The silence was different down here.
It wasn't just the absence of sound. It was deeper—thicker. Like the tunnels were listening. Like the stone remembered screams.
Riven limped behind her.
His body was broken. The chains from before had carved too deep. His wrists were torn and raw, the bones in his hand ached with every step. His breath rasped from cracked ribs and his soul was the most of all. The pain never stopped—it just dulled, hovered like a veil over everything he did.
But the Phantom never looked back.
She walked ahead, like a shadow. Her mask gleamed in the gloom, smooth and cold. She didn't speak. She didn't need to.
She was a presence.
Not quite enemy. Not quite ally.
Only one thing was certain—she was watching him.
Always watching.
---
They moved through the tunnels in silence.
The stone walls bore remnants of something ancient—carvings, long faded, of masked figures and creatures without names. Broken weapons littered the ground. Black stains marked where blood had once spilled.
Riven stumbled once, nearly fell.
He caught himself, gasped, clutching his side.
The Phantom stopped. Turned.
No words.
Just a long, unreadable look. As if calculating something.
Then she kept walking.
---
After hours—maybe more—Riven finally broke the silence.
"Back there," he rasped. "Those things. What were they?"
The Phantom paused mid-step.
Her fingers moved in slow.
"The Wither Spawn. Bottom of the Brood."
Riven frowned. "Brood?"
A pause.
Then she signed again.
"All of them. Everything from the Deep. They belong to the same nest. We call them the Brood."
The word lingered in the air.
The Brood.
A name for the nightmares crawling beneath the surface of the world.
He forced another breath. "How many kinds are there?"
Her head tilted, but she didn't turn.
Then her hands moved again, deliberate and cold:
"Too many "
Riven said "what do you mean"
"We rank them has"
"THE SCOURGE ."
"THE KINBORN."
"THE RIFTWRAITHS."
"THE DROWNED."
And the
"THE LORDS."
---
Each name hit like a drumbeat, echoing in Riven's skull.
She didn't explain further.
She didn't need to.
The silence afterward said enough.
Riven didn't ask again.
He was too tired.
---
Eventually, the Phantom raised a hand.
Stop.
Riven blinked at her. "Why?"
She signed slowly:
"In the Tunnels of Hollow you need Sleep. Rest. Or you'll lose yourself."
He stared at her, confused.
She knelt by the stone, tapping it once.
"Time dies here. It keeps walking even when you don't. First you forget how long you've been breathing… then you forget how to."
Riven said nothing.
But he felt it now—the air heavier, his thoughts slower, as if something unseen coiled around the edges of his mind.
She sat, legs crossed.
Still as ever.
So he sat too.
Not sleep. Not peace.
Just stillness.
Just breath.
---
They reached a ridge where the tunnel opened into a chasm. A vast hollow space, stretching beyond the veil of darkness. Far below, something pulsed faintly—flickers of pale blue light, moving like slow lightning under water.
The City of Silence was near.
The Phantom stood at the edge, watching.
Riven dropped to one knee, breathing hard.
His hand trembled.
Not from fear.
From exhaustion.
And something else.
And in the depths, something stirred in the dark.
Waiting.