first. A tug behind his eyes. A thread pulled taut beneath the skin of his thoughts.
Keir noticed it too. His voice had grown quieter, his humor brittle. And Ashveil, despite his eternal calm, kept glancing at Raen like something was shifting inside him.
The walls pulsed.
The path was lined with twisted statues—warped remnants of gods long dead, their stone faces smeared and melted, mouths wide as if still screaming. One statue had a single eye carved into its forehead, and as Raen passed, it wept molten gold. No one touched it.
"Do you hear it?" Raen murmured.
Keir hesitated. "The... humming?"
It wasn't humming. Not truly. It was a song that wasn't made of sound—a memory of a melody buried in bone. It tugged at Raen's soul like a noose.
They reached a chamber where the stone gave way to black crystal. A throne stood shattered in the center, split into dozens of jagged shards that floated above the floor like a crown of obsidian teeth. And at the heart of it—
"Serenya," Raen whispered.
She stood barefoot upon the shards, unharmed. Her pale skin shimmered like she was half-real, dressed in a torn, blood-stained wedding gown. Her hair, once a chestnut waterfall, was now tangled and clinging to her like vines. Her eyes—gods, her eyes—still glowed with that twisted affection that made Raen's blood burn.
"Hello again," she said softly, voice lined with thorns. "Did you miss me?"