The Bone Corridor consumed silence.
Not with silence—but with pressure. As if the air had solidified behind their ears pressing in until breathing was too loud, too heavy. Each step fell quieter than it should have, as the ground consumed intention.
Lana moved first, Nyx in her arms again, Kieran supported between her and Jason. The walls pulsed faintly with veins of light—amber, red, purple, twitching like something sleeping beneath the bonecrete. Ribcages arched overhead. Skulls marked the ceiling at regular intervals, their jaws carved open like silent alarms.
They hadn't spoken since the door sealed behind them.
Even Jason was silent.
There was something about the location that made words seem inappropriate. As if they didn't belong here. As if talking would awaken something that didn't wish to be stirred.
Kieran's weight became heavier.
Lana tightened her grip. His skin burned against her. Every few steps, his claws scratched the floor involuntarily, carving small grooves into the path behind them.
"We have to rest," Jason whispered at last.
Lana ignored him.
But she was breathing hard now too.
The air was wrong.
Thick, but odourless. Sterilised and humid. Her lungs had to work harder for less air. Her ears went pop twice.
She halted.
Jason assisted Kieran to the wall. The man did not even support his weight now. His gaze was glazed but unblinking. His fingers spasmed.
Nyx slipped out of Lana's arms and was standing by herself.
She didn't sway.
She moved to the wall.
Pressed both hands against it.
And said, "He's still sleeping."
Jason blinked. "Who?"
Nyx remained silent.
Lana crouched next to Kieran. His shirt was drenched. His veins had darkened from their previous hue, his irises light gold with fog moving through them.
"Kieran," she whispered. "Don't go away from me
He blinked once. A slow, deliberate motion.
His lips parted.
"Smell it," he whispered.
"Smell what
"The marrow. In the walls."
Lana leaned in.
The walls didn't just look alive.
They were warm.
Not like electronics.
Like fevered skin.
Jason stepped back. "This place. It's like we are in a lung."
"I think it's older than Noctis," said Lana softly.
Kieran's breath hitched
"I remember it," he said. "From my dreams."
That made her stop.
Kieran rarely fantasied.
When he did, they usually involved blood.
She rose.
Her hands shook, but she did not want them to.
Jason took a few paces farther. His flashlight blazed once more—then extinguished itself.
"Dead," he grumbled. "No charge
Lana's eyes
Ahead the corridor turned.
Not a turn.
A slope.
The floor sloped down slowly and continuously.
Beyond it the light changed.
It was still bone, still death-colored.
But the glow changed—like something under the corridor was stirring in layers. Red to gold to blue. Red again.
A low hum vibrated underfoot.
Kieran continued stirring.
"She's bleeding," he growled.
Lana turned.
"What
His weekly raised hand shook in Nyx's direction.
"She's remembering," he said.
Nyx stood stock still. Her eyes wide. Red and ringed with something pale behind it.
She tilted her head like she was listening to a faraway voice.
Then she said, clear as glass: "There were nine before me. One dreamed too loud. The corridor ate her."
Jason paled.
"That's not in any file."
Lana crouched beside Nyx.
"You have never been here before," she said.
Nyx blinked.
"But you have."
The words remained suspended in the air like ash.
Jason turned to Lana. "What does that mean?"
"It means she's dreaming in loops. Someone gave her memories that weren't hers."
Kieran coughed. A dark streak of blood dripped from the side of his mouth.
Lana's stomach contorted
He was losing the battle.
She gazed down the corridor—then at the wall.
And saw something she hadn't before. Between the ribs on the side of the corridor ran three aligned skulls bearing a symbol.
Sculptured deep on their foreheads.
A spiral within a circle.
It was the same as the one Evelyn had scribbled in the margin of her previous journal entry.
Lana came to touch the middle skull.
It clicked.
The floor gave way under them.
Not far.
Enough to spill them over into the next room.
They landed in a tangle of limbs and curses.
Lana emerged first, rolling Nyx under her arm for protection. Jason swore next to her. Kieran winced.
The room was round again.
Smaller
The walls had been highly polished.
She stared at her own reflection—hundreds of versions of herself in warped bone mirrors. Every wall a twisted version of her face.
And at the center, a slab.
More altar than table.
More surgical than symbolic.
Chains on both ends.
"Welcome," said a voice behind them.
They all turned.
A woman was in the doorway.
Black coat. No shoes. Her arms crossed.
Not a single hair out of place.
Not a speck of blood.
Like she'd been waiting.
"I was wondering when you'd get here," she said.
Nyx stepped behind Lana.
Jason advanced. "How are you—?"
Specter raised a finger.
Jason stopped talking.
Lana intervened between them.
"I'm sick of your riddles," she said.
Specter smiled. "Good. Then let's stop pretending."
She motioned toward the slab.
"That's for Kieran."
"He's dying."
Specter stepped forward, hands behind her back.
"You wish to save him? You must complete the work your Evelyn began."
"I'm not opening him up."
"You don't have to." Specter's smile widened. "You just have to let the Corridor do it."
"What does that mean?"
"It means," Specter spoke softly, "his blood is already talking to the thing beneath us. All we are doing is giving it a mouth."
Kieran coughed again.
His voice was thin. But clear.
"Do it."
Lana froze.
He met her eyes.
"Whatever happens," he said, "don't stop it."
The lights flashed blue.
The floor shook.
And below them something in the corridor sighed.
Not air.
Not wind.
A sound.
A word.
In a language none of them should have known.
But Lana heard it distinctly: "Daughter"
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