Chapter 63: Down The Creepy Catacombs

The old spirit’s smile was gentle but knowing.

His physical form flickered slightly, revealing glimpses of his true nature—a being of soft light bound to this sacred space.

"The cathedral has many secrets," Father Thomas said, his voice carrying the weight of centuries.

"Some hidden in plain sight, others concealed beyond human perception."

Kane glanced at Cyrus, unsure whether to reveal their purpose.

Before Cyrus could answer, Father Thomas raised a weathered hand.

"You seek the Midnight Chalice." It wasn’t a question. The old spirit’s eyes gleamed with ancient wisdom.

"Yes, it resides within these walls."

Kane stepped forward. "How did you—"

"The chalice calls to those meant to find it." Father Thomas’s form shimmered, growing more ethereal.

Cyrus’s posture stiffened. "Then give it to us."

Father Thomas laughed, the sound echoing through the cathedral like distant bells.

"Not so simple, dragon. The chalice chooses its bearer through trial."

"Another test?" Kane groaned. "Haven’t we been through enough?"

"The chalice binds souls together," Father Thomas explained, moving toward the altar.

"It must determine if your bond is worthy of its power." His hand passed through a seemingly solid wall, revealing a hidden passage.

"Follow me. The trial awaits."

Father Thomas glided toward the back of the cathedral, his spectral form casting no shadow against the ancient stone walls.

Kane and Cyrus followed, their footsteps echoing in the silence of the sacred space.

His translucent hand passed through the stone, which rippled like water. A previously invisible doorway materialized, revealing a steep staircase descending into darkness.

"The catacombs," Father Thomas announced. "The true heart of St. Aveline’s."

Kane peered down the stairs, a shiver running down his spine.

"Always with the creepy underground passages."

"What awaits us down there?" Cyrus asked, his eyes narrowed.

Father Thomas turned to them, his expression grave.

"A labyrinth trial, filled with spirit traps and illusions designed to test your courage and the strength of your bond."

"Of course," Kane muttered. "Because nothing’s ever simple."

"Many have tried. All have failed," Father Thomas continued.

Cyrus stepped forward, determination hardening his features. "We won’t."

Kane sighed but followed.

"Just once, I’d like to retrieve a mystical artifact from somewhere pleasant. Like a beach resort."

The door sealed behind them as they descended into the darkness, the air growing cold and heavy with ancient magic.

Kane reached the bottom of the staircase, his fingers brushing against the damp stone walls for guidance in the near-darkness.

"So what’s the plan? I say we—" He turned to address Cyrus, but found only empty space beside him.

"Cyrus?"

The shadows seemed to swallow his voice.

Kane frantically spun around, searching, but the dragon was nowhere in sight. Even the stairs they’d descended had vanished, replaced by solid stone.

"Father Thomas? What the hell is this?" Kane’s shout echoed through the labyrinth, unanswered.

A cold panic gripped him as he realized the bond’s usual tug, that constant awareness of Cyrus’s presence, felt muted.

Kane couldn’t tell which direction would lead him to his bondmate.

Suddenly, the air around him shimmered. A disembodied voice, neither male nor female, whispered from everywhere and nowhere:

"Only apart can you see what binds you."

"That’s not cryptic at all," Kane muttered, forcing his breathing to steady.

"Fine. Let’s play your game." He drew his pistol, checking that the special bullets were loaded, and squared his shoulders.

The labyrinth shifted around Kane, stone walls rearranging themselves with each step.

Ambient light emanated from nowhere and everywhere, casting just enough illumination to see a few feet ahead.

The fox spirit kept his pistol ready, ears twitching at every whisper of sound.

The mist coiled around Kane’s ankles, thick and cold as a living thing. It rose steadily, obscuring the labyrinth walls until he stood in a formless void of swirling gray.

"I’ve seen enough horror movies to know this isn’t good," Kane muttered, tightening his grip on the pistol.

The mist parted, revealing a scene that punched the air from his lungs—himself as a child, sitting alone at a long table while other young spirits played together, deliberately excluding him.

The small Kane’s ears drooped as he traced patterns on the tabletop with a finger.

"This is not real," Kane whispered, but the ache in his chest felt genuine enough.

The scene dissolved, reforming into a Bureau training room.

Kane watched his younger self struggle with a basic defensive spell while others mastered it easily. Commander Qi’s disappointed expression. Ginsei’s smirk.

"You’re a burden to the team," Qi’s voice echoed, though his lips hadn’t moved.

Kane forced himself forward, passing through the illusion, which scattered like smoke.

"Is this the best you’ve got?" He called to the empty labyrinth. "My own insecurities? Amateur hour."

The corridor ahead twisted, opening into a forest clearing that stopped Kane cold.

The air smelled of moss and pine—exactly like the dream. His tail, unbidden, curled low to the ground. His heart pounded as he recognized it.

Movement caught his eye—a massive winged figure standing between the trees. Unlike in his dream, this figure turned away, wings folding as it walked into the darkness.

"Wait!" Kane called, starting forward.

The figure paused, half-turning. Though shrouded in shadow, Kane recognized Cyrus’s profile.

"You’ll only slow me down," the figure said, then continued walking, each step widening the distance between them.

Kane stood frozen, watching his protector abandon him.

"It was never real," a cold voice said from behind.

Kane turned to find another Cyrus standing there—this one in his impeccable suit, face carved from marble.

His eyes, however, held none of the reluctant warmth Kane had occasionally glimpsed.

"You’re not necessary," phantom Cyrus said. "You’re just a karmic inconvenience."

Kane flinched as if struck. "You’re not him," he said, though uncertainty crept into his voice.

"I saved you out of obligation, nothing more." The phantom’s lips curled. "Your investigation was correct all along. I’m exactly what you feared."

The labyrinth trembled, stones grinding as a wall split open, revealing two paths.

Down one path, Cyrus was pinned beneath collapsing stone, one arm outstretched, calling Kane’s name.

The rubble groaned—seconds from crushing him.

Down the other, a faint glow pulsed steadily. The chalice hovered above a pedestal—but the floor beneath it shimmered with unstable energy.

Magic warped the air. If he didn’t reach it now, it might vanish entirely.

"Choose," the phantom commanded. "Save your bond-mate or complete your mission. You can’t do both."