Chapter 6 – The Past

From the Hymns of the Withering Choir, Verse 3 "When Pulse rots, it sings-a low, trembling note only the doomed can hear. It begins in the bon es, then the dreams, then the mirror. By the time they scream, their magic is already wearing their skin."

The Deadlands stretched like a wound in the world—ashen soil, twisted trees long stripped of their leaves, and air too still to be natural. With every step Fey took, he felt something ancient humming beneath the earth, like a breath caught in the lungs of a corpse.

They had been walking for hours since leaving the camp. Rhea led, light on her feet and quiet as a breeze. Nova followed, his coat flapping gently behind him, his eyes never leaving Fey. Fey trailed them both, breath uneven, a pressure building behind his eyes.

The Hollow Vein.

They reached it just before dusk—a jagged crevice in the ground, rimmed by the half-buried bones of a forgotten civilization. The structure that loomed from its depths was unmistakably ancient, built of blackened stone etched with curling veins of dormant Pulse. Vines coiled around the shattered entryway, but even they seemed reluctant to grow here.

"This is it," Fey muttered, clutching his goggles tighter. "I can feel it."

Nova placed a hand on his shoulder. "We go in together. Stay close."

Cold air spilled out from it—not the kind born of weather, but of death and memory. The Hollow Vein wasn't just a place. It was a scar.

They entered in silence, boots crunching on gravel. Echoes greeted them—soft and strange, like whispers rooms away. The deeper they went, the more the air thickened, heavy with stagnant dead magic.

And then Fey stopped.

He staggered forward, gasping as his knees hit the stone floor. His goggles clattered beside him.

"Fey?!" Rhea knelt beside him, her hands gripping his shoulders shaking him lightly.

He clutched his head, eyes wide and glowing unnaturally. Blood trickled from his nose, then from his eyes, and finally from his mouth as his body seized with the weight of something vast and ancient.

Visions.

Not of futures this time.

Of the past.

But this time, it wasn't Fey speaking. The voice that came from his mouth was old, distant, and heavy with sorrow.

"We were the ones who reached too far. Dreamers with trembling hands… and hollow hearts."

"We carved deep. Bled the Pulse from beneath the skin of the world, whispering promises to ourselves that it was for a better tomorrow. But we lied. We all lied."

"We called ourselves Invokers. Builders. Innovators. We drained the veins of the earth until they collapsed. The land withered under our ambition, and the Pulse fled from us… as it should have."

"We served a god who had no name. Only a question. The god of the unknown… the god of curiosity. A promise with no end… and no mercy."

"And so, this land was born. Or rather died. A wound we could not close. A silence where magic once sang."

"I… was the last to hold the Eyes. And even I could not change fate, it was foolish to think I could.."

Then silence.

Fey collapsed, eyes flickering back to normal as he coughed blood onto the floor. He blinked slowly, dazed and hollow.

"What…..happened." he whispered hoarsely.

Nova was already chanting under his breath, whispering under his breath praying to his goddess.

"You were talking," Rhea said, her voice soft. "But it wasn't you. Someone… something else."

Fey wiped his mouth. "It felt like I was falling. Watching sins be born. Filling with regret."

He sat upright, his strength slowly returning.

"They were the ones who caused this. The ones who bled this land until it screamed. And they served the god of the unknown… god of curiosity. They thought they were chosen."

Rhea looked toward the ruins surrounding them. "This place is nothing but terror."

As they ventured deeper into the hollow, Rhea's senses began to sharpen. Her skin tingled with a strange, bitter pull—a presence. She paused, catching a flicker of something at the edge of her vision.

Figures.

Their forms flickered in and out of existence, wisps of smoke and shadows that seemed to slip between the cracks of the ruin like forgotten memories. Her heart tightened as she saw them clearer—a group of people, their eyes hollow and empty. They wandered aimlessly, murmuring in low voices, their words indistinguishable.

"They're… they're not real," Rhea murmured, taking a step back. She rubbed her eyes, but the figures remained. "Hey guys I think I'm seeing things now too…"

Rhea stepped closer, eyes fixed on one of the figures—a woman draped in tattered robes, her hands clasped together as if in perpetual prayer. Her face was pale, her mouth silently moving as though speaking to a god long since forsaken. The spirit's gaze lifted, locking eyes with Rhea.

Rhea's breath caught in her throat, and she turned to the others. "I'm seeing… Ghost?"

Nova's face darkened as he stepped forward. "Not Ghost. But Echoes—the fallen who failed to find peace. I'm sure many of them wander in these lands, souls who refuse to let Udeyar guide them into the afterlife. They believe their punishment is their atonement. They are caught between worlds, neither dead nor alive."

Rhea's eyes widened. "But they can't let go. They think they're making up for their sins by staying here?"

"They seek redemption by tormenting themselves," Nova continued softly. "But they are misguided. The will of Udeyar is clear. Those who serve their penance in this world may rest. These souls, however, deny that mercy."

Fey, who had recovered enough to stand, grimaced at the lost souls. "Do they even know if they're dead?"

Nova nodded somberly. "No. They're stuck in the last moments of their deaths."

Rhea couldn't look away. Her heart ached for them. "Is there any way to help them?"

Nova shook his head. "Not unless they accept it. Not unless they let go of their torment."

Rhea closed her eyes. She didn't know if it was her empathy or the overwhelming sadness of the place, but she felt a weight lift from her chest as the souls around them slowly began to fade, drifting away like shadows.

