The halls beneath the Clock-Hand Tower grew darker with every step they took.

  At first, it was subtle: shadows gathering along the corners, torchlight flickering lower as if smothered by invisible hands. But within minutes, the change was undeniable—each torch they passed dimmed further, each breath felt thicker, the air humming with a pressure that made the skin prickle.

  Darius kept moving, eyes forward, bootsteps steady. His men followed close behind, lanterns strapped to their belts, casting narrow cones of pale light. Isolde led them, her stride unhurried, as if this descent were nothing more than a stroll through a familiar garden path.

  Behind the group, Grand Master Varin walked beside Aelun, his expression tight with unease. Even he, who had faced Apostates and Demonkin for decades, could not ignore the unnatural heaviness thickening the air.

  He finally exhaled sharply.

  "Saintess," he muttered, "what in the hell is this Abyss? Have you been here before?"

  Isolde didn't bother looking back. "Mm. Several times."

  Varin blinked. "Several—why?"

  She gave a soft, amused hum. "Because the Vaylora here is denser than anywhere else in the Hallows. It's perfect for practice." She glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. "Though the deeper you go, the more likely you are to suffocate on it."

  A quiet groan sounded from Eryndor. The young noble loosened his collar with stiff fingers. "That explains… why I feel this surge of power. It's almost dizzying."

  Isolde nodded. "The more sensitive you are to Vaylora, the more you'll feel it seeping into your bones. If you feel yourself slipping, hold your position. Don't push too far."

  She turned her gaze deliberately to Darius.

  "Except you. You don't get that luxury."

  Darius snorted. "Same as usual, then."

  Varin grimaced as another wave of pressure rolled through the hallway, making the torches gutter. "If this place is so dangerous, why would Morgan throw the four Archbishops into it?"

  "She didn't throw them," Isolde said lightly. "There are rooms inside the Abyss that dampen the pressure. Not fully, but enough to keep them alive." She shrugged. "Besides, they will be on the outer edges. They'll be fine."

  The corridor darkened sharply ahead of them—so abruptly that even the lanterns dimmed as if smothered by tar. The stone walls thinned to faint silhouettes.

  "We're here," Isolde said.

  She stopped before a massive, ornate door whose carvings were still visible even under the choking blackness. But the hallway around it had no light left—only a faint violet sheen radiating from the metalwork of the door itself.

  "If you are already struggling under the pressure," she warned quietly, "I would not step past this point."

  The group paused instinctively.

  However, Aelun stepped forward, dragging Eryndor by the collar with him.

  "H-hey—! What are you doing?!" Eryndor yelped.

  "I'm training you. I will not have you embarrassing my name. This will be a good experience for you." Aelun replied calmly.

  Eryndor muttered a curse under his breath but didn't resist further.

  Varin followed, jaw still clenched, but unwilling to be intimidated.

  Darius turned to his squad. "Even if you stay here, get used to the pressure. This is the safest environment you'll ever get to feel something like this." He nodded at them. "Use it."

  Isolde offered a quiet, approving smile. "He's right."

  Then she pushed the door open.

  A wall of blackness surged inward—thick, consuming, like ink made solid. It instantly swallowed the light from the lanterns. But once Darius stepped through, he found himself standing in perfect clarity.

  He could see Isolde, Varin, Aelun, and Eryndor as though illuminated by daylight. Yet everything beyond them—every direction—was endless dark.

  Varin inhaled sharply.

  "What… is this place?"

  Isolde's voice echoed faintly, though she stood only a few steps away.

  "The Abyss."

  She let her fingers trail through the darkness, which rippled like disturbed water.

  "I don't know if Morgan created it or discovered it, and decided to build the Hallows on top of it. All I know is that she spends more time here than anywhere else." Her tone softened. "Selene, too, when she has time."

  Darius stepped deeper into the dark. It pressed against his shoulders, his ribs, his skull—it felt like a giant hand kneading the air around him.

  Eryndor stumbled, breath hitching.

  Aelun immediately placed a steadying hand on his back. "Breathe. Don't fight the Vaylora. Let it move through you. It's not taking your control—just pushing against you. Let it."

  Darius watched the boy inhale deeply, the tension in his shoulders loosening gradually.

  Aelun's advice worked for the rest of them, too. Varin's breathing steadied. Even Darius felt the oppressive weight shift into something manageable, like swimming through deep water. He stared out into the darkness. This place seemed like it was isolated from everywhere else in the city, maybe the world. He turned his gaze to Devotion at his side and pulled it from its sheath.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Unfortunately, the red glow still lingered. Shining as bright as it was before. He sheathed the blade with more force than he may have intended as he scoffed, "Figures... that would have made things too easy."

  He turned to Isolde, who began to walk through the darkness like she had a map for it.

  "How do you navigate through this?"

  "I don't," she said honestly. "I think about where I want to go, and I go there."

  "What?" Darius mused. Isolde didn't give him an answer; she just shrugged her shoulders.

  Aelun gave a dry laugh. "Morgan's work. Even if she didn't make the Abyss, she's definitely layered it with more spells than any reasonable person can imagine."

  Darius nodded his head, "Probably why she's so comfortable letting us roam around as we please."

  Isolde stopped.

  To Darius, it looked like she had halted in the midst of nothing—in the middle of an ocean of darkness indistinguishable from every direction. But she raised her hand and pressed her palm into the void.

  A tearing sound—like silk ripping—echoed outward. The darkness split open.

  A room appeared beyond the rift, lit only by faint gray pressure-light. Inside stood the four Archbishops, locked in a heated, furious exchange.

