Beneath the Pale Stone

Previously, in Ashes of Xerces:

After surviving a harrowing encounter with the Devourer—an ancient, cosmic hunger given form—Xerces was forced to reveal his true nature as a lich to protect Mira. This unleashed his necrotic powers in full, granting him a powerful new ability, but at the cost of secrecy. The three—Xerces, Mira, and Sael—fled the ruined outskirts and descended into the ancient underworld in search of what lies beneath. Unbeknownst to them, a villager named Elira was taken by the Devourer and now serves as its living vessel, twisted by dark will.

~ Beneath the Pale Stone

From the perspective of Xerces.

The earth swallowed light in great mouthfuls the deeper they traveled.

Torchlight flickered across walls carved not by human hands, but by something older—veins of obsidian that pulsed faintly with bluish life, runes etched in a language time itself had buried. The steps spiraled downward endlessly. No breeze. No echo. Just silence, broken only by the faint scuff of their boots and the uneasy thrum of magic in Xerces's chest.

He could feel the pull.

Not the pull of gravity—but something calling. Beckoning. Each step forward was a step closer to knowledge long denied. Forbidden. Cursed.

Mira walked close beside him, her arm brushing his now-human-looking skin. Her illusion magic was holding—for now. She hadn't said much since the last battle, but her presence lingered near. Protective. Trusting.

And… tender.

Sael led them, his cloak half-torn, his boots caked in dust and dried blood. But his voice never faltered as he whispered directions no one had taught him.

"We're close," Sael said quietly, fingers trailing the carved walls. "To the vault of whispers."

Xerces narrowed his eyes. "You've been here before."

Sael hesitated.

"I've dreamed of it," he said. "Or maybe… it dreamed of me."

They reached a wide, domed chamber. The ceiling rose into shadow, impossible to see. Stone pillars circled a central platform, each marked with a different symbol of death: a weeping eye, a cracked hourglass, a sun eclipsed in bone.

At the center stood a stone sarcophagus. Not sealed, but open—its lid resting beside it like a yawning mouth.

Xerces approached.

The moment his hand touched the stone, the chamber breathed.

A ghost wind howled through the room.

The runes ignited in spectral flame.

Visions tore through his mind—

—A man of flesh once knelt in this chamber, sacrificing breath for eternity—

—Chains of soulbinding wrapped around a heart that refused to die—

—Armies of the dead marched not in hate, but in sorrow—

He gasped.

His hand burned.

[System Alert: Forbidden Memory Accessed.]

Necromancer Class: Awakened (Tier II)

Passive: Bone-Woven Will – Undead under your command cannot be turned by divine means.

Active: Writ of Disguise – Maintain humanoid illusion at the cost of mana per hour.

New Skill: Echo of the Hollow Throne – Channel the pain of forgotten kings to break magical barriers and shatter illusions.

New Trait: Devourer's Bane – Your soul now resists corruption. Damage from voidborne entities reduced by 25%.

Xerces staggered back. Mira caught him instinctively.

"Are you okay?" she asked, brushing his arm with a tenderness that shocked him. She looked into his eyes—not with fear, but with worry.

He nodded, but his voice was distant. "It spoke to me."

Sael knelt by the sarcophagus, reading the runes with a trembling finger. "This… this isn't just a tomb. It's a mirror. Every lich who's ever lived—this place holds fragments of them. Of you."

Xerces stared down into the stone bed. No corpse. No dust. Only a single black feather.

It wasn't from a bird.

It pulsed. As if breathing.

"What is that?" Mira whispered.

Xerces didn't answer. He reached down and took it.

The moment his fingers touched the feather, something screamed.

Not from the room—but from beneath.

Far below, the stone cracked.

The land groaned.

And something began to rise.

Back above ground, trees bowed in unnatural wind. Elira opened her eyes from within the Devourer's cocoon of flesh and roots. The thing inside her smiled again.

"He's close," it whispered.

And somewhere deep underground, in the heart of the forgotten world, Xerces felt it too.

The war had not begun.

But the hunt had.