Chapter 8 · The Price of a Name

"Hold your breath or you'll choke on your own soul."

Soren's fingers dug into Mara's shoulder, hard.

She didn't argue. She couldn't. The air in the Buried Bell Tower didn't just feel cold—it was gone. A vacuum. It sucked the heat straight out of her skin, leaving her shivering in a dress that felt like wet paper.

Beside her, Riven was worse. He leaned heavily on her, breathing in ragged, wet gasps. His eyes were glazed. Empty. That terrifying look he'd worn since the fight.

"Is he even here?" Mara whispered. Her voice sounded thin, metallic. "Soren, is he actually with us?"

"Physically? Yeah. Spiritually? He's hanging by a thread." Soren stepped toward the Dead Gate—a massive slab of obsidian that seemed to eat the dim light of the hall. "The Gate doesn't care about your intentions. It wants a toll. A name, a memory, a piece of who you are. Give it something it wants, or rot on the outside."

Riven shifted. His hand tightened on Mara’s waist. It wasn't a hug; it was a drowning man clutching a liferaft.