  Kaswyn was practically foaming at the mouth, jabbing a finger at the others.

  "—and you expect me to believe you weren't involved?! You were eager to come here. Tell me that doesn't reek of—"

  "Reek of you projecting again," Crestwell snapped.

  "I'm the one projecting?" Kaswyn shot back.

  "Yes! You're the only one who hasn't shut up for hours!" Crestwell did not back down.

  Meridan Holt looked as though she'd aged ten years listening to them bicker.

  Malrek rubbed his temples. "You've accused every one of us at least twice in as many hours. How can we not see you as the spy?"

  Kaswyn spun, face reddened. "Me?! The nerve—!"

  But the argument froze mid-breath as the Archbishops turned toward the splitting void.

  They stared at Darius as if he were death itself emerging from the dark.

  He stepped through, Varin and the others behind him.

  "Good," Darius said calmly. "Glad to see you all so full of energy."

  He scanned them. "Which one of you wants to go first?"

  Kaswyn narrowed his eyes. "What do you plan on doing to us?"

  "As long as you answer truthfully," Darius said, "all four of you leave here today."

  Confusion rippled through his own group. Varin nearly turned his head toward him.

  Malrek's eyes narrowed.

  "There's a spy among us… and you'll still release all of us?"

  "Yep," Darius said, without even blinking.

  The Archbishops stared, stunned by the casual certainty of his answer.

  Then—quietly, without hesitation—

  Meridan Holt stepped forward.

  "I will," she said, bowing politely to both Darius and the Grand Master.

  Darius nodded once, then looked at Varin.

  "Grand Master—please accompany me."

  He glanced at the others:

  "Isolde, Aelun, Eryndor—keep an eye on the remaining three."

  Isolde gave him a thumbs-up.

  Darius led Holt out of the chamber. Before the rift fully closed, Isolde called out:

  "When you're finished, just call my name! I… think that will work!"

  Darius paused. "You think?"

  She shrugged. "Feels right."

  The rift sealed behind them.

  The void sealed behind them with a soft, rippling shudder. For a moment, Darius and Meridan Holt stood in a hollow of utter blackness. No walls. No ceiling. No floor. Just a faint gray shimmer beneath their feet and an endless depth pressing against every breath.

  Varin's presence beside them felt strangely small in such a place.

  Meridan clasped her hands before her, shoulders relaxed, as if walking through the Abyss was merely an inconvenient detour on her way to an afternoon sermon. Her composure was so immaculate it bordered on unnerving.

  Darius took a few steps forward, boots silent against the invisible ground.

  The darkness around them pulsed faintly with every heartbeat.

  He stopped at what felt like a good distance—close enough for conversation, far enough for scrutiny.

  Before he could speak, Meridan beat him to it.

  "Well played, Inquisitor," she said with a soft smile. "Very well played."

  Her compliment slid off Darius like water.

  "Will you be the one questioning Grand Master Varin?" Holt asked.

  Varin said nothing; he only stared into the woman's eyes, trying to see what she had hidden there.

  Darius cleared his throat and drew Devotion from its sheath. It held that red glow, and Archbishop Holt showed the first crack in her visage. She remained motionless, but her eyes twitched ever so slightly in the direction of Devotion and the man wielding it.

  "I'll be asking the questions here, Archbishop. The first one will be easy," he said. "But before we begin—"

  He met her gaze directly.

  "Is there anything you'd like to share willingly?"

  For a heartbeat, the darkness seemed to lean in, straining to listen.

  Meridan's smile widened slightly. "There are a great many things I wish to share."

  Varin tensed beside Darius, but said nothing. Darius remained unreadable.

  "Do share," Darius commanded.

  For a long moment, she said nothing. Finally, Meridan tilted her head.

  "I know what you're doing."

  Darius's brow shifted a fraction. "Is that right?"

  "Yes," she said calmly. "And it's well done."

  He didn't respond.

  She walked a slow arc around him—not circling, just shifting position enough to observe both Inquisitors fully. "You separated us intentionally. Not because you expect a confession but because you know you won't get one."

  Varin's eyes narrowed, but Meridan continued.

  "You have no viable method to identify the spy. Not truly. And you cannot legally keep us here without evidence." She spread her hands lightly. "We all know that."

  Darius gave a small, humorless hum. "We can do anything we want. Legality means nothing in these lands."

  Meridan smiled. Genuinely. "That is true."

  Then her gaze softened with an unsettling certainty.

  "You can do to us what you please. But you won't."

  Varin frowned deeply. "And why is that?"

  Meridan shifted her eyes back to Darius.

  "Because he cares for the Princess."

  Darius's jaw flexed. Varin stiffened.

  Meridan continued as though discussing the weather.

  "Otherwise, you'd kill all four of us right here in this ridiculous place. Then blame it on the Abyss. Convenient, believable, and tidy."

  She clasped her hands behind her back.

  "Even better for you. Neither Emperor would care, and the Hallows won't. And you could even convince most of the Sanctum to look the other way, for the greater good." Holt chuckled softly.

  "But enough people would care. Enough questions would be raised. Enough would doubt the Accords. And that would make the work your Princess is trying to accomplish difficult."

  The silence between them thickened. She stared into Darius's eyes.

  "Right now... difficult is the last thing anyone needs."

  Darius didn't look away.

  "What do you want, Archbishop Holt?"

  Her smile returned—sharp and quiet.

  "To be on the right side when things go bad."

  The Abyss pulsed once in the darkness, swallowing her words as though sealing them into its depths.