The Echo of the Fallen

The chamber was silent, the air thick with dust and something older—something watching.

The massive stone door loomed before them, its surface covered in crude Ogryn carvings of war and something else.

Something trapped.

Mira ran her hand along the cold stone, her eyes narrowing. "This… this was a war."

Leila, crouching beside her, studied the same carvings. "Yeah, but not just any war. This was the last stand of something."

Tomas stepped forward, his gaze following the massive, monstrous figure at the center of the carvings.

Ogryn warriors surrounded it, dragging boulders, sealing the beast away.

But there were other figures too.

Thin. Elongated. Their pupil-less eyes hollow pits in their skeletal faces.

Leila frowned. "The hell are these?"

"Not Ogryn," Tomas muttered.

Mira stepped back from the carving, arms crossed. "Whatever they are, they weren't trying to seal it. They were trying to stop the Ogryns."

Beren snorted. "And now they're both dead, so clearly, they were bad at it."

Arlan barely heard them. His eyes were fixed on the deep shadows pooling beneath the carvings.

Something felt off.

Then—

The room grew cold.

The torches flickered, their light dimming as an unnatural weight settled into the air.

Arlan tensed. "Did you feel that?"

Mira opened her mouth to respond—but then the shadows moved.

At first, it was nothing but a flicker, a faint shift in the dim light.

Then it took shape.

A figure stood at the base of the great door—massive, broad-shouldered, its form flickering in and out of existence.

An Ogryn warrior.

But not of flesh.

It was translucent, its outline shimmering like heat rising from stone, its form locked in an endless loop of movement.

It dragged something unseen, struggling forward—then it dropped to its knees, gripping at a wound on its chest.

It looked around frantically, reaching for something—someone—who wasn't there.

Then it collapsed, fading into the stone.

A moment later, it reappeared, starting the cycle all over again.

A trapped echo of the past.

Leila took a sharp step back. "Okay. Nope. I'm good. Let's go."

Beren stared. "The hell is that?"

Tomas didn't move. His grip on his sword tightened, his gaze locked on the Ogryn spirit as it fell to its knees again.

Arlan's voice was quiet. "It's… stuck. Reliving its last moments."

Mira exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple. "Great. Haunted ruins. My favorite."

The ghostly Ogryn repeated its motions again. Dragging, struggling, falling.

And then—it stopped.

For the first time, it froze mid-motion.

Then, slowly, it turned its head.

And its hollow, empty eyes locked onto them.

The room plunged into unnatural silence.

Then the ghost spoke.

"Do not… repeat our mistake."

Its voice was deep, but broken—as if spoken through a dying breath, words half-formed, memories fading.

Then—

The scene changed.

The Vairlith Reveal

The Ogryn ghost froze, its body flickering.

A new figure emerged behind it.

Tall. Thin.

Its ashen skin stretched tight over its elongated skull.

Black, pupil-less eyes watched in silence.

A Vairlith.

The group stood frozen as the ghostly Vairlith knelt beside the dying Ogryn.

At first, it seemed to be offering aid.

Then—its hands moved.

Not to heal.

To mark.

It dragged a thin, bony finger across the Ogryn's chest, tracing a jagged symbol.

A sigil of offering.

The Ogryn struggled, grabbing weakly at the Vairlith's wrist—

But the Vairlith simply tilted its head, watching impassively as the warrior went still.

Not with hatred.

Not with malice.

Just acceptance.

The ghostly Ogryn faded.

And the Vairlith turned toward the door.

It stepped forward… and vanished into the stone.

Then—the vision ended.

Aftermath

The room snapped back to reality.

The air was still heavy, thick with something unseen.

No one spoke.

Then Leila let out a breath.

"What the hell did we just see?"

Beren shifted uncomfortably, for once looking uneasy. "That… thing. Was it watching him die? Like it was… enjoying it?"

Mira's arms were crossed tightly over her chest. "Not enjoying. Accepting. Like it was just… part of the process."

Tomas' jaw tightened. "They weren't just enemies. They saw the Ogryns as sacrifices."

Arlan remained quiet, staring at the massive stone door.

It had been sealed by blood and war.

But it had been worshiped by something else.

And whatever was inside…

It had never been alone.

A deep, guttural sound rumbled from beyond the stone gate.

Low. Hunger-filled.

The air grew colder.

The seal had weakened.

And Vorr'gol, The Devourer, was waking up.