Ash and Max exchanged a tense, silent look, but without a word, they followed. Their boots clicked rhythmically against the impossibly smooth floor, the sound instantly swallowed by the vast, hollow silence of the corridor.
At the far end stood another blank wall.
Without hesitation, the priest reached forward, plunging his hand directly into the stone as if it were nothing more than dense mist. When he pulled his arm back, he was holding a box.
It shared none of the ancient, weathered aesthetic of the surrounding ruins. The chest was horrifyingly pristine, carved from deep obsidian veined with pulsing threads of liquid silver. Its edges bore spiraling patterns that seemed to shift and writhe whenever he looked away. Its latches were not metal clasps, but interlocking gold teeth that resembled the closed maw of a predator.
The old man cradled it with both hands, his posture deeply reverent.
"The last time our lord stood before us, he entrusted this to our care. He commanded us to guard it with our lives until a young human bearing your name arrived. Until this day, we were to protect it and it alone."
He lowered his head, his voice dropping to a trembling whisper.
"And now... that day has arrived."
He flicked the golden latches. They released with a soft hiss. Inside, resting upon a bed of pure shadow, sat a sphere.
It was neither smooth nor serene, but unnervingly alive. Brilliant golden light bled through a web of fractures covering its surface, pulsing like molten metal trapped inside cracked glass. It was beautiful in the way a wildfire was beautiful from a distance: captivating, radiant, and utterly destructive.
The priest looked at Ash, then knelt down to meet his gaze, his ancient eyes reflecting the orb’s fierce radiance.
"Now, young lord... all you must do... is touch it."
Ash locked his eyes on the object in the box. His frown deepened.
’I have a really, really bad feeling about this.’
He looked from the fissured orb to the priest, who merely offered a placid, expectant smile. Every instinct screamed at Ash to back away, not touch it, and certainly not give this ancient fanatic the satisfaction. But the alternative was remaining trapped in this mausoleum, enduring endless lectures on divine prophecy. The choice was between a potential curse and a guaranteed, eternal annoyance.
"...You’re certain I won’t be bound to this place?" Ash asked, his voice tight.
The old man’s smile widened slightly.
"I do not believe my lord would do something so crude. You will simply have to trust him."
Ash swallowed hard, his throat dry.
"Right. Trust the god of a stranger I met ten minutes ago. Yeah, brilliant plan."
The priest said nothing, his placid grin unchanged. Ash glanced at Max. His brother was staring at the box with intense academic curiosity, but after a moment’s hesitation, Max gave him a firm nod.
A heavy, resigned sigh escaped Ash.
"Fine. I’ll do it. But hear me, one day, I’m going to die. No matter what grand plans your god cooked up, that fact doesn’t change."
The priest nodded without a shred of hesitation.
"As long as I am freed, it makes no difference to me what you do after. Live. Die. The choice is yours."
Ash lingered for one final heartbeat, then pressed his fingertips against the cool, fissured surface of the orb.
The golden light didn’t flare. It collapsed inward, vanishing into absolute nothingness as if it had never existed. A thick, suffocating silence fell over the chamber.
’What now?’
As if answering his question, the familiar voice of his soul space sounded deep within his mind:
[You have acquired a new so—]
The message cut off abruptly mid-sentence.
Ash blinked, his chest tightening. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Ever since his awakening, the soul space had never glitched or stopped halfway through a notification. He waited in the silence of his mind for the prompt to resume, but nothing came.
Then—
[Ah... Finally. You found me.]
Ash stiffened, his entire body going taut. His head jerked around, scanning the dim corridor, but there was no one else present.
’No... this wasn’t in the room. It was inside my head.’
Yet it wasn’t the flat, toneless echo of his own voice that usually came from his soul space. This voice was entirely different. It sounded young... light, bright, and almost cheerful. Like a boy of ten, perhaps even younger.
’What the hell...?’
"Hey..."
Ash’s voice came out sharp and alarmed.
"Did you guys hear that?"
Max’s brow furrowed in confusion.
"Hear what? Did something happen?"
Ash dragged a palm down his face.
"Great. So if you didn’t hear it, it’s in my head. Wonderful. Just what I needed. I’m finally losing my mind."
He glared at the priest.
"And to make matters worse, the old geezer is standing there smiling at me like a creep."
Max turned. The priest was indeed smiling, a broad, serene grin stretching across his aged face.
