The Seal burned.

  Not with fire, but with sound—the kind that chewed through thought and marrow. The swarm’s screeches ricocheted off the walls, twisting into a single, endless wail that seemed to crawl beneath the skin. Every clang of shield, every hiss of ichor, every desperate breath fused together until it was impossible to tell which sound belonged to friend or foe.

  Ren couldn’t even remember when they’d fallen back here. The fighting had blurred into a smear of noise and movement, an unbroken line of defense that felt eternal. The stairwell spiraled upward toward what Leo had called Atreus’s upper sanctum—though now it was nothing but a deathtrap, a throat of stone that swallowed light and breath alike.

  It should have been their advantage.

  It wasn’t.

  The swarm never stopped. Their bodies piled upon one another, mandibles clacking, carapaces scraping stone. The air shimmered with heat and venom. Every time one fell, two more clawed their way from cracks in the wall, dripping with resin and madness.

  Sinclair stood at the front, a wall of muscle and resolve. His armor was blackened with blood, his blade glowing red-hot from constant use. Every swing was slower now, but deliberate—controlled violence carved into rhythm. Behind him, Kael and the shield-bearers braced themselves, closing ranks whenever the line buckled.

  “Push!” Sinclair roared, his voice raw from shouting. “Drive them back—NOW!”

  The group surged forward, shields slamming, weapons flashing in the flickering light. Ren followed the rhythm of their formation, threads of gold swirling from his hands as he cast another volley of spears down the stairwell. Each impact exploded in a burst of light, searing holes through the advancing wave.

  He could feel the burn behind his eyes—the same ache that came every time he pushed his Threads too far. But there was no stopping now.

  “Ren, pace yourself!” Leo shouted from behind, his voice half a plea, half a command.

  Ren barely heard him. His vision tunneled. He thrust again—another spear of golden energy streaking forward, another half-dozen swarmlings blasted into ichor and smoke.

  Behind him, Leo drew shaky sigils midair, his voice trembling as he invoked another chant. Flames coiled around his wrists, then burst outward, sweeping the stairwell in a wave of roaring fire. The first few rows of creatures turned to cinders. The rest climbed over them, still burning, still screaming.

  The smell hit like a punch—smoke, resin, and something far worse. It was the smell of rot and acid, of burning meat that refused to die.

  For a brief second, there was silence. The swarm halted. Ren could hear only his own ragged breathing, the frantic hammering of his heart.

  Then, from the depths below, a sound rose like a drumbeat—low, steady, inhuman.

  Kael swore under his breath, his voice a rasp. “There’s no end to them,” he muttered, gripping his weapon tighter. His left arm hung uselessly at his side, blood running down the gauntlet in slow rivulets.

  “There’s always an end,” Sinclair said without turning. His tone was flat, carved from exhaustion. “Ours or theirs.”

  Ren let out a shaky breath. “You’re not helping.”

  “Wasn’t trying to.”

  It might’ve been funny once. Now it just sounded tired.

  The wall to their left cracked, spraying dust and grit. Ren flinched as another shriek echoed from the fissure—one of the creatures had tried burrowing through the masonry.

  “Leo, Kael, hold the flank!” Sinclair barked. “Ren, with me!”

  Ren stepped forward automatically, golden light coiling around his prosthetic arm. His Threads surged inwards as a burst of rejuvenating energy pulsed through Ren, reviving his failing body. His blade was drawn in a flash, slicing through the incoming swarm like ribbons of sunlight. He felt their resistance—the tug of alien flesh, the psychic static that followed each kill—and then nothing. They just kept coming.

  A tremor rippled through the stairwell, stronger than before. Dust rained down, and a hairline fracture split across the ceiling.

  This time, the sound that followed wasn’t claws or chittering. It was a heartbeat. Slow. Deep. Terrifying.

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  The world seemed to pulse with it.

  Leo froze mid-sigil, his eyes wide. “It’s her,” he whispered. “The Hivemother’s core… she’s moving.”

  Sinclair turned his head slightly, voice cutting through the din. “How far?”

  Leo swallowed. “Close. Too close. Maybe a floor above.”

  Ren’s stomach sank. The Seal chamber—Raven’s notes had described it as the center of Atreus’s binding architecture. If the Hivemother’s heart was there, then she was awakening inside what had once held something divine.

  “Then we stop her now,” Sinclair said grimly. “No more retreat.”

  The group exchanged silent looks. There was no argument left to give.

