The descent wasn't silent—it was erasure.
Ren knew silence. The hollow breath of tombs, the stillness of dead stars, the pause before a blade falls. This was different. Sound didn't fade here—it was strangled in the throat of the earth. His boots scraped stone, yet no echo answered. His own heartbeat thundered in his ears, a trapped bird fluttering against his ribs, while the world around him swallowed every gasp, every rustle of Danya's cloak. The darkness didn't just hide—it consumed.
He reached the base of the stairs, skin prickling. Danya hovered close behind, her ice-staff shedding feeble light that died inches from the crystal.
"Do you feel it?" she whispered, her voice brittle as frozen glass. "The air… it's breathing."
The cavern yawned before them—a dome of living geology. Walls glistened with thick, pulsating veins of amber crystal that throbbed like diseased hearts. Heat radiated from the stone itself, a fever-dry warmth that parched the tongue and stung the eyes. No fire. No source. Just oppressive, sentient warmth.
In Ren's chest, the Reclaimer core fragment stirred.
Not a pull.
A scream.
> [WARNING: SOUL RESONANCE CRITICAL. PROXIMITY TO CORRUPTED NEXUS DETECTED.]
He moved forward, drawn like iron to a magnet. Danya's hand shot out, gripping his arm.
"Ren, your brands—"
Violet light crackled beneath his skin, etching jagged lines up his neck. The core fragment was burning him from within.
He passed under a jagged arch. Symbols coiled across its surface—not carved, but grown, shifting like blind worms when glimpsed peripherally. A psychic recoil lanced through his soul, primal and deep. Turn back, it screamed. This place eats memories.
His feet moved anyway.
Then—the altar.
Bone. Not assembled—fused. A circular platform suspended by chains thicker than a man's thigh, blackened and weeping oily residue where they vanished into shadowed walls. Upon it: dozens of handprints. Not merely scorched. Seared into the bone, fingers splayed in final, agonized supplication.
Small hands.
Children's hands.
At the center: a skull.
Cracked like eggshell.
Charred black at the temples.
Danya retched, clapping a hand over her mouth.
"Gods… they were so small…"
Ren stood paralyzed. His mind recoiled, but his soul resonated with terrible familiarity. The core fragment in his chest hummed, harmonizing with the altar's vile frequency.
Whispers slithered from the stone itself:
> "Consume the frail flesh…"
"Transcend the mortal coil…"
"Be unmade… be reborn…"
Reclaimer catechisms. Etched in suffering.
Groooooan…
The bone altar trembled. Thick, greasy mist seeped from cavern walls, coalescing into a figure. Humanoid, yet wrong—a flickering hologram rendered in static and anguish. It wore a Reclaimer mask, half-melted as if by internal heat, revealing glimpses of a lipless mouth frozen in a silent scream. In its chest, embedded where a heart should be: a shard of mana-stone. Corrupted. Pulsing with the same diseased amber light as the cavern veins.
Ren's core fragment SCREAMED in recognition.
The wraith's head tilted, a grotesque parody of curiosity. Its voice grated, a blend of grinding stone and decaying synth:
"YOU TRESPASS UPON SANCTIFIED FLESH. SUBMIT YOUR TRUE NAME… OR BE REWRITTEN INTO THE STONE."
Danya stumbled back, ice crackling defensively around her staff.
"Ren, don't—!"
He stepped forward. Violet brands blazed across his skin, casting stark shadows on the bone altar.
"I am Ren Calder." His voice rang, amplified by the cavern's unnatural acoustics. "Bearer of the Soulbrand. Inheritor of the Burned World." He placed a hand over his chest, over the seething core fragment.
"I seek the truth you buried with their bones."
The wraith convulsed. The mana-stone in its chest flared blinding white—
CRACK!
A psychic shockwave detonated.
Danya cried out, ice-barrier shattering as she was flung backward. Ren staggered, but held his ground, boots grinding into stone. Above, the cavern ceiling rippled like disturbed water, stone flowing aside to reveal a second chamber.
Carved not from rock—but polished obsidian.
Dark. Cold. A tomb within a womb.
Inside: Murals.
Not painted. Inlaid with luminescent veins of soul-stuff, still faintly pulsing. Scenes unfolded:
Cities of crystal floating amongst nebulae, Reclaimers in radiant gold armor surveying realms of light.
Temples where crowds wept with joy, as tendrils of blue energy siphoned memories from their temples—a mother's first kiss, a child's laughter, the taste of sunlight.
Vats filled with swirling, stolen memories, fed into engines that powered their soaring cities.
The Price of Dominion.
Ren's gaze locked on the final mural: A figure wreathed in annihilating flame. Not triumphant. Broken. Hooded, face obscured—but the eyes… Hollow pits bleeding darkness. Beneath it, words etched in congealed shadow:
> THE PRICE OF DOMINION IS THE DEATH OF SELF.
Danya hauled herself up, blood trickling from her temple.
"Ren! This place… it's alive! We need to go—!"
He couldn't move. The mural's flame danced in his own burning brands. His soul resonated with the hollow-eyed figure's profound, cosmic loneliness.
Then the figure's head turned.
Within the mural.
Its empty gaze fixed on Ren.
NAELIR AWAKENS.
The voice wasn't sound. It was pure concept, hammered directly into his cortex. Ancient. Terrified. His.
SHHHHH-KRAK!
Golden fire—Naelir's fire—ERUPTED from the bone altar. Not heat. Absolute incineration. The black chains holding it SNAPPED like rotten thread.
Ren screamed. Not from pain.
From recognition.
The core fragment in his chest DETONATED. Violet and gold light TORE through him, scouring nerve endings, fracturing bone. Visions detonated behind his eyes:
Himself, younger, kneeling willingly before a Reclaimer Archon.
A needle of liquid shadow plunging into his sternum.
His own hand, searing a child's terrified palm onto cold bone.
The hollow-eyed figure in the mural reaching out—its face was his own.
> [SYSTEM OVERRIDE: MEMORY LOCK CRITICAL FAILURE.]
[IDENTITY CONVERGENCE DETECTED: CALDER PRIME // SOURCE ALPHA.]
The altar wasn't just a site of sacrifice.
It was a tuning fork.
A beacon.
And the thing sealed within the obsidian tomb—
The Source of the Reclaimers' stolen power—
It wasn't just part of him.
It was him.
A shard of his own shattered, tormented soul.
Buried. Forgotten.
Hungry.
And the chains were gone.
A/N:
Hey everyone — author here.
First off, I want to sincerely apologize for the delay in updates the past few days. I've been a bit under the weather and needed to prioritize recovery. Thanks so much for your patience, especially as we hit one of the most pivotal moments in the story so far.
This chapter marks the end of Volume 1: Soulbrand Awakening.
Ren's journey has officially crossed its first major threshold — the truth of his connection to the Reclaimers, Naelir's fire, and the altar's legacy is no longer just mystery… it's memory. Fragmented, painful, but real.
I'm so excited (and a little terrified) for what comes next. Volume 2 will dive deeper into the world's secrets, reveal more about the side characters you've come to love (and fear), and throw Ren into far darker territory.
If you've made it this far — thank you. Your support, comments, and reactions mean everything. If you're enjoying the ride, please don't forget to leave a rating or drop a review — it really helps more readers discover Echoborn.
Volume 2 begins soon… and it won't hold back.
Stay tuned.
Xamichoclate