The water was up to my stomach now, freezing against my ribs as I waded forward. Mary perched on my shoulders now, her hands steadying against my head as the current tugged at my legs.

  “See anything yet?” I asked, voice echoing off the tunnel walls.

  Her golden eyes swept the dark ahead. “…No. Not yet.”

  I exhaled through clenched teeth. “Great. I’d rather not drown in an unknown sewer.”

  Another step, and I froze. My skin prickled. The air was thicker, charged, like before a storm breaks.

  “…Do you feel that too?”

  Mary’s voice was low, solemn. “Yes. It’s divine energy. Stronger than anything I’ve felt so far.”

  The pressure rolled over me, the sensation unmistakable. I swallowed hard. “It’s pulling from ahead. Hold on tighter.”

  The current rushed harder as I picked up the pace, water slapping into my chest. Mary gripped me tighter, her knees digging into my shoulders.

  The tunnel split. I went left without hesitation.

  A platform jutted from the wall, half-submerged, slick with moss. No ladder. No door. Just smooth metallic pipe wall. I heaved Mary up first, then dragged myself onto it, collapsing onto my back with a groan.

  “Fantastic. Soaked again.”

  Mary’s guilt flickered across her face. “…Sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” I muttered, brushing wet hair from my eyes. “If I get sick, I can finally relax at home instead of running across half of Morren.”

  That earned me a faint smile, soft as the storm.

  I pushed myself up, scanning the wall. The pressure was pouring out of it, like heat from a forge.

  “It’s here,” I muttered. “But…”

  I squinted. The surface was iron pipes, riveted smooth. Yet the energy poured from it like the wall didn’t exist. Almost like the metal itself believed it was still whole - while my eyes told me otherwise.

  When in doubt.

  “Mary, use your eyes.”

  My eyes widened as the world bled red. Chaos aligned, and secrets were revealed. Marys eyes started to form as well, faint patterns stirring underneath in a beautiful pattern.

  A door appeared. Heavy wood, weathered but real, where the iron wall should’ve been. Above it, a plaque etched with faint, ancient letters:

  “Morren Sector Headquarters.”

  I stared, pulse racing. “…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Mary stepped forward, eyes wide. “He... wasn't lying.”

  “Seems so,” I muttered. “There really is something down here. And something tells me this isn’t heretical.”

  I shoved the door. Nothing. I stepped back, kicked hard. Once. Twice. On the third, the swollen frame burst inward. Surprisingly, the water still acted as though the stone wall of the tunnels remained - an invisible wall preventing it from moving into the dark room.

  “Torch,” I ordered.

  Mary handed it to me, and I re-lit it with my lighter. The flame sputtered to life, chasing shadows back enough to step inside.

  Dust. Mold. Decay. Spiderwebs draped the chamber like shrouds.

  And in the center stood a statue.

  A man of stone, unarmored, covered merely in a white cloak. The only recognizable mark being a white mask upon his face. His hands gripped a sword, its tip buried in the pedestal at his feet.

  Dead flowers lay in circles around it, long withered.

  I stepped closer, torch raised. Mary crouched, brushing the plaque with her fingers. Her lips moved as she whispered the words aloud.

  “It’s in Old Empiric,” she breathed. “‘The Father of Humanity. The Emperor of Man… 2 AR.’”

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  I blinked. “Two… after Redemption?”

  Her hands trembled as she pressed her necklace tight to her chest. “Yes... Damian, this statue is dated two years after the Emperor first descended. Do you understand what this means? We are in 1264 AR. This…” She shook her head in disbelief. “…This is from the dawn of the Empire itself.”

  I felt my jaw slacken. “…Holy shit. We’ve found a relic.”

  Mary rose to her feet at once, bowing her head, lips trembling in prayer. Her necklace gleamed in the torchlight as she whispered to the Almighty.

  When she finished, she looked pale, her hands still clutching the chain.

  I lit the wall torches one by one, revealing the chamber in full. Behind the statue loomed another door. Above it, carved words:

  “Processing Chamber.”

  “Stay close,” I told her, handing her the torch. My eye burned crimson, hers glowed faint gold. “I’ll take point.”

  The chamber opened wide - a perfect rectangle, thirty paces long, ceiling lost to shadow.

  Twelve statues stood in two perfect rows - six on either side. Eight men, four women. All carved in the same solemn fashion, each holding a different weapon or relic. Their titles etched beneath their feet, worn but still legible in the old Empiric tongue.

  Mary’s breath caught. “The Apostles,” she whispered. Her voice trembled with mixed emotions. “All twelve of them… in one place. It must have been built before they betrayed humanity.”

