Chapter 41

“Do it…”

Pyre paused.

The voice was faint, strangled, and for a heartbeat he couldn’t quite discern where it was coming from. His blade hovered inches from the pale figure’s neck, flames coiling tight around the broken edge.

Then the sound came again, raspy and weak.

“Do it… please.”

Pyre realized it was coming from the Synod thrall, as Ronark had called it. The words scraped out of a throat that barely functioned, trapped behind skin that no longer knew how to shape a face.

“Please…”

Pyre didn’t hesitate.

Fire flared as he stepped to the side. The Synod thrall leaned forward, almost willingly, extending its neck as an offering. Pyre’s blade passed through the neck in a single, clean motion—a razor of heat and fire at the tip of the broken sword.

The head fell. The body followed, collapsing in on itself with a hollow thud as it turned completely gray.

“Grim, but necessary,” Ronark said, watching the body settle. “And it pales in comparison to what the Synod would have done had they found the poor bastard.”

Tallow padded closer, crouching beside the corpse. He leaned in, whiskers twitching.

“It’s not releasing any Anima,” Pyre said as he lowered his weapon. “Is that what should happen? Shouldn’t there be a Sigil? Something breaking?”

“The Synod’s Sigils are pledged to their cause through Domain manipulation,” Tallow explained. “Once the mask was removed, it removed this thrall’s Sigil as well. They were an empty vessel at that point. But judging by what we’ve seen—the blood on the walls—they managed to escape into this passageway.”

“But they didn’t die?” Pyre asked.

“No, not until you finished it,” Tallow said. “But don’t let it bother you, Pyre. You did well to free them from their misery.”

“I already told him that,” Ronark said.

“And it bears repeating.” He straightened slightly. “And we should continue.”

“Irix,” Ronark asked aloud, “did you already report back to the others what happened?”

“Yes, I’ve been telling them everything that is happening in here aside from your constant banter,” she said, her voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere. “The Shepherd has asked me to tell you all to hurry. So please, do so.”

“Eh.” Ronark waved a hand at her. “We’re going as fast as we can. Heh. Who am I kidding? I guess we could go faster and stop mucking around.” He cracked his knuckles. Come on, then, lads and soundlady.”

They moved on until the passage narrowed, the walls shifting from rough, utilitarian stone into something more deliberate. Pyre’s flame rolled across carved surfaces the space blooming with impossible beauty.

Reliefs emerged from the rock: fountains pouring endlessly into basins that never filled, gardens frozen mid-bloom, great cities rising in perfect geometry. Angels stood in ranks, faces serene, wings arched. Gears meshed within the great cities, and roads spiraled upward into nothing until they came to the final room at the end of the passageway.

“Look what we have here,” Tallow said as he stopped beside a stone sarcophagus, flat at the base, egg-shaped at the top, its surface etched with patterns too fine to be accidental.

“Well, it appears the Shepherd was right about it being a sarcophagus,” Ronark announced, “as were you, Irix. Aside from the fact there were two bodies, unless the coffin here is empty.”

“I can’t tell you if its empty or not,” she reminded him. “First Realm relics have a way of disrupting my power.”

“I know, I know. I was just giving you a hard time.”

Pyre took in the chamber as the two continued to speak. It was circular, wider than the corridor suggested it should be. More of the soldier-statues lined the walls, frozen mid-guard. Against one side stood a single stone bench, and resting on it was a big wooden box.

“Found something,” he told the others.

The box was made of expertly carved wood, gold clamps and filigree worked across its surface and converging around an intricate lock that caught Pyre’s firelight.

“Now what do we have here?” Ronark asked as he approached.

“It must be the relic,” Tallow said, now circling the sarcophagus with feline interest. He rose onto his hind legs and tapped a narrow seam where one slab of stone met another. “Ah. That’s how we get in.”

“Do not open the sarcophagus,” Irix said sharply, her voice echoing all around them and startling Tallow, who hopped into the air. “The Shepherd wants you to bring it back.”

“Bring it back?” Pyre asked, eyeing the massive sarcophagus. “How?”

“First, Irix, inside voices, please. As for the sarcophagus, leave that to me.” Tallow glanced up at the ceiling, eyes narrowing. “But before I do, is the Shepherd prepared to sacrifice a lantern? Ask him and Veylan.”

“One is already dim from our fight earlier with the shadowyrms,” she told him.

“So… yes?”

“Yes.”

“Fine by me.” Tallow moved behind the large stone. “I’ll get it out.”

“Not so fast there,” Ronark told him. “We need to head out of here before you push the damn thing, just in case you bring the walls down. I didn’t take up smithing in a former life to die in a mining accident like my father.”

“What about the box?” Pyre asked Ronark. “Do we open it?”

“Absolutely not. It’s best to let Veylan and the Shepherd handle these things. Aye, I must admit I don’t fully understand why we’d bring a sarcophagus, but I’ll leave that for them to hash out. Not my department.” He hefted the wooden box. “You were once in a militia, right?”

“I was,” Pyre said. “Why?”

“Then you know how it goes with following orders.” Ronark adjusted his grip on the box. “Anyway—lead the way, then.”

“Won’t Tallow need light?” Pyre started to ask.

