Sylvia Talgan’s POV.

“Ah…you’ve blossomed into a beautiful flower since I last saw you, Syl.”

“Uncle Aster, are you…okay?” I asked weakly.

A weak chuckle escaped the wraith’s formless mouth. “Far from it, my dear.”

I stirred slightly as my broken bones finished healing and reached out to touch him. But the only thing I felt was the cold steel of his black armor. “What happened to you? How did you get here?” I asked.

“That…I’ve long forgotten as well. Not that it mattered anyway. What is left of me is only what that creature couldn’t take. What I wouldn’t let it,” he answered bitterly.

No…he…he hasn’t been here for a few years but rather centuries. Alone.

"Then what of our family? Mom? Dad? Anyone?” I asked.

More crimson spears sprouted, impaling the armor, further ripping the black metal to shreds and pinning him to the ground. The blue ghast shuddered its helmeted head, shaking side to side.

“Long gone, I’m sure. You were the only one, Syl,” he explained, his voice sounding more distant than before.

My eyes widened. “Then you knew! All of you knew?! Why! Why me?! Why was I the only one to escape?! Why am I here when all of you are gone?!” I pleaded.

A pained rasp came from the voice. There were no facial expressions in the empty blue aura, but the crimson eyes seemed to soften.

“That I don’t know either.”

I gripped the steel gauntlets and felt them crack beneath my grip despite not putting any strength into it. My eyes flooded with warm tears as I asked, “Then—”

“What I do know is that Grandpa knew. He knew what would happen. So he planned and did not dare to tell any of us. I resented him for it. I did not understand why he gave in so easily. Why did he not fight harder? But seeing you…I seem to understand some of it. He knew the present was hopeless, but perhaps the future could be changed…at least that is what I believe now,” Uncle Aster interrupted.

I reeled back and fell to the ground as I watched the blood flowers along his body grow and continued to bloom. Threatening to swallow him whole. The only thing they dared not touch was the twin swords still grasped in his broken hands.

His words confused me and sent my mind spiraling. I never knew nor heard of Grandpa having any kind of future sight, let alone the true extent of his powers. Let alone my own. But to see the future? That seemed beyond even him. It did not fit at all. And yet…Uncle Aster seemed certain.

And that meant that Mom knew too. They all did…but never told me.

It was clear that Uncle Aster was fading. He may eventually turn into a mindless monster as the first ghost did, but it seemed the blood would take him long before that. My time with him was shortening. And I had more questions than he could ever answer. Even so…I didn’t want him to leave.

“Then how do I get stronger? If Grandpa could see the future, that meant he knew I would be important… but I’m nowhere near him or even you. And what is the nature of our power anyway?” I asked.

“The nature of our power is from Grandpa. He is—was the source. But the source of his power was the very foundation of life—the soul. Blood is simply the river that flows from it. A manifestation of life…or so I was told. I do not understand it fully myself, but I believe it to be true.”

“And as for how to get stronger…well, you need a teacher,” he said with a chuckle.

“Then stay! Don’t go! I—I need help, please…” I begged.

The wraith shook its helmeted head. “That I can not do either. I will be gone for good soon, Syl. But you don’t need me.”

“But who?! There is no one left! It’s just me!” I shouted, rubbing my blurry vision with my shoulder.

“That is not true…Grandpa…he is still with you—at least a part of him. And you are surrounded by wonderful people, Syl. However, I do not know how to reach Grandpa, but you will be able to one day. It is inconceivable that he would have sent you here, in the future, blind and forgotten. And even if he did, there is still someone. That person is most definitely alive,” Uncle Aster said somberly.

“Who?” I asked, my arms falling from his hands.

“Who else but the person who was not able to finish his teachings? The Dragons live that I am confident of. And they had far more of a connection with Grandpa,” Uncle Aster said somewhat bitterly.

I shook my head. “No…they are the ones…they killed him. I know they did.”

The crimson eyes flickered for a moment, and a deep, tired sigh came from the armor. “That doesn’t sound right. Even that old Chaos Dragon betrayed him in the end?” he said, confused.

It was my turn to be confused. I looked up at him and asked, “What? What Chaos Dragon?”

“Narezole? Ah…I suppose you would have never met him. Regardless, I can not imagine him ever betraying Grandpa. Not even if the world were to end…but perhaps I didn’t know anything after all? Or…have I just forgotten more things than I believed?” Uncle Aster said with a shake of his head.