Fey's voice broke the silence as they moved through the crumbled ruins, the weight of the words lingering in the air. "There has to be a bigger reason why Lemos chose this place. Why was I able to glimpse into the past." His silver eyes scanned the remains of the ancient structures, every broken pillar and half-collapsed wall stirring uneasy memories of the past. His mind, already burdened with the responsibility of knowing the future, now seemed to carry an inexplicable weight tied to this location.

Nova nodded, his hands resting on his hip. "You think it's more than just a place to manufacture drugs?" he murmured

Rhea looked around and an uneasy feeling settled in her stomach. "It's possible the second we entered the ruins Fey almost died."

"I didn't almost die…I think." he whispered to himself.

They moved deeper into the ruin, crossing shattered mosaics and walking over fallen statues. A low hum seemed to vibrate through the air, growing stronger as they approached the ruins from the vision Fey had at the inn.

"This... this is it," Fey said, his voice tinged with the same unease that had been crawling under his skin since they'd entered the deadlands.

The stone staircase that descended into the unknown was slick with age, and the further they descended, the darker it grew. The faint glow of Fey's eyes flickered in the dark, casting brief shadows against the walls. His footsteps echoed eerily in the stillness, and the others followed quietly behind.

At the bottom of the staircase, they found a metal catwalk suspended over an abyss. The catwalk stretched deep into the heart of the darkness below, the air thick with the promise of something waiting. The walls on either side were marked with strange runes, unable to activate even miles underground. Then a soft sound caught their attention—soft whispers, almost like chanting, reverberating from the depths.

Fey's heartbeat quickened as he stepped closer to the edge of the catwalk, his gaze drawn downward. The darkness below seemed almost endless.

"Do you hear that?" Rhea asked, her voice low, her smile gone, replaced with a rare seriousness.

Nova frowned, his senses alert. "It's not just chanting… it's something else."

Fey clenched his fists, his mind racing with the vision he'd seen. The fairies. The dust. The twisted creatures he'd glimpsed from his future. They were down there. And so was Lemos, pulling at the strings of everything in this forsaken place.

"Stay alert," Fey warned, his voice grim. "We're about to find out just how deep Lemos' roots go."

They carefully stepped onto the catwalk, moving quietly as the whispers grew louder, more distinct. The catwalk creaked underfoot, but they pressed forward, determined to uncover the secrets buried beneath the ruin. As they moved deeper into the dark, Fey's mind kept flashing back to the image of the fairies—captive, broken, their wings torn and their faces hollow. And he knew they weren't just victims—they were a key part of Lemos' plan.

A glint of light caught his eye—a soft, glowing trail weaving through the darkness, almost like fireflies. It led deeper into the ruin.

"That way," Fey whispered, a dark resolve settling in his chest.

The catwalk ended in a large chamber, and they stepped into it, the air growing thick with the scent of damp stone and something else... something sweet, almost sickening. In the center of the room, standing in a ring of ritualistic symbols, were the fairies.

But they were not the vibrant, free creatures Fey remembered from his childhood. These fairies were gaunt, their wings clipped, their eyes dull. Around them were figures—human, but twisted. They wore dark robes and strange symbols scrawled across their skin. Lemos' cultists. The ones who had been spreading the Fairy-Dust. They chanted in a low, guttural language, their hands raised toward the fairies as if they were conducting some macabre ritual.

Everyone's heart raced. It was one thing to know how Fairy-Dust was made. It was entirely different seeing it be made. Blood siphoned put from

"Let's retreat for the night. There's not much I can do right now. I'm still feeling a bit weak from the fight with the Pulses Eaters and from the vision." He said voice low and soft.

As they emerge from the underground space. They moved through the ruins in silence, the last light of dusk casting long shadows. Fey leaned on the wall as they walked, legs heavy, vision still echoing behind his eyes.

"There," Nova whispered, pointing to a collapsed stone structure covered by dead vines. "Should be safe and out of the way enough."

Inside, the air was dry. Rhea swept dust off a corner, sitting on a piece of collapsed wall.

"This place is much nicer than the camp from the other night." Rhea smiled softly trying to take her mind off anything.

Nova stayed near the entrance. "You rest. I'll take first watch."

Fey nodded, laying down using his bag as a pillow, and letting his eyes fall closed. His dreams came immediately—flickers of futures not yet lived. Loud deathly scream. A door of light. Waking up with a jolt.

Nova looked over worried slightly. "Nightmare or Visions?" He said quietly looking back towards the underground stairwell.

Fey looked off into the distance wiping the sweat from his face. "Mixture of both you could say. Nothing out of the ordinary though."

"Well," Nova hesitated for a moment. "Try and go back to sleep."

"It's okay I'll take watch i—don't really feel like sleeping right now," Fey swallowed, looking a bit pale.

"Alright then." Nova said, patting Fey on the shoulder and heading to bed.

Fey sat in silence, the ruins around him breathing with old stillness. The stars above peeked through cracks in the broken ceiling, cold and distant.

He kept his gaze on the stairwell they'd come from, listening to the wind cut through the ruins.

Rhea murmured something in her sleep and turned over. Nova was already still, deep in rest.

Fey exhaled slowly, fingers brushing the edge of his goggles. Something about the dream wouldn't leave him. The scream. That light.