CHAPTER 15: Beneath the Roots of Mirenth

The air below Mirenth was wrong.

Not stale. Not damp. Wrong.

It carried no scent, no temperature, no sense of movement. It clung, like a dream you couldn't wake from. The trio had found the stairwell by accident—Cid had been rummaging through the debris of the old war academy, looting half-rusted weapons while narrating the imaginary auction in his head.

"And here we have a ceremonial spear. Rusted, cracked, but very vintage. Perfect for stabbing your inner trauma."

Then he stepped on a cracked tile. The floor groaned—and gave way beneath him.

Cid yelped, flailing briefly, before landing flat on his back in the newly-revealed stairwell.

Bell peered down over the edge. "You alive?"

"Only physically," Cid called up. "My dignity's in several pieces."

Seria joined him at the edge, eyes widening. "That's not in the Academy's blueprints."

Bell was already climbing down. "Which means it was meant to be forgotten."

Cid groaned, hauling himself up and brushing off dust. "All the best curses are."

The spiral stairs were narrow, cold, and lined with age. They lit torches—oil-soaked cloth wrapped over carved bones found near the entrance. Seria didn't like that part.

"Are we seriously using ancient femurs as lighting fixtures?" she asked.

Cid shrugged. "If it's cursed, it's cursed efficiently."

The stairwell descended far deeper than expected. Carvings lined the walls—eerie images etched into the blackened stone. Twisting serpents. Burning towers. A woman with a crown of scales, her mouth wide in a silent scream. Her eyes were hollow.

Cid ran his hand along the wall. "So. Not a great place for a wedding reception."

Bell didn't respond. His sword was drawn now. Every footstep echoed as if something far below was listening.

"This isn't a temple," Seria whispered, frowning.

"No," Bell agreed. "It's a tomb."

Cid's tone turned dry. "Fantastic. We're tomb-crashing now. Hope the dead don't mind."

At the bottom, the tunnel opened into a wide, domed chamber. The air was heavier here, like walking through someone else's breath.

Dozens of alcoves lined the curved walls—each one filled with bones wrapped in pale, rotting silks. They weren't buried.

They were offered.

A platform stood at the center, stained dark red.

Seria approached slowly. "This wasn't just a resting place. This was ritual."

"But it's the voice that got me," Cid muttered.

Bell stiffened. "You heard it too?"

They all had.

Faint.

Slithering.

Feminine.

A whisper curling around the inside of the skull like silk.

"…Return to me…"

Seria shivered. "It wasn't magic. It was memory."

Cid didn't joke this time. His voice was low, unguarded. "It was her."

Bell looked over sharply. "Her who?"

Seria swallowed. "The Serpent Queen."

Cid didn't answer. He just stared at the platform like it had spoken his name.

Then the ground shook.

Faint at first. Then violently.

A pulse of energy cracked through the air. Symbols flared to life on the platform: a seven-pointed star, circled in thorns.

Seria's torch flickered—and died.

For three seconds, there was only darkness.

And then the walls screamed.

Not voices.

Not wind.

Just a horrible, echoing sound — like bones cracking underwater.

From the alcoves, the dead stirred.

They ran.

Bell slashed at a corpse as it lunged — skin pale, mouth open, eyes burning blue. Another grabbed at Seria's cloak. She shrieked, twisted, and blasted it with a column of fire. It shriveled into ash with a screech.

Cid didn't run.

He moved — slower, smoother.

One of the risen dead lunged at him.

Midair, the corpse froze — as if caught in invisible coils — and snapped apart, bones crunching one by one.

Cid didn't blink.

No one saw.

No one asked.

They burst from the stairwell coughing and bruised, smoke still trailing from Seria's cloak. Bell's cheek was cut. Cid had a cracked lip and what might've been ectoplasm on his sleeve.

"Tell me again," Cid gasped, "why every ruin we find has an undead upgrade package?"

They didn't answer.

Because the city above…

…was worse.

The corpse in the fountain was gone.

In its place stood a new figure — tall, cloaked, faceless.

Not dead. Not alive.

It held a blade of black bone and obsidian.

Bell charged before the others could stop him. "Who are you!?"

The figure didn't reply.

It raised the blade — and threw it.

Bell ducked.

Barely.

The blade slammed into the tower wall behind them, embedding deep into stone with a sound like splitting glass.

By the time Bell turned back…

…the figure was gone.

Smoke curled in the air like laughter.

Seria rushed to the embedded blade. Her hand hovered over it. "This is necrotic magic. Strong. Layered. If that had struck you…"

"I know," Bell said, jaw tight. "We're not safe here."

"Not just from the dead," Seria added. "From whoever woke them."

Cid raised a hand. "So, unpopular opinion — I vote we go back to that nice abandoned tavern we passed last week. The one that just had mild spider infestation and no cursed royalty?"

Far from Mirenth, near the southern borders of Aurem, a quiet village called Fenhollow burned.

There had been no warning.

No screams long enough to travel.

By the time the smoke reached the sky, dozens were already dead.

The innkeeper was found hanging from her own tavern sign.

The mayor impaled with a serpent-shaped dagger, blood dried into the symbol of a coiled snake around a broken crown.

There were no survivors.

But in the ashes… a symbol was left behind.

And in the taverns of neighboring towns, whispers grew:

The dead queen has returned.And with her… the blood tide.

Back at camp, Bell paced under a grey sky.

"We leave at dawn," he said. "Take the northern ridge. Head for Aurelia. The Guild needs to know."

Seria looked up from her scrolls. "They'll ask for proof. Names. Evidence."

"Then we bring them bones," Bell replied.

Cid sat on the cart's edge, sharpening a dagger he never used in public. His face was blank. Calm. Too calm.

Seria watched him, frowning. "You never told us how you learned about the Serpent Queen."

Cid didn't look up. "I never said I did."

Bell turned to Seria instead. "You said this was a tomb. For who?"

She hesitated. "Everything about it — the carvings, the offerings, the glyphs — it all aligns with the legends of House Ashvayne."

Bell's brow furrowed. "That house died out decades ago."

Cid finally looked up.

"So did Mirenth."

That night, sleep came poorly.

Seria dreamt of flames coiling like serpents. Of whispering stone and faces with no mouths.

Bell dreamt of his brother.

Smiling.

Holding a blade behind his back.

Cid did not sleep.

He sat by the fire, eyes reflecting its glow.

Watching the trees.

Listening.

Waiting.

And when the last ember died, he whispered something into the dark.

Not a prayer.

Not a curse.

Just a name.

"Evelyne."