Kieran pressed his palms against the wall.
It gave. Not like stone. Not like Wood. It yielded, like skin stretched too thin over sothing hollow.
The handprints pulsed beneath his touch; once, then again, then all at once, a wave of red light rippling outward in a silent scream.
The wall split.
Not with a crack, but with a breath.
A seam opened down the centre, and the handprints peeled away like petals, revealing a narrow passage descending into darkness.
A cave.
The heat hit him first. Wet, tallic, and wrong. It wasn’t the warmth of fire or breath. It was the warmth of sothing alive.
Kieran hesitated; the forest behind him remained still, but he could feel it now, that thing that had co through. It wasn’t behind him chasing him anymore. It was ahead, inside.
Kieran stepped forward.
The wall closed behind him without a sound.
The passage was narrow, the walls slick with condensation that shimred faintly in the dark. Symbols pulsed along the stone; so familiar, so new. They didn’t glow steadily. They blinked, like eyes adjusting to his presence.
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The deeper he went, the more the air changed.
It wasn’t just hot; it was thick. Breathing felt like swallowing syrup. His skin prickled. His thoughts slowed.
He touched the wall for balance.
It pulsed beneath his fingers.
Not in response to him. It was in rhythm with sothing deep, like a heartbeat that was not his.
He reached a chamber; it was circular and low-ceilinged. The walls curved inward like a throat. At the centre was a pool, not of water, but of sothing darker. Thicker. It didn’t reflect.
Above it, suspended in the air, was a shape.
A dark hole, as if it punctured through space.
Kiearn stared at it, and the hole stared back. He took a step forward; the pool rippled as he entered the water. Sothing moved beneath the surface.
Not toward him, but around him. Kieran turned to see what had caused the movent. There was nothing.
The cave was breathing. Kieran understood sothing: he wasn’t here to find an answer; he was here to be seen.
He stepped in closer; the pool rippled again.
Sothing in the water beneath Kieran stirred, but he didn’t look down, and neither did he look away from the dark hole.
He reached for it; his fingers brushed the edge of the hole. It was cold, not the cold you would feel from the touch of ice.
The hole pulsed and then swallowed him whole. Kieran then landed hard. On marble, he opened his eyes slowly to see that he was back at the cathedral.
The vaulted ceiling stretched above him, etched with constellations that blinked slowly, like eyes adjusting to his return. The air was still. The symbols on the walls pulsed faintly, rearranging themselves as if reacting to his presence.
He sat up.
The hole was gone.
Kieran didn’t move. He just stared.
And sowhere, deep within the cathedral’s bones, sothing pulsed.
Once. Then again.
Then stopped.
An insane amount of fear plunged into his heart; he started sweating, his heart started pumping dangerously quickly, and he was gasping for air. He was having a panic attack.
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