Chapter 298
The deeper we move into the Forgotten Keep, the stranger the air feels—heavier, like the walls themselves are breathing, slow and ancient. My orb floats beside us, casting that soft, shimmering glow, revealing carvings that seem endless. Every corridor spills into another cavern, every mural another piece of a story we were never meant to know.
In one cavern, the walls are covered with intricate diagrams of war submarines, their sharp, angular shapes unmistakable even with the age and decay. Blueprints are carved into the stone, instructions chiseled neatly beside them in a language I barely recognize but Axel deciphers aloud.
“These were the first,” he murmurs. “Before the surface ships. Before even the sky chariots the surface wars used. We built these here, in the Deep.”
Another tunnel branches off and we follow it into a cavern where the walls gleam unnaturally. This time the carvings are different—maps. Instructions. Giant veins of crystal marked in careful, reverent hands.
“How to find and harvest Darklite,” I realize aloud, tracing one of the glowing veins with my fingers.
Axel’s jaw tightens. “We were miners before we were warriors.”
I don't know whether to feel admiration or sorrow. Maybe both.
The next chamber takes my breath away.
There’s a mural stretching across the entire length of the wall—faded but still powerful. It shows a city, sprawling and bright, all tall, delicate spires that seem to pierce the ocean above. Once painted in radiant whites and silvers, time and silt have dulled it to ghostly hues.
I know that city.
Or at least… I feel like I do.
It’s the city from my dreams—the place Electra showed me glimpses of. A city built on hope and invention, long before war twisted everything.
“They built wonders,” I whisper, voice cracking a little. “They were so close…”
We move on in silence, reverence settling between us like a heavy shroud.
One cavern is different—smaller, more intimate. Rows upon rows of names are carved into the walls, each surrounded by branching lines and curling inscriptions.
“A family tree,” Axel says, brushing dust from one section. His fingers stop at a broken line—one that abruptly ends in jagged cracks.
“Looks like the bloodline died out a long time ago,” he says softly.
I trail my fingers across the forgotten names. It feels wrong, somehow—like mourning someone you’ve never met but whose heartbeat you can still somehow feel.
Finally, we reach a cavern larger than all the others.
And this one guts me.
The walls here are scenes of devastation. Leviathan—not the monster of myth, but a creature of impossible size and sorrow—moves through shattered cities, through oceans turned black with death. His body is monstrous, yes, but it’s the eyes the artist captured that wreck me.
They aren’t filled with rage.
They’re filled with grief.
There are paintings of storms tearing apart coasts, of beasts—his children, I realize—spreading terror. Not because they were evil. Because they were lost. Without guidance. Without restraint.
Leviathan tried to create beauty. And instead, he birthed ruin.
Not out of malice.
Out of hubris.
I press a hand against the mural and the weight of it crushes me. Hot tears slip down my cheeks, burning as they mix with the saltwater.
“He just wanted to help,” I whisper, broken. “And it destroyed him.”
Axel comes to stand beside me, silent for a long moment.
“It’s not fair,” he says, voice rough. “That even the best intentions can have the worst outcomes.”
I wipe my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. “At least now we know Dagon wasn’t just a liar and a trickster. The Conclave—they did what they had to do. To save everyone.”
Axel tilts his head, thoughtful. “They didn’t save everyone.”
He gestures to the devastated cities, the broken people carved into the stone.
“They couldn’t.”
He meets my gaze, something grim and old in his eyes.
“Accepting that is one of the first tenets of war, Phoebe. There will be casualties. You can’t let that stop you from doing what you must.”
I nod, though my heart feels like it’s tearing open.
We move deeper still, the path winding downward until it opens into a massive chamber that makes my skin pebble.
It’s unlike anything we’ve seen yet.
Giant statues line the walls, each one towering over us like silent sentinels. They’re representations of the gods—Dagon, Electra, Enki, and others I don’t recognize. Their features are stern, proud, eternal.
But it’s not just the statues.
The walls themselves are covered in massive swirling bands of carvings, spiraling up and around the room in dizzying, endless circles.
“What is this?” Axel whispers, his voice barely audible.
I step forward without thinking, pulled by something deeper than curiosity.
My hand drifts to my satchel.
The orb practically leaps into my palm.
The moment my fingers close around it, it lights up—brilliant and blinding.
And so does the room.
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