The answer arrived a few seconds later as the dimmest of the Anima lanterns drifted into the chamber, its glow soft but steady.

“Not any longer,” Ronark told Pyre with a grin. “Thanks, Irix.”

“My pleasure,” she said, her voice quieter now.

“In that case,” Ronark said, “let’s be done with this wretched place.”

Pyre moved ahead, the flames of his broken black blade casting long, wavering shadows across the passage as Ronark followed with the wooden box cradled in his arms.

They passed the Synod’s corpse on the way out. The body hadn’t moved, but the faceless head had settled at an angle that made Pyre’s stomach tighten.

After several minutes of walking in silence, a faint glow appeared ahead, the light bleeding into the corridor. The chamber opened up, and the rest of the group came into view. Ronark immediately veered toward Veylan and the Shepherd, proudly holding the wooden box out with both hands, while Pyre stepped aside to join Balefor and Marrowsven.

“Figured you’d want to do the honors,” Ronark told Veylan as he handed the box over.

“Wonderful,” Veylan said. “The craftsmanship is exactly what I expected.” Before he could do anything more, the sound of stone grinding against stone rolled out of the passageway, deep and resonant, carrying into the open air around them.

“Everyone should step back,” Sura said. “Just in case—”

“I’ll stop the rocks from falling toward us,” Irix told her. “Don’t worry.”

“No,” the Shepherd said, taking a long step back, “you should help Tallow as best you can. The entrance will need reinforcement.”

A vibration passed through Pyre as Irix shifted position.

Almost immediately, the cliffside above the passageway began to shed itself. Chunks of stone broke free, fragments of the ancient statue crumbling and tumbling down as Tallow continued forcing the sarcophagus toward the opening.

Behind them, Veylan was already seated, the older man affixing a jeweler’s loupe pressed to his eye before he began to work the lock with a tension wrench.

The noise intensified.

The passage mouth shuddered as Tallow forced the sarcophagus toward them, stone grinding hard against stone. Dust burst outward in thick sheets, and the ground trembled beneath Pyre’s boots.

“There must be something we can do,” Balefor said, alarm rising in his voice.

“No, best to let Tallow do his work,” Ronark told him. “He should have plenty of Anima. Once it’s out, you can help some.”

“But only after it’s away from the passageway,” Sura said.

Balefor growled under his breath, fists clenching at his sides.

After another screech of stone on stone, the end of the sarcophagus emerged fully into the open. The polished coffin wedged, then lurched forward again, gouging deep scars into the walls and the ground as the ceiling cracked and began to collapse in earnest behind it.

With one final heave, Tallow forced it free.

He stepped out behind it in a new form: a massive, headless brute, shoulders hunched, muscles flowing beneath a waxy surface. The Anima lantern burned where his spine should have been, embedded deep in his back. The wax coated the sarcophagus as well, sealing cracks and smoothing edges, then retreated into Tallow’s body the moment he cleared the threshold.

“Wow,” Sura said, approaching it. The stone was a pale, luminous blue—nothing like the dark rock of the cavern, nothing Pyre had expected after seeing it in the dim interior.

“Now,” the Shepherd said as everything settled. “Bring it further.”

Balefor, Pyre, Ronark, and Marrowsven moved forward together, hands bracing against the cool stone as they shoved the sarcophagus away from the opening. Behind them, Irix orchestrated the rest of the collapse with precise bursts of sound, the passageway caving in cleanly, filling the air with choking dust.

Once the way was sealed, Tallow shifted back into his cat form, the strain evident as the lantern embedded in his previous body cracked and dropped to the ground.

“All in a day’s work,” he said as he strutted by, proud of himself.

Sura joined the Shepherd, and the two stood still for a long moment, staring at the sarcophagus. Pyre couldn’t read either of their expressions.

“Ever seen anything like it?” Sura asked him.

“Not a sealed one,” the Shepherd said. “What do you think, Veylan?”

The older man glanced up from the wooden box. “I think I’ll need another few minutes to open this.”

“No, the sarcophagus.”

“Right, that.” Veylan blinked as he pushed the jeweler’s loupe away from his eye. “If you’re asking if we should open it or not, I’d say not. At least not out here.”

“You’re right,” the Shepherd said, stroking his chin. “Do you think we’ll be able to take it through the gate?”

Veylan pursed his lips for a moment as he considered this. “I don’t see why not,” he said at last. “But getting it there might be difficult. Now, we have three active lanterns. It could take another to get it there. And I’ll need some of the power from one of them to open the gate later on. But not much.”

“Yes, not much,” the Shepherd said, still considering how they’d move it.

“What if we tried lifting it?” Pyre asked. “Several of us.”

“But we’ll have to cross that stone bridge,” Sura said.

“I could help with that,” Irix offered. “But floating it all the way back would extinguish a lantern. If you all are able to handle it, it would use less Anima.”

“Yes, I think that could do it,” the Shepherd said.

“And I could move to the front,” Tallow said as he shifted again into the headless warhorse form. “Drag it while you all push.”

“That won’t be necessary,” the Shepherd told him. “I believe that Balefor, Ronark, and I can handle things. Tallow, you make the ground smoother for us. We’ve done that before for a large object. The rest of you will act as our guards. And Veylan—let’s deal with the box later, at the gate. The sooner we leave this area, the better.”