I sit before the campfire, turning the stone tablet fragment in my hands. It's worn smooth, but the runes are still legible thanks to the amulet's influence. I know what must be done—somewhere, a place exists where these lanterns can be relit, where the Keepers must stand once again, and I, as a Knight-To-Be, must fulfill my oath. The silence that clings to Lynn, the heavy hush that smothers words, can be dispelled if I restore what has been lost.
Lynn stands nearby, her posture poised yet calm. She watches as I pick up the deck of cards once more. Every time, I trust this deck to guide me deeper. Perhaps now it will lead me closer to the Threshold and the Keepers' lanterns. I shuffle, focusing on my purpose. The cards slide together softly. Three rise to the top, distinct and inevitable.
Location: Inverted Cathedral Lobby
We have been here once before—where pews clung to the ceiling and gravity seemed to mock reason. Returning might mean something new now that I carry more knowledge. Perhaps hidden passages or relics remain undiscovered.
Event: Pocket Bazaar
The phantom merchant returns, offering trades. I might acquire something essential—a tool, a clue, or even a lantern shard that can rekindle ancient lights. But I must be ready to pay a price that matters.
Enemy: Fallen Firefighter Wraith
A spectral figure bound by old duty twisted into despair. It wields ghostly flame, warping once-heroic instincts into weapons of terror. Yet maybe, like all in this realm, it can be overcome with resolve.
I look at Lynn. Her eyes narrow slightly; she remembers the Inverted Cathedral. That place was confusing, yet now we return as different people. We've grown stronger, gathered clues, and aligned our purpose with the world's hidden truth. If a Phantom Merchant waits there, I might bargain for something crucial. The Fallen Firefighter Wraith will be a challenge, but at least I know the Resonant Choir and other complicating events aren't in play this time.
We step into the mist together. It parts slowly, as if reluctant. Then we're inside that warped hall again—upside-down pews overhead, chandeliers sprouting from the "floor" above us. Candles still burn, defying logic. Everything feels slightly less dizzying now that I'm familiar with the place. Perhaps understanding grants some steadiness.
Lynn taps my shoulder and nods toward a corner where shadows deepen. There, half-hidden behind an overturned lectern, the Pocket Bazaar shimmers into existence. The hooded merchant stands silent, shelves laden with oddities: flasks of shimmering fluid, scraps of metal etched with runes, and a small lantern lens glowing faintly. That lens intrigues me—it might fit into a Keeper's lantern, restoring its proper light.
Before I can approach, a distant crackle of flame echoes through the hall. I smell smoke that isn't quite real. The Fallen Firefighter Wraith materializes near a cluster of broken icons. Tall and gaunt, face shrouded in a charred mask, it drags an ethereal axe behind it. Wisps of ghost-fire dance along its shoulders, casting flickering light.
I position myself between Lynn and the Wraith. She stands ready, eyes sharp, no words needed. The Wraith lifts its axe, phantom flames licking at the blade's edge. I must fight carefully—ghostly fire might not yield to ordinary strikes. Maybe I can disrupt its focus. Something in this inverted hall must serve as a weapon or shield.
A pew overhead—really beneath my feet, since everything is inverted—catches my eye. If I knock something loose, I might drop debris onto the Wraith. But I must be swift. It raises the axe, a silent scream in its posture, then hurls a gout of ghost-flame toward me. I roll aside, feeling unnatural heat brush my flank. Lynn steps behind a pillar, lobbing a loose chunk of stone that passes harmlessly through the Wraith's incorporeal body. Physical objects mean little to it.
I recall the lessons of previous foes. The Siphon Witch was affected by spores, the Golem by fire. The Wraith, tied to old heroism twisted into undead fury—maybe my amulet or a symbol of old duty can weaken it. I clutch my brooch, emblem of the knightly order, and step forward.
"Stand down," I say softly, even though I know the mist steals voices. Still, I project authority. The Wraith halts, head tilting as if listening to an echo. I brandish the brooch, holding it out. Its faint gleam meets the Wraith's hollow gaze. For a moment, the ghostly flames dim, uncertain.
I seize that hesitation, lunging in with my axe. Though incorporeal, it flinches at the sight of the oath-bound emblem. My blade passes through shadowy flesh, meeting slight resistance. The Wraith shudders, ghost-flames guttering. I strike again, channeling all the conviction I've regained. The axe splits something intangible but vital. With a soundless wail, the Wraith dissipates, leaving behind only a lingering smell of scorched cloth.
My heart pounds. Lynn touches my arm, relief shining in her eyes. We turn to the Bazaar. The merchant watches impassively. I point to the lantern lens on its shelf. What can I offer? I have bandages, old scraps, canned food, but such mundane items rarely impress these phantom traders. I need something meaningful.
I consider the relics I've gathered. I cannot sacrifice the brooch, amulet, or scrolls. They are too vital. The stone tablet fragment? No, it's key to understanding. The stained glass shard from the cathedral—painful to part with, but perhaps I can spare it. It holds beauty and a piece of the past, but maybe I no longer need it now that I have clearer guidance. The lantern lens might prove more critical for rekindling the Keeper's beacon.
I offer the stained glass shard. The merchant's hood inclines slightly, and it takes the shard with delicate care. In return, it extends the lantern lens, a small disc of crystal that hums faintly. I feel a gentle warmth when I hold it—hope, perhaps, condensed into form. The Bazaar fades, content with our exchange.
Examining the lens in the lantern light, I sense it fits into something larger—one of the Keeper's lanterns that must be restored. The inverted hall feels a bit less hostile now. We gather ourselves and return to the mist. One step, and we're back at the Eternal Campground.
I kneel near the fire, setting the lantern lens beside my other items. Lynn stands close, her silent satisfaction evident. We overcame the Wraith with courage and symbol, not brute force. We traded a cherished relic for a tool we truly need. Each action draws us closer to restoring the Keepers, to lighting the Threshold's lanterns, and ending this silence.
As I rest, I see it clearly: we have nearly all the pieces. Soon I must search for the place itself, the heart of the labyrinth where the Keepers once stood. I have my oath, my class as a Knight-To-Be, and the lens that may rekindle their guiding lights. The silence can be ended. I can almost feel Lynn's voice, trapped behind the hush, waiting to speak truths I'm now ready to hear.
Until then, I prepare to draw again, to venture further, each step forging the path to the Threshold.