We move out of the gloom and into an enormous tunnel.Light blossoms, far in the distance.
I freeze as I finally take in my appearance.“What the fuck?”
My arms and legs are smothered in golden runes.I lift my top and my stomach is too.
They’re all over me and the further we walk into the light the more activated they become.Gold blooms in the swirls and lines of each rune.They glisten like mini burning moons.I run my fingers along them, and wherever they sit, my skin vibrates.Like they’re straining to get out.
My fingers trace their lines and shapes.I can read contract runes, but these are not the same.Almost, but not quite.They’re not ancient demonic script either, again, almost, but not quite.Like the other forms of runes they’re not quite celestial either.It’s as though they’re a little bit of each runic form, but I’m not able to read them.If I concentrate, I can make out familiar strokes, but then they dissolve and I’m left staring at shapes I can’t understand.
That knowledge settles like the weight of a demonic countdown.Heavy, unrelenting and ever present.I no longer know who or what I am.
A dim light blinks to life, pulling my attention.
I squint against the sudden intrusion, forcing my eyes to adjust as we step into a circular balcony area.I’m at the top of Prima’s enormous tower.
The ground tremors worse than before.It shrieks an awful, hollow sound filled with violence that sends goosebumps shivering down my spine.
Dust escapes from between the tower stones, drifting listlessly in the air.Mortem glances at me, his furry face pinched with worry.
“You’re right.Let’s keep moving,” I say.
He doesn’t reply, just turns his backside to me and prowls aggressively towards the staircase.
Finally, the perpetual stretch of grey wall is pitted by windows.Endless and tall, they stretch down the tower’s long sides like roots burying themselves into the underworld.
We’re so high it seems like I could simply step back into Ora.
To Midnight.
Mortem’s right, even though I have no soul for Finis to call back, I need to try.I’m left with one lingering worry: if I go back, will she forgive me?
I peer out the nearest window; the sky is as dark as the atmosphere in here.The clouds billow and plume with angry grey bulges.Each puff filled with shadows and rage and the listless dead.
The tower sweeps like Finis.The same twisting spiral down for an eon.The only interruptions are balconies, the occasional door and the odd scuffle and pounce of Mortem attempting to catch a ghost mouse.
I follow after him, a slow coiling in my gut.
The tower is too quiet.The stillness unnerves me.
Life is never still.That is the point, though, there is no life here.It’s a ceaseless passage of nothingness and time so thick it crawls through my veins and settles heavy around my throat.
Shrieking fills the air.Mortem’s hackles bristle.The hollow sound furrows and darts and skitters around us.One scream becomes many.The wraiths must have returned to this side of the Veil.
“Faster,” I say, forcing my feet forward.But there are already shadows slithering down the walls.Skeletal bodies and the scent of decaying flesh.Was the Veil sealed shut?Does that mean I can’t get back?
If Architecti was released, maybe she accidentally let out a load of wraiths.
“You need to hide your arms,” Mortem says and halts on the next floor.He stretches up and scratches at some shaggy looking curtains.Reluctantly I yank them down, a puff of dust peeling off them.
I shrug the curtain around my shoulders, it’s weightier than I expect and cold.I’d rather not don the cloak, but the brilliance from the runes will make me a target, and I don’t want to attract a wraith unnecessarily.
A sluggish sensation washes over me.The atmosphere chills enough that goosebumps flower down my neck.
I freeze.Mortem glances up at me, his eyes settling at a spot above my shoulder.
“What is it?”I whisper.But my gut is already telling me to run and get the fuck out of there.
Mortem trots back until he hits the wall, his eyes never leaving that cursed spot above me.