  We moved slowly down the row, Mary brushing the plaques with her fingertips as she read aloud. The First Apostle, the Second, the Third. Men carved as warriors, their faces stern. Then the women - one a scholar, another a blade-dancer. Their stony eyes seemed to follow us, even in death.

  When we reached the seventh, Mary froze. She looked from the inscription to me, lips parting. “It reads "The Seventh Apostle - the Weaver of Fate.” This woman… is she the one you inherited your eyes from?”

  I swallowed, my gaze lifting to the statue. Graceful. Serene. A beautiful woman carved with an iron posture, her masked face sharp. Even in stone, her presence was undeniable. Her stern face looked much different to the sultry smiling goddess in my dreams.

  Charlotte's gift pulsed in my skull. I exhaled through my nose, forcing a grin. “…Yup. That sure is her.”

  Charlotte... Seems you were pretty popular for a while.

  We moved on in silence, the torchlight dragging shadows across their faces. Until we reached the sixth.

  The woman stood proud, robes etched with care. Her features bore a faint resemblance to Mary - the same high cheeks, the same intensity in the eyes, though colder.

  Mary’s hand rose almost on its own, brushing the plaque. Her voice broke faintly. “This one… "The Seer of Truth". I should call her an abomination. She betrayed the Emperor, along with everyone here. Betrayed all of humanity. I should call myself an abomination in turn. The remnant of such heresy.”

  Mary lingered, her hand on the stone nameplate. “But I don’t feel hate, not anymore. When my eyes awoke as a child, I certainly considered myself a desecration to humanity - a stain in the royal bloodline.”

  Mary stared at the statue's face, looking into her stone eyes. “Now, the only thing I feel is… curiosity. Why did she do it? What kind of woman was she, truly?” She looked up at me, her expression searching. “What do you think?”

  I studied the statue. The sculptor had carved her with dignity, eyes sharp but not cruel. I found myself smiling faintly. “Aloof, probably. Standoffish. But…” I tilted my head. “…something tells me she was kind, in her own way. At least before the betrayal. And, you know… the whole trying-to-destroy-humanity thing.”

  At least, that's what Charlotte told me.

  Mary blinked, then gave the faintest laugh, though her eyes never left the figure.

  I continued to stare at the Apostles face. Her eyes bled an icy cold, yet I couldn't help but think it was an act. Even with this stone barrier between us two.

  The silence pressed heavier now. The torch sputtered, shadows flickering across the faces of saints and traitors alike.

  I turned as the pedestal rose in the center of the chamber. A stone hand, palm up, a spike jutting from its base.

  The inscription glowed faintly as I read it aloud.

  “A sacrifice of blood must be made to gain passage. Lay your hand.”

  I stared at it for a long beat, then sighed. “…Of course it’s blood.”

  I set the torch in a sconce, rolled up my sleeve, and pressed my palm down. The hand clamped tight. The spike pierced deep. I gritted my teeth as blood streamed down, dripping into the stone.

  The statues stirred.

  Weapons lifted. Eyes glowed faintly with old, lingering power.

  “Oh, shit.” My revolver was already in my hand as the stone hand released mine.

  “Damian!” Mary cried, panic flashing in her eyes.

  “Forget me - your blood! Do it now!”

  Mary stepped forward, slamming her hand against the spike. Red blood ran down the stone, mixing with mine.

  The statues froze. Then lowered their weapons.

  And all twelve knelt.

  The glow faded from their eyes, and silence returned like a held breath.

  Mary trembled, staring at the stone figures bowing before her. Blood still dripped from her palm until her gift flared. She pressed her glowing hands to mine first, mending the wound before healing her own.

  The pain pulled through her body - I saw it in the way her shoulders jolted, the faint wince in her expression. But she steadied herself and breathed.

  “Is that the first gift of your pathway?” I asked, rubbing my healed palm.

  She nodded, breathing slowly as she winced. “I can heal people, but the pain of their injury is passed along to me.”

  I nodded at her. “…Thank you.”

  Her eyes were still on the kneeling Apostles, her gaze unreadable.

  “Royal blood was the key,” I muttered, holstering my revolver. “Mine set off alarms. Yours opened the way. Most likely only authorized people and those with noble authority could pass through here.”

  I looked up, heart thundering in my chest.

  "Which means whatever's behind the next door... the Empire itself wanted it hidden. Even from it's own people. I wonder to what part of the Empire this place belongs to."

  Above the far door, the plaque gleamed in torchlight:

  “Main Hall.”