The black armor began to crack further, and as the pieces drifted to the ground, they disintegrated into fine dust, as if time were suddenly grinding them down. “Even so…Keldrag’s duty to you meant more to him than most must have known. Your presence here is a testament to that. If their betrayal ran deep, he would have come for you already. He will help you, or maybe he already is. At least…be able to explain more than I can.”

I picked up the falling pieces, but the dust simply spread through my hands. As the seconds dragged on, the ghostly blue aura emanating from the armor seemed to dim.

“Please…don’t go,” I said.

“I have to. The pain is…too harrowing for me now. I’ve been here for far too long. I only made it this far because I told myself that one day this suffering was for a reason. Perhaps…he even planned for this. And I am satisfied knowing it was not in vain,” he said.

Tears flooded my eyes as I watched them drip onto the cold, bloodied stone. There was a clang of metal as one of the swords dropped to the ground. And a chilly metal caressed my cheek.

“Don’t wilt away, Syl, you are too strong and proud for that. Your parents would be proud of what you’ve become—No, they are proud that I can say with confidence. I’ll make sure to tell them as well,” Uncle Aster said with a faint chuckle.

When I looked up and cleared my eyes of tears, it was too late. The armor had turned to sand and was being carried away as the final sword clattered to the ground. The ghostly aura and presence were gone. And I was alone—what could have been the last living remnants and connection to my past had faded away.

“Rest well, Uncle Aster.”

—

Kaladin Shadowheart’s POV.

It was all too much, and it happened far too quickly. Everoyne was keenly aware that the undead were a natural counter to Sylvia’s abilities. She excelled against opponents of flesh to an unnatural degree compared to everyone else, and the ghosts were the exact opposite of flesh.

However, that did not mean Sylvia was weak by any means. She could very well be the second strongest person in Luminar, physically speaking, only ever losing to King Maxwell in raw power and speed. Yet, she was utterly outclassed by the ghost of her uncle. It had bested her in all departments, disarming and crushing her with overwhelming power on the first exchange. Even Sylvia’s Blood Sorcery seemed feeble compared to her long-lost uncle.

The ghost’s speed, strength, and abilities were far beyond those of a War God. The closest connection I could make would be comparing him to the Exarchs, and even then, it seemed the ghost would have held an advantage. Not even the Arch Lich was capable of such feats. And that was considering these ghosts were meant to be fragments of their former selves, summoned or contained by a nebulous being in the dungeon.

Just how powerful was the direct son of Talgan? And if he was as strong as he seemed, how did Talgan ever lose? And how much did Sylvia still have left to grow?

Even with those questions being left unanswered, I could only watch the battle as my heart sank into my chest. It felt like my world was crumbling down before me, powerless to do anything. I simply could not fathom losing Sylvia. Not now. Or ever. And despite knowing that it was futile, I had tried to break down the barrier; most of us had tried.

But the ancient creation of the dungeon shrugged off all attempts with ease, just as it did with Professor Garrison. It would not let us interfere in the battle, no matter how much we struggled.

Thankfully, as if answering our silent prayers, her uncle seemed to regain his sense of self the moment he grabbed his trusty sword. And although the two of them were far away, we could hear the faint noise of them speaking, broken up by the occasional wails of Sylvia shouting.

Unlike the first ghost, Sylvia’s uncle clearly maintained far more of his sense of self. The ghost had carried on a conversation for a long time, even piercing its own body with blood to kill itself. It had the will to rip control of whatever was shackling it, even in death. But with their conversation unknown, and the barrier finally disappearing for good, we all rushed to her.

Mana poured into my legs as I bounded over to her, still kneeling, frame. The broken stone cracked further, and I only slowed down when I was a few steps behind her. Sylvia had grabbed the twin swords and clutched them tight to her chest.

“Sylvia,” I called out softly to her.

Her head slowly turned to face me. Tears dripped down from her eyes, mixing with the dust and blood that caked her beautiful face. Her crimson eyes shone with a deep sense of sadness and loss.

The fallen ghost of her uncle was gone, reduced to ash. Only the swords remained.

“Did you get to say goodbye?” I asked as I knelt down with her.

She nodded weakly in response. I rubbed her back and sat with her. Any questions I had could be asked later. She had witnessed the loss of a family member, even if he had been turned into a monster in the end. So all I could do was offer my silent support. At least, that was what I believed was the right thing to do.

