Shadows of the Past

Evelyne sat upright in bed, her breath uneven, her pulse thundering in her ears. The voice that had echoed in her mind was gone, but its presence lingered, a phantom whisper crawling beneath her skin.

She clenched her fists, steadying herself.

Was she losing her mind?

Or was something—someone—reaching out to her?

The room was silent except for the crackling of the enchanted torches lining the walls. Their eerie blue glow cast shifting shadows across the dark stone. She forced herself to breathe, pressing a hand to her chest to slow her racing heart.

Then, a knock at the door.

Evelyne stiffened.

"Come in," she called, masking her unease.

The door creaked open, revealing Lyria. The demon woman studied her, violet eyes narrowing slightly. "You're awake."

Evelyne swallowed, nodding. "Couldn't sleep."

Lyria stepped inside, tilting her head. "I imagine the training didn't help."

Evelyne rolled her shoulders. Pain shot through her muscles, a reminder of Azrael's relentless lessons. "No, it didn't."

Lyria smirked. "He's not easy on anyone, especially those he deems worth his time."

Evelyne exhaled. "Lucky me."

Lyria folded her arms. "You should rest while you can. The King has summoned you at dawn."

Evelyne's brows furrowed. "For more training?"

Lyria shook her head. "No. He wants to show you something."

Something about the way she said it sent a chill down Evelyne's spine.

Before she could ask further, Lyria turned to leave. "Get some rest, Princess."

The door closed behind her, leaving Evelyne alone with her thoughts.

But rest wouldn't come.

Not when the voice still echoed in her mind.

Dawn came too soon.

Evelyne dressed quickly, her sore muscles protesting every movement. A black cloak had been left for her—simple but elegant, lined with silver embroidery. She hesitated before fastening it around her shoulders.

A knock sounded once more.

This time, when the door opened, it was Azrael.

She tensed at the sight of him, his presence filling the doorway with an undeniable weight. Dressed in dark robes, his golden eyes unreadable, he looked like a figure carved from the shadows themselves.

"You're ready," he said. Not a question.

Evelyne straightened. "Where are we going?"

Azrael motioned for her to follow. "To learn."

She didn't like the sound of that.

They walked through the fortress, past towering obsidian pillars and halls lined with ancient carvings. The torches flickered as they moved, as if responding to Azrael's presence.

Evelyne didn't ask questions. Not yet.

But when they reached a pair of massive iron doors, she hesitated.

Beyond them, a tunnel stretched into darkness. A thick, unnatural mist clung to the stone, whispering as it moved. The air was colder here, the kind of cold that seeped into the bones.

Evelyne shivered. "What is this place?"

Azrael didn't answer immediately. He stepped forward, placing a hand against the iron doors. The metal pulsed, as if alive, and then groaned open.

A heavy silence stretched between them before he finally spoke.

"The Path of the Dead."

Evelyne's breath caught.

A tunnel of darkness. A path of the dead.

Every instinct told her to turn back.

Instead, she lifted her chin. "Why are we here?"

Azrael glanced at her, something flickering in his gaze. "Because you need to see."

And then, he stepped inside.

Evelyne hesitated only for a second before following.

The doors shut behind them with a final, echoing boom.

The deeper they walked, the heavier the air became. Shadows flickered along the walls, shifting unnaturally. Evelyne swore she could hear whispers—soft, sorrowful murmurs just beyond her understanding.

She swallowed. "This place…"

"It is where the dead linger," Azrael said. His voice was calm, but there was something guarded beneath it. "Not all souls pass into the afterlife as they should. Some remain. Trapped."

Evelyne glanced at him. "Why?"

Azrael's jaw tightened. "Regret. Hatred. Unfinished business."

A chill ran down her spine.

They continued forward, the whispers growing louder. Shapes flickered in the mist—faint figures, barely distinguishable from the darkness. Some loomed closer, their forms wretched and broken.

Evelyne's throat tightened. "What do they want?"

Azrael stopped. "Many seek to be freed." His golden eyes glowed faintly in the dark. "Others… only seek to consume."

Before she could respond, the mist shifted.

A shadow surged toward them.

Evelyne gasped, stumbling back as the figure took shape—a twisted, skeletal form with hollow eyes, its mouth stretching into a silent scream. Its hand lashed out, reaching for her—

Azrael moved before she could react.

A pulse of dark energy radiated from him, and the shadow recoiled, shrieking as it dissolved into the mist.

Evelyne's breath came fast.

Azrael turned to her. "You understand now, don't you?"

She nodded, still shaken. "This place… it's cursed."

Azrael's expression was unreadable. "It is a prison of our own making."

Evelyne's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

He hesitated. Just for a second.

Then, he said, "Not all demons are born of the Underworld. Some were once human."

Evelyne's heart stopped.

"What?"

Azrael exhaled slowly. "Long ago, there were those who made pacts—who gave their souls in exchange for power. When they died, they did not pass on." His gaze darkened. "They became something else."

Evelyne's skin went cold. "Demons."

Azrael nodded.

She swallowed. "Then that means…"

Azrael held her gaze. "Some of the souls here were once your kind."

Evelyne's blood turned to ice.

A long silence stretched between them. The whispers pressed closer, as if waiting, listening.

Evelyne clenched her fists, steadying herself. "Why are you showing me this?"

Azrael studied her for a moment. Then he said, "Because the voice you heard last night was not a dream."

Her breath caught.

Azrael's gaze sharpened. "It was a spirit. One that has been watching you."

Evelyne's heart pounded.

She wasn't imagining it.

The voice—the presence—it was real.

And it was coming from here.

She exhaled slowly, trying to suppress the shiver running down her spine.

"What does it want?" she asked.

Azrael's eyes burned gold.

"We're about to find out."