  They pushed upward another ten meters, step by bloody step. The walls glistened with a thin layer of resin, the color of old honey. It pulsed faintly, as if alive.

  “Mana’s spiking,” Leo said, his hand pressed to his temple. “She’s warping the air. I can’t hold the chant straight—everything’s echoing wrong.”

  “Then switch to barriers,” Sinclair ordered.

  Leo nodded weakly, drawing a circle with his trembling fingers. A faint shimmer appeared around them—thin, fragile, but enough to dull the sound.

  That was when the wall behind them cracked again, this time glowing faintly—not red, not the sickly orange of swarm resin, but gold.

  Ren froze. The light was soft at first, like the shimmer of his Threads. Then it pulsed, steady and rhythmic, like a heartbeat—like his heartbeat.

  He stared, feeling something pull inside his chest.

  “Ren?” Kael’s voice came faintly. “What is it?”

  He didn’t answer. The light was calling him.

  Each pulse seemed to tug on the golden filaments threaded through his body, resonating with them like a plucked string. His arm hummed in response, the engraved channels glowing brighter.

  “It’s not the swarm,” he said, almost to himself. “It’s… something else.”

  Leo glanced back, squinting against the glare. “Don’t get close! That’s not natural mana—it’s distortion from the Hivemother’s psychic field!”

  “No,” Ren said quietly. “It’s not her. It’s older.”

  The light intensified, and for an instant, he wasn’t in the stairwell anymore. Images flooded his vision—flashes of something vast and beautiful. Chains of radiant light. A figure bound in celestial gold, struggling against invisible restraints. And then, a voice—clear, mournful, desperate.

  Fragments must not fall. Bind them before she consumes.

  Ren stumbled, gasping as the vision faded. The others were shouting—Sinclair’s hand grabbed his shoulder, shaking him back to awareness.

  “Ren! Stay with us!”

  He blinked rapidly, the world snapping back into motion. The golden light had dimmed, leaving only faint cracks in the wall. But his arm still glowed faintly.

  “It’s the seals,” he said, voice trembling. “The fragments Raven talked about. They’re not just bindings—they’re pieces of her. The Divine’s soul.”

  Leo’s face went pale. “You’re saying Atreus sealed parts of a god’s soul inside this place?”

  Ren nodded, still breathing hard. “And the Hivemother’s trying to consume them. Every fragment she takes… she’s not just feeding. She’s becoming.”

  “Becoming what?!” Drake asked impatiently.

  “A god.” Ren said, his voice barely a whisper now.

  Sinclair’s expression hardened. “Then we can’t let her have another.”

  A roar echoed from below—the swarm surging again, driven into frenzy. The stairwell shook as they slammed into the lower barrier. Kael braced his shield, teeth gritted.

  “Move!” Sinclair bellowed. “Hold the line!”

  The group shifted formation, dragging the wounded higher up the steps. Leo staggered beside Ren, blood trickling from his nose—psychic backlash from maintaining the barrier.

  “I can’t keep this up,” Leo gasped. “The pressure—it’s too much—”

  “Drop it,” Sinclair ordered. “Focus on living.”

  Ren’s Threads flared again, weaving into a mesh of gold that blocked the next wave’s charge. The creatures slammed into it, sizzling against its light.

  His mind spun through possibilities. If the Hivemother was absorbing the fragments, then destroying her brood would achieve nothing. Each body was just another vessel—each death only slowed her for seconds.

  The real danger lay above.

  He felt it then—a tug, faint but certain. The same pull that had come from the wall now extended upward, as if the fragment itself was calling out to him.

  Leo looked horrified. “Then this whole swarm—it’s a distraction. She’s using them to buy time!”

  Sinclair gritted his teeth, eyes blazing with grim resolve. “Then we get it back.”

  He slammed his sword down, light bursting across its surface, and the formation rallied again. Steel met claw. Flame met ichor.

  Ren fought beside them, every motion guided by instinct and desperation. But his thoughts were elsewhere—on the golden light still pulsing faintly within the wall, on the echo of that divine voice.

  Bind them before she consumes.

  If the Hivemother was reclaiming the Divine’s scattered soul, then there was only one way to stop her.

  They had to find the fragments first.

  And bind them themselves.

  Ren tightened his grip on his weapon, golden light burning bright through the grime and smoke. For the first time since they’d entered the construct, his fear didn’t come from the swarm.

  It came from what was waiting above.