Beyond Worlds, Beneath the Star God

From the canyon's edge, The Mawhold looked like a grave carved into the bones of the world.

It stretched down in concentric tiers of black stone and corrupted crystal, each level illuminated by flickering violet torches that never died. The air reeked of sulfur and old blood. Ancient pillars, half-swallowed by the rock walls, bore the crest of the Nethershade Covenant—an eye pierced by thorns. The canyon moaned with whispers that weren't wind.

Kun stared down in silence. His hand tightened around the hilt of his blade, which now hummed faintly with Starfire's warmth.

"They say no one leaves the Mawhold," Orlan muttered. "Only echoes climb back out."

"Then let's become the first exception," Kun said coldly.

They descended carefully along the edge—Elira leading, Orlan in the middle, Kun at the rear. The winding stone stairway was crumbling, its steps cracked with age and magic scars. Somewhere far below, a gong sounded. A ritual, or an execution.

Probably both.

By the time they reached the first gate, they could no longer see the sky. Only the purple glow of runes etched into the walls, pulsing like veins.

The gate itself was alive—made of vines shaped like screaming faces, bound in iron. When Elira touched it, the vines whispered in her ear.

> "You walk with the traitor flame..."

She yanked her hand back, face pale. "It knows you, Kun."

He stepped forward and let the Starfire flicker across his skin.

The gate hissed… then opened.

Inside, the corridors of the Mawhold were vast and curved like the inside of a serpent's skull. The stone had no mortar—it was grown, not built. Walls pulsed faintly, breathing. From above, strange glowing insects drifted through the air, shedding light that made shadows move even when nothing did.

As they pressed deeper, the sound of chanting grew louder—cold, rhythmic, in a language that made Orlan flinch.

"Deep Tongue," he whispered. "Only used in high rituals. Kael's inner circle is here."

At the third hall, they met their first resistance.

A figure stepped from the shadows—tall, armored in obsidian and bone, with a crescent-shaped blade and no visible eyes. It didn't speak. It didn't need to.

It charged.

Kun met the attack mid-air, sword clashing with a blast of flame. The shockwave shook the corridor. Sparks danced like stars.

"Go!" he shouted to the others. "Find the ritual chamber!"

Elira hesitated, but Orlan grabbed her arm. "We have to trust him."

They ran.

Kun fought alone.

The creature—a Warden of the Maw—fought like a hurricane. Every strike left cracks in the stone. But Kun was faster now, sharper. The Starfire around him began to pulse in rhythm—not just with his heartbeat, but with the covenant's own corruption, as if sensing a deeper connection.

Then, he saw it.

Etched across the Warden's chestplate: a glyph. Not of the Nethershade.

But of Celestora—the long-lost civilization that first summoned the Starfire.

Kun narrowed his eyes.

"You're not just a servant," he said. "You're a relic."

The Warden let out a low hiss—and exploded into shadow, retreating into the wall.

Kun exhaled hard, then sprinted down the corridor after his friends.

Meanwhile—

Elira and Orlan had reached a vast chamber. At the center floated a blood-red crystal, dripping ichor into a stone basin. Surrounding it were six robed figures, chanting with mouths sewn shut, levitating in the air.

Orlan whispered, "They're sacrificing the forest's leyline fragments… binding them into the shard."

Then a voice echoed from above.

"Too late."

Descending from the ceiling like a phantom came a woman cloaked in living mist, her face hidden by a porcelain mask cracked down the center. Her voice was soft, musical—and utterly wrong.

"I am Velka, Voice of Kael."

She raised a hand, and the six robed figures combusted silently, their essence flowing into her palms.

"You should not have come."

Elira leapt forward without hesitation, sword flashing.

Velka caught the blade mid-air with two fingers.

The steel froze.

Then crumbled.

Elira's eyes widened. "What…"

"You walk with fire," Velka said, brushing Elira's cheek. "But not the one that matters."

Before she could strike, Kun arrived—a comet of golden light.

He crashed into the chamber like a starfall, blasting Velka back.

"I walk with the one who does matter," Kun said coldly.

The chamber cracked. The red crystal began to scream.

Velka stood, unharmed. Her mask now fully shattered, revealing a face that was not human—half-vine, half-bone, with starry eyes that glowed violet.

"Then burn, little flame."