The air in the back room of The Moon's Maw hung thick with the scent of old parchment and burning herbs, mingling with a darker, otherworldly chill that seemed to seep from the walls themselves. Elior's hand lingered on the *Key of Obsidian*, feeling its cold surface pulse under his touch, each beat echoing faintly with voices beyond his hearing. He knew better than to listen closely. In the world of Myrmidia, secrets were barbed hooks, and curiosity was often a fatal flaw.
The hooded figure watched him in silence, and even without seeing the face beneath the hood, Elior could feel a calculating intensity that made the fine hairs on his neck prickle. The figure finally spoke, voice low and rasping, as if dragged from some ancient corner of forgotten knowledge. "With this, you bind yourself to something far older than Myrmidia. It is a passage that even the oldest of the Tethered dare not cross."
"Perhaps they weren't willing to," Elior replied, his tone as cold as the key in his hand. "I am."
The figure's silence gave way to a barely perceptible nod. "Very well. I will guide you, but understand this: once the Mark begins to consume, it never relents."
Elior let the words pass over him, his gaze unwavering. "How do I begin?"
The figure gestured toward a narrow staircase at the back of the room, leading down into shadow. "Descend. Bring no light with you. The Key will guide you."
As Elior moved past, his shadow flickered and twisted in strange ways under the dim candlelight, and for a moment, he thought he saw eyes glimmering from within its depths. Ignoring the unsettling sight, he started down the stairs. The farther he descended, the colder the air grew, carrying the tang of stale earth and distant thunder. His heartbeat synchronized with the Key's pulsing in his hand, a steady rhythm that seemed to pull him forward, down into an abyss that whispered his name in murmured fragments.
The staircase ended abruptly, leading to a cavernous space. The walls were slick and lined with ancient carvings, each symbol an echo of the Mark he bore. At the center of the chamber, a faint blue flame flickered over a stone pedestal, illuminating rows of shadows that writhed and shifted, as if alive. Elior's pulse quickened. He knew he had reached the heart of the Myrmidian gateway.
Carefully, he stepped forward and placed the Key of Obsidian onto the pedestal. Instantly, the shadows in the room thickened, coiling around him, as if tasting the air, assessing this intruder. The faint whispering that had followed him throughout the descent grew louder, turning into murmurs, then hushed voices, as countless phantasms from Myrmidia began to gather.
"Who comes to bind us?" The words rose from the shadows, a choral whisper that echoed from every corner of the chamber.
"I am Elior," he answered, keeping his voice steady. "Bearer of the Mark. Tethered by blood. I seek the Dominion of Shadows."
A low hum vibrated through the chamber, and the shadows recoiled momentarily, as if absorbing the weight of his words. The flame atop the pedestal flared, and Elior felt a force begin to press against his mind, an ancient, suffocating weight. Myrmidia was testing him, probing his thoughts, seeking any cracks in his resolve.
For an instant, Elior saw flashes—a great war fought in utter darkness, specters battling each other, tearing the very fabric of the shadow realm asunder. A figure loomed within the chaos, cloaked in ash and crowned with embers. It was neither human nor phantasm, something beyond both, and as it turned toward him, its eyes were like pools of liquid night, drawing him in.
"You seek power over shadows," it spoke, though the sound felt like a memory dredged from his own mind. "But power demands sacrifice."
Elior clenched his jaw, fighting to keep his thoughts clear. "I know the cost."
"Do you?" The voice challenged him, filling his mind with a chilling echo. "A lord of shadows walks alone, haunted, forgotten. Even now, they whisper your name, tasting your fear, your ambition. Shadows consume more than flesh, Tethered—they consume your very soul."
Ignoring the pulsing ache in his chest, Elior held his ground. "If the cost is my soul, then I give it freely. I did not come here to be spared. I came here to command."
The silence that followed was absolute, as though the shadows themselves had ceased to exist. Then, one by one, the phantasms around him knelt, their heads bowed in dark reverence. The flame atop the pedestal flared once more, then vanished, plunging the chamber into utter darkness. Elior felt a rush of energy surge from the Mark on his chest, spreading out to fill his veins with the essence of Myrmidia.
As the shadows faded, Elior found himself alone in the now-empty cavern. The Key of Obsidian lay cold in his hand, though it now bore a faint, spectral glow. And within his mind, a new presence lingered, silent but potent—a fragment of Myrmidia's power, bound to him, awaiting his command.
Ascending the steps, Elior felt a new weight settle on his shoulders, the weight of dominion. He could feel the presence of every shadow he passed, as if they, too, now recognized his authority. His shadow, now darker and denser, moved with a mind of its own, lurking just behind him, a loyal, yet watchful companion.
As he emerged into the upper room, the hooded figure waited, a knowing glint in their hidden eyes. "You returned," they murmured, a trace of approval in their voice.
"Did you doubt I would?"
"Many do not. The shadows are not kind to the unworthy."
Elior regarded the figure with a calm intensity. "I have gained what I needed. Myrmidia recognizes me now. It knows my name, and it will heed my call."
The figure nodded slowly. "Be wary, Echo Sovereign. Myrmidia is as much a prison as it is a kingdom. Its denizens do not take kindly to being bound."
Elior met their gaze, undaunted. "Neither do I."
Without another word, he turned and left The Moon's Maw, stepping out into the darkened streets of Nyx. The storm had subsided, leaving the air sharp with the scent of rain and lingering thunder. And as Elior walked, his shadow stretched before him, taking on strange, twisted shapes, moving with a will of its own. The streets around him were silent, but he could feel the weight of unseen eyes, lurking in every shadow, watching their new master with wary respect.
Power pulsed through him, steady and dark, and Elior knew his journey had only just begun. Myrmidia's secrets beckoned, hidden within the endless night, waiting for a lord who dared to wield them.