A Punishment in its purest form

Arienne's breath caught.

Her mind stumbled over the weight of his words, trying to piece together the horror of it. Those things—those twisted things—had been people once?

As mages, they were taught about the Abyss—the horrors lurking within, the monstrous creatures that would tear intruders apart the moment they stepped inside. They learned how the Abyss twisted the mind, warping reality itself.

But what they were never told was the truth—that some of those creatures weren't born of the Abyss.

They used to be people.

A sharp chill lanced through her, different from the Abyss's ever-present cold.

The Abyss wasn't just a prison. It was punishment in its purest form.

A place that didn't just kill, but remade those trapped inside.

She swallowed. "So if we stay too long—"

"You won't have to worry about that." His voice was clipped, final.

Arienne frowned. "That's not reassuring."

"It wasn't meant to be."

She scowled but didn't argue.

Instead, she turned her gaze to the ruins around them, forcing herself to breathe through the nausea still coiling in her gut.

The place felt… different.

The same eerie darkness blanketed everything, the same jagged remnants of a world long lost. But there was something else here, something lurking beneath the surface.

She could feel it in the air.

A slow, rhythmic pulsing, like a heartbeat buried deep in the bones of the earth.

The man felt it too. His posture had shifted, the ever-present tension in his shoulders tightening as his sharp gaze swept their surroundings.

Something was here.

Something watching.

Arienne's fingers curled into fists at her sides. "This place—where are we?"

For the first time since they had landed, he hesitated. It was small—just the briefest flicker in his expression—but she caught it.

Then he exhaled, turning his gaze to the massive ruins before them.

"The Threshold."

Arienne blinked. "The what?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped forward, boots crunching softly against the cracked stone as he approached the largest of the pillars.

Etched into the ancient surface were symbols—deep, jagged carvings that pulsed faintly with an unsettling light.

They weren't like any language Arienne had ever seen, and yet, when she looked too long, something in her mind whispered.

She wrenched her gaze away, a shudder crawling down her spine.

"What is this place?" she asked again, quieter this time.

"The last gate." His fingers brushed against the carvings, but his eyes remained distant. "The point where the Abyss ends and something worse begins."

Arienne's breath was still unsteady, her body still reeling from the disorienting jumps through the Abyss. But his words—his words made her forget all of it.

Something more dangerous than this?

She swallowed, trying to steady the pulse pounding in her ears. "What do you mean, more worse?" she asked, her voice quieter than she intended. "The Abyss is already—"

The man's gaze flickered toward her, sharp and unreadable in the dim light.

He didn't let her finish.

"You don't know the Abyss."

It wasn't an accusation, but a statement, flat, unwavering, absolute.

Arienne stiffened. "I—"

"Whatever you think you know," he interrupted, his voice low and measured. "Forget it. Whatever they told you out there—warnings, stories, all of it—they have no clue what's truly inside this place."

His words settled over her like a cold weight, pressing against her ribs.

She was told about the Abyss.

She read every information about it, listened to every whispered account, every grim warning—she had absorbed them all.

And yet, standing here, feeling the raw, pulsing energy of this forsaken place, she realized she didn't really know the Abyss. 

The weight of the place pressed down on her lungs, squeezing the air from them, making each breath feel heavier than the last.

They were wrong. All of them.

Arienne inhaled sharply, pushing past the suffocating pressure in her chest. Even as it threatened to drown her, curiosity burned stronger.

"Then tell me," she demanded, forcing strength into her voice. "What's beyond the Abyss? Beyond the threshold? More creatures? More monsters?"

For a moment, the man didn't answer.

He just looked at her, gaze steady, unwavering, something almost like pity flickering beneath the sharpness of his expression.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"No," he said, his voice quiet. "Survivors."

Arienne's brows furrowed, disbelief settling deep in her chest.

Survivors?

That should have been a good thing. Proof that escape was possible.

That they weren't alone in this abyssal nightmare. And yet, something in the man's voice—something cold, edged with warning—made her skin prickle.

Before she could push further, he exhaled sharply, already turning away. "We should leave," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You barely have any magic left. The pressure at the Threshold would crush you."

But Arienne wasn't ready to let it go.

She stepped forward, determination cutting through the exhaustion dragging at her limbs. "What do you mean, survivors?" she demanded.

"So we're not the only ones here? Then—" she hesitated, but only for a breath, "shouldn't we find them? If there are others, we should stick together. Work together to leave this place."

The man stopped.