—

We were given some time alone, but eventually, it was time to move on. The dungeon had not sent everything after us yet, but that did not mean it wouldn’t do so if we lingered. Cerila returned Sylvia’s estoc to her, and that, along with the twin blades, disappeared into her Spatil Ring.

Tsarra had prepared some water as well, so Sylvia could at least wash her face free of the grime that caked it. And with that, we silently headed to the stone doors that were flanked by the Dwarven statues. Lord Vasquez turned to us and, with a firm nod, placed his hands on the stone doors and pushed them open.

I had expected them to resist but the doors easily swung open and revealed something that made everyone raise an eyebrow at least in confusion. The space beyond the door was simply massive.

We walked into its great hall, and I instantly felt a disconnect from reality. Like I was an ant standing in a chamber meant for a giant. The simple stone ceiling was curved into a half-cylinder. The stone walls were illuminated by faint, glowing crystals embedded into sconces. And the ground was flat.

It was all made from a different stone as well that was not present anywhere in the dungeon so far. And none of it was elaborately crafted, nor did it seem ancient and weathered. It wasn’t pristine either, seeming as if it was a well-used area with chips in the walls and floors. But the hall was empty from wall to wall, giving no hint of its intended use.

When we made it into the room, there was a wall to our left, but on our right…the hall simply expanded into the horizon for as far as the eye could see with a simple wooden door directly opposite ours. Even with my eye augmented, I could not see the end of the place. And for a moment, I thought it was a cleverly designed illusion.

But as a draft swept over us and I examined further, everything was not the same. Unique and distinct marks on the walls and floors were everywhere, and they were present as far as I could see. And despite the size of the room, I felt as if there was nothing odd about it. Even Soul Sight returned nothing of note.

As everyone carefully examined the massive space, most likely wondering what it was meant to be, a certain feeling crept at the back of my head. The space, despite being devoid of any tell-tale signs, was not… entirely alien for me. It was the shape of the room that gave me the eerie feeling, but it was nonsense, right?

I mean, it just couldn’t be right? Why would there be a hangar at the bottom of a dungeon in this day and age?

“A staging ground for the undead army, perhaps?” Bowen pondered aloud, his voice echoing.

“That…I don’t even want to imagine that. I can’t even see the end of this place,” Varnir said with a shudder.

I shook my head, but it wasn’t me who discounted that. “Not likely. The stench of the undead is as sticky as it is pungent. If this place once housed hundreds of thousands of undead vessels, it would reek of death,” Lord Vasquez said.

“Indeed…and is it just me or does this place seem to lack that smell almost entirely?” Ms. Taurus asked.

Everyone looked to Cerila for a moment, but she shrugged her shoulders and signed, I don’t smell anything unusual. But that is unusual in of itself.

Once I repeated what she said to everyone, the group naturally turned to the only thing that stood out. “Then our path is clear. We should not leave that door unchecked before proceeding down the path. We can at least assume that what is behind us is of… relative safety,” Lord Vasquez said.

Without any to disagree, we did just that. We followed behind Lord Vasquez and approached the wooden door, which was much smaller than the stone door we had come from. And despite being made from mundane planks and simple iron fittings, I could not peer through the gap in the wood.

Lord Vasquez placed his hand on the door and, with a great push, shoved it open. The doors glided open on well-oiled hinges, barely making a sound. That was until the distinct noise of glass being dragged against a stone floor and shattering reverberated and echoed against the stone walls.

And in that moment, the odd, mundane feeling we experienced in that room vanished. Because beyond the door was anything but mundane. A grand hall came into view. Intriguing stone statues flanked the walls, and the dark stone was chiseled and created with expert hands. The cracks of the marble were filled in with bright copper.

The columns reached support beams that kept the raw stone of the mountain from falling down. And a staircase led up to where a throne felt as it should have been. But there was no such thing as a throne. Instead, a small mountain of raw crystals seemed to be present there. The golden crystals were pristine and reflected the soft glowing radiance that came from their core. And the area around it shimmered with an unprecedented amount of visible mana.

And even more than that, the crystals were not bare. Dozens of blood-red chains were hooked to the crystals and stretched out into the darkness above, as if imprisoning the beautiful mound. And around it, a makeshift wooden scaffold was set up. And at its summit, a lone, robed figure was moving about.

“Ah…our guests have finally arrived.”