Episode 16 – "Dirge of the Weeping Chapel"
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The March into Unholy Ground
The skies above the dying lands wept ash.
Zane stood at the head of a caravan cloaked in silence. Wind screamed across the broken plains, carrying with it the scent of burning incense and rotted parchment. The air was thick—too thick, as if the land itself didn't want them there.
> "We're nearing the threshold," Kaela murmured beside him, her breath visible despite no cold. "The Weeping Chapel rejects time. It exists… between beats."
Ahead, its silhouette loomed like a monument to sorrow: the Weeping Chapel, built into the jagged cliffside of the Hollow Vale. Its obsidian spires curved like wailing mouths. Thousands of crimson-stained prayer flags twisted in the breeze, each one said to be a soul devoured by the Choir.
Raelion flanked Zane on the right, his mantle of living flame barely contained under his dark travel cloak. The light from his steps left scorched symbols in the grass—ancient runes of fire long lost to the world. The primal magic hummed softly, hungry to burn through whatever lay within the chapel.
> "Once we cross the red threshold," Raelion said, voice low, "we won't be able to turn back. The chapel doesn't let you leave… unless it wants to."
Zane nodded once. "Then we give it no choice."
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The Choir Begins to Sing
They entered through the ruined vestibule at the base of the cliff—a broken archway carved with forgotten verses. The deeper they went, the more unnatural everything became.
The walls bled. Literally.
Crimson tears seeped from cracks in the stone, trailing down in unnatural streams that pooled into rivulets running toward the altar deep within the heart of the cathedral.
Each step forward felt heavier. Not from resistance—but from sorrow.
> "Do you hear that?" Kaela whispered, clutching her staff tighter.
Zane froze.
It wasn't silence. It was singing.
Soft. Melancholic. Beautiful and unbearable. The harmony of a thousand broken voices, layered in unison, vibrating at a frequency that brushed against the soul itself.
> "That's the Black Choir," Raelion muttered. "They sing for the fallen… but they'll sing you into the grave if you let them."
They passed through halls of statues weeping blood, through murals that moved when no one watched. Each corridor told stories—twisted versions of holy scriptures, rewritten by the Hollow Crown to portray itself not as tyrant… but as savior.
And finally, they reached the sanctuary.
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The Dirge Maiden Appears
The sanctuary of the Weeping Chapel stretched impossibly wide—far beyond the physical boundaries of the chapel itself. A vast cathedral space with no ceiling, only an endless twilight sky above, filled with shifting constellations that blinked like ancient eyes.
In the center stood the Dirge Maiden, conductor of the Black Choir.
She wore a gown of silence—woven from shadows and sorrow. Her face was porcelain-pale, cracked with runes, her eyes sewn shut with golden thread. Dozens of phantom vocalists floated behind her in midair—each of them hooded, faceless, yet singing with agony so vivid it could be felt in the blood.
> "You are out of tune," the Dirge Maiden said without opening her mouth. Her voice filled the space like a lament. "You do not belong in the song."
Zane stepped forward, sword drawn. "Then I'll write a new one."
The Maiden extended one hand—and the Choir screamed.
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Battle Beneath the Choir
The sonic assault hit like a hammer of grief. Waves of sound slammed into the strike team, driving some to their knees instantly. Kaela barely raised her barrier spell in time, shielding herself and Zane as spectral notes cut through the air like blades.
> "We can't fight her in rhythm," Kaela cried. "The sound is shaped by memory! She's turning our pasts against us!"
Zane's vision blurred. In the ripples of sound, he saw his old village—burning. He saw his brother. His real brother—Taran—laughing as the world collapsed.
He staggered.
> "Zane!" Raelion shouted, hurling a spiral of primal fire toward the Maiden. It struck her—yet she didn't move. The flames evaporated into silent ash before they reached her heart.
Zane gritted his teeth. No. He wouldn't be broken. Not by illusions. Not by memory.
> "She's using regret to feed her strength!" Zane roared. "Starve her!"
Kaela's eyes widened in realization. "Forget the past!"
She slammed her staff into the floor—and released a purge sigil. A surge of light rippled outward, temporarily dulling the sound and severing the psychic bond. The phantom choir reeled.
That was all Zane needed.
He surged forward, blade in both hands—his magic coursing through the runes etched into his arms. He carved through the music, each strike distorting the melody.
The Dirge Maiden shrieked—not in pain, but in dissonance.
> "Your silence is coming," Zane snarled, slicing through her veil.
Her body shattered like porcelain, and the Choir collapsed. Their voices dissolved into mist.
Only silence remained.
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The Crown's Voice Echoes
As the chamber trembled and the sanctuary began to collapse, a deeper voice rumbled through the ether. Not the Choir. Not the Maiden.
> "Impressive, Reclaimer."
Zane spun, already knowing who it was.
The sky above split.
A silhouette appeared—vast and horned, draped in swirling veils of shadow and starlight.
The Hollow Crown itself.
Not fully present—only an echo—but the air bent with its presence.
> "You sever a song, but the symphony endures. Every note you erase, I rewrite. Every god you burn, I remake. You cannot win, Zane. You can only delay."
Zane raised his sword, defiant even as his arms shook.
> "Then I'll delay you forever."
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Retreat and Resolve
Raelion created a portal using flame-seal magic as the sanctuary collapsed.
The team escaped just as the ceiling caved in. They tumbled into the forest outside, gasping for breath beneath the stars.
The Weeping Chapel was gone—erased.
One of the Hollow Crown's sacred places, defiled and destroyed.
Kaela clutched her chest. "That… was only one site."
Zane stood, face bloodied, voice iron.
> "Then let's bring down the rest."