Max’s frown deepened.
"Hey, old man. Whatever that artifact did... it isn’t binding him here, right?"
The priest’s grin faded into a weary smile.
"Oh, I cannot say for certain. My lord did not reveal the artifact’s exact function to me. But if I know him, he does not leave people trapped. That is why the other apostles left... they were never bound to this sanctuary."
Max blinked, suspicion giving way to utter confusion.
"Wait. You weren’t bound either?"
The old Titan chuckled softly. He shook his head, placing the empty obsidian box on the ground before standing and turning toward the outer hall. Without hesitation, Ash and Max fell into step behind him.
The priest spoke without looking back, his voice carrying effortlessly through the vast stone corridor.
"No. Not bound. Not in the literal sense. I could have walked out those gates at any moment over the last few centuries. But I chose to stay."
He paused, his eyes drifting up toward the high, vaulted ceiling.
"My lord gave me the one thing no one else ever offered... a purpose. Since the day of my birth, I have carried a cursed soul root that marked me for an early death. Unless I fulfilled the whims of masters I never asked for, I would die. That was my fate. But my lord... he chose me. He saved me. He kept me breathing, again and again, by granting me a reason to exist. Every mission was another chance to keep living. I owed him more than words can express. So I stayed to finish this final task. It was my way of settling the debt."
The priest finally stopped, turning to face the brothers as they re-entered the main throne room.
"But now... I am finished. I have carried the burden long enough. What I desire now is the same thing you seek, young lord... to finally let go and rest."
Ash halted, his jaw tightening.
"So let me get this straight. You forced me into some cosmic setup I didn’t ask for... because you’re tired of living? And you could’ve left whenever you wanted, but instead, you sat on a dusty throne waiting for me like an idiot?"
The old man nodded calmly, as if Ash had just provided the most reasonable summary imaginable. He stood behind the four massive thrones, his gaze drifting slowly across the towering pillars, the cracked stonework, and the silent colossus against the wall.
Then, the old priest closed his eyes and stretched his arms wide toward the ceiling.
"Now that I have fulfilled the prophecy, I can finally die."
Silence fell over the cavernous cathedral.
Seconds ticked by. The old man simply stood there, arms outstretched to the empty air, waiting.
Max broke the awkward quiet.
"Uh... old man. What exactly are you doing?"
The priest didn’t open his eyes.
"I am waiting for death."
Ash stared, frustration boiling over into pure exasperation.
"Hold on! No way you’re checking out that easily! I still have questions! Like the kid’s voice I just heard in my head. Who the hell was that?!"
The old Titan laughed.
"Young lord, that is no longer my concern. I have fulfilled my role. Now I am free. All that remains is the end."
Ash took a sharp step forward, his hand rising to grab the priest by his robes and force the answers out of him. But before his fingers could reach the fabric, the temple itself revolted.
The ground shuddered violently under their boots. A deep, groaning tremor rippled through the bedrock, and thick curtains of gray dust rained down from the high ceiling, stinging their eyes and coating their shoulders.
The old man’s smile only widened, his eyes remaining closed in blissful acceptance.
"Ah. There it is."
The roof split open with a deafening roar, stone screaming as the ancient structure was torn apart. A figure plummeted through the gaping fissure, crashing into the center of the hall in a violent spray of blood and pulverized masonry.
Ash recognized him before the figure had even settled in the rubble.
The crimson hair. The faint flicker of dying flame clinging to his battered, blood-soaked frame.
"TY!"
Ash bolted forward, skidding on his knees across the rough stone to reach the fallen boy. Tyrin was a complete wreck. His face was a swollen, bruised mess, with a jagged laceration tracing from his hairline down to his jaw. His left arm was twisted at a sickening, broken angle, and his torso was covered in deep purple bruises and raw, blistering burns. Faint wisps of smoke rose from his skin, filling the air with the acrid scent of seared flesh. He wore nothing but a pair of torn, scorched undergarments.
Ash gently slid his hands beneath Tyrin’s head and lifted it into his lap. His voice cracked with panic and rage.
"Hey! Stay with me! Are you... are you okay?!"
Tyrin’s eyes fluttered open, his chest heaving as he coughed up a spatter of dark blood. He squinted up through the dust, his voice barely a rasp.
"Huh...? Who the hell are you...?"