Chapter 5: The Silent Depths
The water sloshed heavily around Lydia’s feet as she stood frozen before the altar. The man’s words had burrowed deep into her mind, wrapping around her thoughts like a tightening noose. “Break the pact,” he had said, but how? What did that even mean? The weight of the world seemed to hang on her shoulders now, pulling her deeper into this nightmare, and the ancient cathedral’s oppressive silence threatened to suffocate her.
She could hear the distant, haunting sounds again—the faint wails of the souls lost in the depths. They called to her, their mournful cries twisting in the darkness, rising from the very stone beneath her feet. Lydia clenched her fists, fighting the urge to scream. What was she supposed to do? How could she break a pact that had been forged centuries ago?
The man beside her—if he could still be called a man—watched her with eyes full of sorrow. There was something wrong about him now. His features were blurring, like the sea itself was swallowing him up. He was the embodiment of the cursed cathedral, a part of it, and Lydia could sense the weight of that curse clinging to him like a second skin. He had no answers, no guidance—only the expectation that she would somehow know what needed to be done.
“Do you understand now?” he asked softly, his voice no longer warm but hollow, distant.
Lydia shook her head, her breath trembling. “I don’t… I don’t understand. How do I break a pact like this? I’m not… I can’t—”
“You must,” he interrupted, his tone growing colder, more insistent. “You must, because you are the last one. The last to bear the mark. It’s within you, Lydia. In your blood. The pact is part of your heritage. You carry it with you, whether you realize it or not.”
Her pulse quickened as his words echoed in her mind. Her heritage. Her blood. The truth that had been buried for so long, hidden beneath layers of normalcy, now rose to the surface like the tide, pressing against her chest until she thought she might drown in it.
Suddenly, she felt an unnatural chill sweeping through the cathedral, making the water around her legs feel colder than ice. Her breath caught, and she glanced toward the entrance, where shadows began to gather in thick, oppressive masses. The cathedral, she realized with growing horror, was not merely a place. It was alive. It pulsed with an energy of its own, ancient and malignant. And those wailing souls—they were not distant echoes, but the very embodiment of the cathedral’s curse, bound to this place for eternity.
“How do I break it?” she whispered again, barely able to speak over the rising dread.
The man remained silent for a long moment, his face flickering in the dim light like a reflection caught in turbulent waters. Finally, he stepped toward her, closer now, his voice barely audible.
“You must descend,” he murmured, his eyes clouded with a sadness that made her heart ache. “You must go beneath the altar. There, where the waters are deepest, lies the heart of the pact. If you can break the seal there, the curse will be undone. But be warned—the path is not without its horrors.”
Lydia’s breath caught in her throat. Beneath the altar? The very idea made her skin crawl, but she knew, deep down, that there was no choice. If she was to save herself—and perhaps the souls of those who were trapped here—she would have to face what lay below.
But even as the words formed in her mind, a creeping sense of dread began to rise. What would she find in those dark waters? And could she truly break the pact—or was she destined to join the souls that cried out from the depths?
The man nodded slowly, as though reading her thoughts. “You fear what lies below,” he said softly. “But understand this—what you seek, what you need, is not just to break the pact. You must confront it, understand it. The pact is not a simple curse. It is born of grief, of rage, of an ancient wrong that needs to be set right. You must face it with your heart open, or you will become one with them.”
Lydia felt as though the world was crumbling around her. The weight of the task ahead pressed down on her, and her chest felt tight, as if she couldn’t draw in enough air to fill her lungs. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself. There was no escaping this. The cathedral had already claimed her—whether she wanted it or not.
Steeling herself, she turned toward the altar, her gaze tracing the ancient carvings that adorned its stone surface. Her fingers tingled with an unspoken energy, drawn to the altar as if some unseen force were urging her forward. But before she could move, a sudden rush of water surged up around her legs, pulling her back toward the center of the room.
The cathedral seemed to shake, and Lydia stumbled, her heart pounding in her chest as the shadows deepened. The wailing grew louder, a chorus of voices wretched with sorrow and hunger. She gasped, her breath freezing in her lungs as the water began to rise—higher, faster, until it swallowed the room, drowning out the light.
Lydia’s mind reeled. The cathedral was no longer just a place. It had become a living thing—a beast hungry for her soul, desperate to keep her here forever.
The man’s voice rose above the chaos, his tone now harsh and urgent. “Go beneath! There is no more time!”
Lydia’s mind screamed at her to run, to escape, but her body refused to obey. She moved toward the altar as if drawn by a force stronger than her will, and the moment she placed her hand on its stone surface, the world around her cracked open.
A sudden rush of water flooded the room, rising higher and higher, pulling her down into the very heart of the cathedral. She gasped for breath as darkness overtook her, the cold water closing in around her like a tomb. And then, in that moment, she felt it—a presence, ancient and powerful, stirring in the depths. The pact was alive, breathing, waiting for her.
And Lydia knew then that she had no choice but to face whatever lay beneath.
