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Chapter 67: Shadow's Thread
The roar of the crowd faded behind him, replaced by the hum of old stone and silence.
Lyrian moved with quiet urgency, slipping through a side hallway far from the main exits. The cheers, the ceremony, the eyes—none of them mattered now.
He passed beneath a cracked archway, then through a door left half open, its hinges protesting softly.
And there—hidden behind the western annex—was a stairwell.
Unmarked.
Ancient.
The stone steps spiraled downward, each one worn smooth by time. Lyrian hesitated only for a breath.
Then descended.
One level.
Two.
Then deeper.
The stairwell grew colder, quieter. A dense chill clung to the air, not from temperature, but from the weight of forgotten things.
Each step echoed differently now—dull and hollow, like the ground didn't want to remember him.
The light changed too.
Golden torches vanished.
In their place: faint violet crystals embedded in the walls, pulsing with slow, almost tired rhythm.
He passed murals—barely visible beneath layers of grime and erosion. Symbols that seemed to shift the longer he stared.
Whispers tickled the edges of his mind.
But no voices.
Only silence.
He reached the final landing.
The corridor ahead curved slightly, narrow and uneven. Dust stirred with each step, yet… someone had walked here recently. Footprints, fresh in the dust. Just one pair.
He followed.
Then turned the corner—
Empty.
The hallway curved again into shadow. No doors. No side paths.
Nothing.
Then—behind him.
He turned sharply.
There.
Contestant 1172.
Standing just behind him, still and silent. No expression. No weapon. Just presence.
No heat. No sound.
Just him.
The dull crystal light danced faintly across his features—unreadable eyes, a faint smirk like he'd been waiting for this moment.
"You chase shadows, boy," the figure murmured, voice like smoke.
"But not all shadows want to be found."
"Keep digging… and they'll reach you before the truth does."
He took a step back.
And the wall behind him rippled—then folded inward. Like a page turning in a book no one remembered writing.
Gone.
Lyrian stood there, pulse pounding.
Alone.
Elyreina's breath caught as she looked around, scanning the arena's edge. The crowd had begun to disperse, cheers dying down.
Something felt... off.
She turned quickly. "Reynard."
He looked up from where he'd been adjusting his boots. "Yeah?"
"Have you seen Lyrian?"
He blinked. "No. I thought he'd be here by now. Wasn't he watching?"
Her brows furrowed. She spun to Dorian, who leaned against a pillar nearby. "Anything?"
Dorian gave a slow shake of his head. "Didn't see him during your match either."
She looked around one last time—no sign of her brother.
No footsteps. No mana residue. Just a quiet, creeping urgency rising in her chest.
He was gone.
And wherever he'd gone—he hadn't told anyone.