The obsidian bridge stretched endlessly, suspended over a chasm of nothingness. Beneath it, no wind blew, no echoes returned. It was as if the universe itself refused to acknowledge what lay below.
Ren Zian walked at the front, his expression carved from stone. Each step sent a pulse from the Astral Pact through his body—a whisper of power and warning. Behind him, Lyra walked carefully, gripping her staff. Nyelle and Arin flanked the sides, their weapons ready, eyes alert.
As they reached the halfway point, the obsidian beneath their feet shimmered.
A low rumble stirred the air.
From the abyss rose a swarm of violet shadows, writhing like ink spilled in water. They had no faces, only mouths that whispered lost names.
"Don't speak back," Nyelle hissed. "They feed on acknowledgment."
Ren raised a hand. His pact mark glowed, and the shadows recoiled—just slightly. "Keep moving."
One of the scouts behind them faltered. "I-I hear my sister... she's calling me..." he muttered.
Ren spun around. "No! Stay in formation!"
But it was too late. The scout stepped off the bridge—and was swallowed whole. No scream. Just... gone.
Lyra gasped. Arin cursed.
"Keep moving!" Ren barked.
They ran the last few paces to the temple gates. The moment Ren touched the ancient glyphs engraved in the obsidian arch, the bridge behind them crumbled into mist.
They were inside.
The Temple of Hollow Echoes was silent. The air shimmered with residue from countless broken oaths. Its ceiling vanished into darkness, and the walls pulsed with faint, pulsing veins of starlight.
Nyelle muttered, "This place remembers everything... even pain."
They passed through an antechamber lined with mirrors. But these mirrors reflected not their bodies—but moments from their lives.
Ren saw a memory of himself, kneeling before a burning village—his home—unable to save his younger brother.
Lyra turned away from a reflection showing her crying out as her childhood friend vanished into enemy hands.
"They're not just memories," Arin said. "They're wounds."
Suddenly, the floor split.
Ren fell.
He plunged into a chamber soaked in silver light. He landed on his feet—barely—and looked up. He was alone.
The chamber had no door, no ceiling. Only a single figure stood at the center: a child.
Ren's breath caught. "...Tai?"
The child turned. It was Ren's younger brother. The one lost long ago. But this boy's eyes burned gold.
"Why did you let me die?" he asked.
Ren's legs buckled. "You were too far—"
"You didn't try hard enough. You saved others. But not me."
The illusion stepped forward, and the room twisted. Ren fell to his knees.
Then a voice—not the child's—spoke:
"To carry a god's power, you must first release your mortal chains. Are you ready to grieve?"
The pain in Ren's chest became unbearable.
He shouted, "I tried! I would've given everything!"
The light shifted.
The illusion faded.
And in its place, a new pact symbol seared into Ren's skin—along his shoulder and chest.
A voice—Seris again—echoed: "This is the Pact of Hollow Truths. It cannot be wielded without bleeding."
Ren gasped, feeling the power surge. His vision spun—until a portal opened before him.
He stepped through.
The others had faced their own trials.
Lyra sat slumped, tears streaming. Arin clutched a torn ribbon in her hand. Nyelle stood alone, her fingers glowing with fading runes.
When Ren reappeared, they all looked up.
Something in him had changed. His aura was sharper, heavier—but calmer.
"The temple's given us what we came for," he said.
Lyra asked quietly, "At what cost?"
Before Ren could answer, the air crackled.
From the inner sanctum emerged a divine figure—tall, robed in radiant shadow.
"The gods send their herald," Nyelle said grimly.
Ren stepped forward. "Then let them know: I am not their pawn."
The herald extended a hand.
"You will kneel, Ren Zian, or you will burn."
Ren raised his palm. The three pacts blazed.
"Try me."