The tunnels beneath the Silent Throne were unlike anything the companions had encountered before—twisting catacombs of bone and obsidian, carved by ancient hands and long since abandoned by the living. The walls seemed to breathe, exhaling warm air that smelled of ash and rot. The floor, though solid, pulsed faintly beneath their boots, like the heartbeat of something slumbering just below the surface.
No one spoke.
Not even Lina.
The silence was too heavy, too sacred—or cursed—to break without consequence.
Lyra led the way, the faint glow of her orb guiding them through the dark. Its light was dimmer now, as if it too sensed that the rules of the surface world no longer applied. The power she'd absorbed from the shard still lingered inside her like a sleeping storm, coiled and waiting. Her hands trembled subtly with every step, and she kept her thoughts tight, focused.
She could still hear that voice.
The one that looked like her.
You were never chosen to seal the darkness. You are its conduit.
Eamon walked beside her, ever watchful. Though he hadn't voiced it, Lyra felt the way his eyes lingered on her—longer now, warier. Trust remained, but it had cracks.
Behind them, Mira examined the passage with narrowed eyes, recording symbols and whispering old prayers to herself. Even she seemed disturbed by how ancient the magic here felt—something primal, untouched by civilization or structure.
Lina brought up the rear, both blades drawn, her usual swagger dimmed to a simmer. She didn't like this place. Too quiet. No one to punch. No enemies to bait. Just endless stone and something—wrong—lurking just beyond her senses.
Suddenly, the path widened into a circular chamber, lined with faded murals and cracked pillars. In its center stood a black obelisk bound in silver chains, humming with a low, guttural sound like distant thunder beneath the ocean.
The moment Lyra entered the room, the orb in her hand stopped glowing.
Everyone froze.
Mira stepped forward first, inspecting the chains. "These were meant to restrain something, not contain it," she said, her voice hushed.
Eamon knelt, touching the ground beneath the obelisk. "Something powerful was sealed here… but the bindings are eroded. Look—these runes are fractured."
Lina circled the obelisk like a wolf, eyes narrowed. "Why would they leave something this dangerous right under a throne? Unless…"
"Unless the throne was never a seat of rulership," Lyra murmured, "but a lock."
A beat of silence followed.
Then Mira spoke again, her tone tense. "This might be one of the ancient Chains of Binding—the ones said to hold the Great Demon Princes beneath the earth. If that's true… then this site is more than just a ruin. It's a prison. And it's failing."
As if in answer, the obelisk began to glow faintly—deep red, pulsing like a heart—and the chains rattled, ever so slightly.
"Back!" Eamon barked.
But Lyra didn't move. She stared at the monolith, eyes wide with something between awe and horror. The pulsing was familiar.
It matched her heartbeat.
The others watched her closely as she stepped forward, ignoring their warnings.
Whispers crawled up the edges of her mind—softer than before, but unmistakably there.
Lyra…
Child of dusk…
Bearer of the Shard…
Come closer.
Her fingertips brushed the cold surface of the obelisk.
And then—
A flash of black light engulfed her.
She was pulled inside again, into that timeless void, where nothing existed but thought and power.
But this time, she was not alone.
Before her stood a throne of bone and smoke. Seated upon it was a figure cloaked in shadow—horned, winged, and impossibly tall. Its eyes were voids that flickered with stars.
"So. You're the one they chose."
Lyra clenched her fists. "I wasn't chosen. I walked into it."
The figure leaned forward, the throne groaning beneath its weight. "No. You were led. By fate. By blood. By the chain that binds all things."
"Who are you?"
The thing's smile split its face like a blade through silk. "I am Vareth-Kal, Keeper of Chains. Last of the Seven Demon Princes. And you—are standing in my tomb."
Lyra stepped back. "You're dead?"
"No. I sleep. Until the seals fail. Until the world forgets. But you, Shard-Bearer… you are the key. You walk the line between angel and demon. That makes you mine, whether you admit it or not."
"I don't belong to anyone," she hissed.
"Oh?" Vareth-Kal tilted his head. "Then why is your power awakening in my presence? Why do my chains tremble when you speak?"
Lyra couldn't answer. Because it was true. The energy inside her was responding—thriving—here.
"You have a choice," the demon rumbled. "Leave this place. Run from your bloodline. Fight what you are… and watch the world burn."
"Or?"
"Or take the chain. Bind what cannot be destroyed. Use the power. Be the storm."
Before she could answer, the world shuddered—
—and Lyra collapsed, gasping, back in the real world.
The others rushed to her side.
"What happened?" Eamon demanded, steadying her.
"There's something down there," she whispered. "Not just power. A being. A prince of the old world. And I think…"
She paused, swallowing the rising dread.
"I think he's connected to me."
Mira's expression hardened. "If this prince is waking up, and the seal is failing, then we need to decide fast. Do we flee and regroup? Or break the chain ourselves before it's too late?"
Eamon shook his head. "If we leave, we'll never make it back in time. And if others find this place—"
"They'll use it," Lina finished, her voice dark. "They'll use the prince's power like a weapon."
All eyes turned to Lyra.
She stood slowly, wiping dust from her palms.
"I'm not ready," she admitted. "But maybe… maybe I don't need to be. Maybe we're never meant to be ready for this kind of burden."
She looked at the chain-bound obelisk—its glow brighter now, the chains visibly straining.
"But I am the one standing here."
Her hands rose, magic crackling from her fingertips. The orb at her side shivered in response. She reached toward the chain, not to break it—but to reinforce it.
Mira's eyes widened. "You're going to rebind it?"
"If I can," Lyra whispered. "If it works… he stays asleep. If not…"
Lina grinned. "Then we hit him very hard."
Eamon placed his hand on Lyra's shoulder. "We've got your back."
Lyra closed her eyes.
And she began.
Ancient words spilled from her lips—words no one had taught her, words etched into her blood. Symbols blazed across the chamber walls. The chains lit up, turning silver and white, wrapping tighter around the obelisk with every syllable.
The earth shook.
The shadows screamed.
And then—
Silence.
The glow faded.
The chains held.
The demon prince slept.
And Lyra dropped to one knee, exhausted but alive.
"It's done," she breathed.
"For now," Mira said.
Eamon helped her up. "Come on. The way forward isn't back. We need to find the other chains. Seal them before someone else wakes another prince."
Lina wiped her blades clean. "And if we can't?"
Lyra stood tall again, her eyes sharper than ever.
"Then we fight them. All of them."
The tunnel ahead opened into darkness once more—but now, the companions walked with purpose. With scars. With fire.
The world would not fall while they still stood.
And somewhere, deep beneath the surface, Vareth-Kal smiled in his sleep.
The chain may hold.
But the storm was already moving.