The staircase shouldn't have existed.
That was the first thought that settled in my head as we stepped past the throne room and into the dark beneath Newoaga's castle. The stone underfoot was older than the walls above—older than the kingdom itself. The steps were uneven, worn smooth by time and use, not neglect. This wasn't some forgotten escape tunnel. It was deliberate.
Built.
Hidden.
Used.
Our boots echoed softly as we descended, the sound swallowed almost immediately by the stone. The walls were carved with insignias—knight crests, sigils of authority—but most of them were damaged. Scratched out. Chiseled over. Some looked burned away, others gouged deep enough that the stone itself had cracked.
Torches lined the walls, but they were dead. No soot. No burn marks. As if they hadn't been lit in centuries.
I slowed, lifting a hand.
"Careful," I said quietly.
The walls flanking the stairwell were engraved with even more symbols—knight insignias. Old ones. Some I recognized faintly from history lessons, others I didn't. But what stood out wasn't what was carved.
It was what had been destroyed.
Scratches. Gouges. Deliberate defacement.
Someone had taken the time to erase these orders from history.
"Those are old," Varein muttered beside me, his eyes scanning the markings. "Like… really old."
I nodded. "Older than Newoaga."
The deeper we went, the heavier the air became. Not thick—not suffocating—but pressurized. Like standing too far underwater for too long. My ears popped faintly. I rolled my shoulders without thinking, adjusting to it instinctively.
Varein slowed, crouching for a moment. "There's aura residue everywhere," he said quietly. "Wind. Fire. Light. Something… wrong. It's all overlapping."
Liraeth frowned, placing a hand against the wall. Her aura flared faintly, purple flickering once before settling. "Plasma distortion," she said. "Someone fought here. Recently."
Recently.
I exhaled through my nose.
This place wasn't meant to stay secret forever. It wasn't buried to be forgotten. It was sealed to delay something. To buy time.
"Castles don't hide stairs like this," I said quietly, "unless they're hiding sins."
No one argued.
The stairwell narrowed as we descended, forcing us into single file. The escort formation we'd drilled into muscle memory—the one we'd used at the gates, in the halls, in front of the Saintess—literally couldn't fit anymore.
Symbolic. I hated that I noticed.
Sir Aldred took the rear, unusually silent. No corrections. No commentary. Just watching our backs.
I stepped forward without thinking, moving to the front. My hand rested on my sword. No one questioned it. No one even looked surprised.
Somewhere along the way, I realized I wasn't thinking like a student anymore.
That realization bothered me more than the dark.
We reached the first landing, and that's when Kazen stopped dead.
"Helmet," he said.
I followed his gaze.
A holy knight's helmet lay on its side against the wall. White and gold. Or what used to be. The metal was cracked inward—crushed, like it had been folded by sheer force. No scorch marks. No aura scarring. No signs of ether backlash.
I crouched beside it, running my fingers along the fracture.
"This wasn't a monster," Kazen said flatly.
Seraphyne swallowed. "…Then what the hell hits like that?"
I didn't answer. I didn't have one.
We moved on.
The next chamber opened wide—and my breath caught.
Murals.
Massive ones, carved directly into the stone. Ancient. Hidden behind the castle's foundation like a buried truth. The first showed past Saintesses standing over kneeling kings, radiant halos carved deep into the stone. The kings' faces were reverent. Submissive.
The next mural showed chains.
Kings standing—but bound. Their crowns cracked. Their expressions hollow.
Aelira stepped forward, her fingers tracing the script etched beneath the images. "Old Arcana dialect," she murmured. "It says… 'Pacts of Radiance.' And here—'Obedience ensures protection.'"
I stared at the murals.
Newoaga wasn't protected by Luminara.
It was owned.
Liam broke the silence. "We should pull back. We've seen enough. Reinforcements should be arriving soon."
I shook my head.
"Signals can be jammed," I said. "And time favors whoever set this up."
Arion hesitated, then asked quietly, "What if this is bigger than us?"
I didn't look back. "Then we don't get to pretend we didn't see it."
The pressure increased as we descended further. My chest felt tight. My skin prickled. Without realizing it, my aura began to leak—light blue crackling faintly along my arms, white sparks dancing at the edges.
Liraeth noticed first. "Rain… you're resonating with this place."
I frowned. "What?"
"It feels like water pressure," she said. "Like something sealed deep below."
Something connected to me.
I clenched my jaw.
The ocean answered things buried.
That was never a coincidence.
Then bones moved.
A rattling sound echoed through the corridor.
Too many footsteps.
Too light.
Too wrong.
"Contact," I said instantly.
They came apart from the walls—skeletons, half-armored, weapons rusted but intact. Hollow eyes burned with sickly green light. More followed. And more.
Undead.
Seraphyne cursed. "Of course it's undead."
"Formation," I snapped.
They surged.
I stepped forward, blade flashing. Water and lightning surged together as I cleaved through the first skeleton, shattering it completely. Liam's gold aura flared, crushing another into fragments. Kai moved like fire, severing spines and skulls.
But they kept coming.
Varein thrust, wind-enhanced strikes blasting clusters apart. Liraeth slammed her mace down, plasma detonating through brittle bone. Arion's axe reduced bodies to debris.
It wasn't hard.
That was the problem.
They were fodder.
A test.
When the last skeleton fell, silence returned—thicker than before.
Theon stared at the remains. "If undead are here…"
"…It means one thing," Seraphyne finished grimly.
Necromancer.
Or worse.
A god damn lich.
We moved again.
We found the first body not long after.
A Newoagan knight lay slumped against the wall. Armor intact. Sword still sheathed. His throat was crushed inward, like someone had grabbed it and simply… closed their hand.
His face wasn't twisted in fear.
It was frozen in disbelief.
Theon's voice shook. "He didn't even get to fight…"
I knelt and closed the knight's eyes myself.
We moved on.
Golden ether residue shimmered faintly in the air ahead—fractured, uneven, like it had been torn apart.
Varein stared. "…That's hers."
Saintess Lumiel.
"She didn't come here willingly," he added.
I remembered her words in the garden. The way she'd deflected. The way her smile had been just a little too practiced.
The diplomatic visit was a lie.
We found two holy knights pinned to the wall further down. Their weapons were snapped cleanly. Ether residue scrambled, twisted into something wrong.
Sir Aldred went pale. "That's not possible."
I thought, If even they broke… then whatever did this doesn't fear gods.
Aelira stopped near a familiar marking. Her eyes widened. "The lever," she said. "It was meant to be found."
I felt it click into place instantly.
"This wasn't an ambush," I said. "It was bait."
"They didn't kidnap her," I continued. "They staged a message."
Sir Aldred met my eyes. He didn't argue. He just nodded.
And just like that, command was mine.
"No splitting," I said. "No arguing. Retreat only on my word."
Varein whispered, "So… summer break's still happening, right?"
Seraphyne deadpanned, "Yeah. In hell."
I snorted once before catching myself.