Chapter 13: Ashes and Oathes

Cult Citadel – Subterranean Depths

Location: Unknown

Twelve cloaked figures stood in a vast circular chamber carved from the bones of an ancient subterranean beast—its ribcage stretched like cathedral arches above their heads. The air reeked of incense and old blood, of iron and something… older.

At the chamber's heart, an altar of obsidian and bone pulsed with a sickly green light. It was alive—not metaphorically. Veins ran beneath it, warm to the touch, feeding on offerings given to it each full cycle.

High Flamebearer Seras stepped forward, dragging a ceremonial blade along her palm. Her blood, thick and dark, fell into the altar's center, where it hissed like oil in flame. The chamber responded with a deep hum.

"The Echo has returned," she said.

Her voice echoed through the chamber as if carried on unseen wings. She looked up at the figures above—her council, her apostles, each one more devout and twisted than the last.

"The boy breathes within Gravemarch. His blood calls to the Silence."

The others responded in unison:

"The Echo. The Traitor's Seed."

One of the cultists, draped in vermillion chains, raised a hand.

"How can the Flameguard line still exist? We purged them in the War of Falling Minds."

Seras turned to him slowly. "We purged the known. Not the hidden." Her eyes burned beneath her veil. "Michael Callahan carries the last spark. And the Hive has begun to stir because of it."

The Unseen One

Beneath the chamber, in a vault sealed by glyphs older than written language, a chamber thrummed. Inside a tank of nutrient fluid floated a being half-man, half-something else. Long spines jutted from its back. Its veins pulsed with silver light, and its face bore no features except a pair of closed eyes.

They called it the Unseen One—a vessel born from the failed attempt to house the Hive's complete consciousness during the last awakening. A failed vessel, but not a useless one.

The fluid hissed and bubbled. The Unseen One shifted slightly, reacting not to movement in the room but to a presence far away.

In its dreamlike stasis, it saw Mike. Not just his face—his thoughts, his hesitation, the way he touched the wall in the castle and felt something calling.

The Hive remembered everything.

And now, so did the Unseen One.

The Cult's Reach

In another chamber, a room far less ceremonial but no less sinister, holograms of major cities flickered in the dark. Euraxis. Velmora. Arcadia. Ironreach. Even distant coastal Techspire.

Red markers blinked across the maps—designating influence, corruption, control. Politicians, engineers, city planners, protest organizers. All under subtle, patient manipulation.

The cult's strategy had evolved. No longer brute force—now whispers, sabotage, misinformation.

In the slums of Velmora, cult operatives had begun distributing neural-altering narcotics. In Ironreach, a mayor had unknowingly signed off on demolition blueprints designed to weaken foundational systems for a future collapse.

"We do not bring apocalypse with fire," one Elder muttered. "We build it from within."

But in every discussion, every projection, one anomaly repeated itself.

Mike.

The Inner Circle's Debate

"We should kill him," said Lormak, a robed warlock with his face stitched into a permanent grin. "Before he remembers what he is."

"Too late," Seras replied. "He's begun to awaken. If we kill him now, the Hive may recoil and flee. It has waited too long to merge again."

"Then corrupt him," hissed another. "Make him believe in the unity. In the vision."

Silence fell.

Then Seras, in a tone that chilled even the most devout, said:

"If Michael Callahan falls to us willingly… he will become the new vessel. The one who finishes what the Unseen One could not."

A Message Delivered

At dusk, a sleek black drone cut through the skies over Gravemarch. It was small, fast, and silent—undetectable to standard security.

It landed just outside the southern courtyard, its tiny legs stabbing into the earth like needles.

Mike found it while making rounds with Lucas. The drone opened before he touched it, revealing a glowing crystal the size of his palm.

When activated, it floated midair, projecting a flickering image.

Seras.

Her voice was calm, sharp, precise.

"You stand at the edge of something you do not understand. Gravemarch remembers. The Hive remembers."

The image shifted, briefly showing ancient sketches—Mike's own face drawn in blood, standing with glowing weapons in hand.

"You are not a hero, Michael Callahan. You are a leftover mistake. A survivor of an unfinished purge."

Mike clenched his fists.

The projection continued.

"Return to us. We can teach you who you are. Refuse, and the world will burn again. This time, with no one left to put out the fire."

The crystal shattered in a burst of static light, leaving only silence.

Lucas stepped forward. "What the hell was that?"

Mike didn't answer.

Because he wasn't sure himself.

Elsewhere…

In a darkened chamber far from the Citadel, a girl suspended in a glass sphere opened her eyes.

Jessie.

Her breathing was shallow. Her mouth moved.

"Mike…"

The guards posted outside didn't hear her.

But the Hive did.