The silence was different down here.

Not the silence of still air or empty halls—but something deeper, something listening. The stone seemed to breathe, cold and damp with memory. Each of Evander’s steps echoed like a whisper in a tomb, torchlight casting stretched shadows along the walls of the forgotten vaults.

The cells here were older. Unmarked. No names. Just iron doors and the distant sound of dripping water.

He paused before the final door.

Guard (hesitant):
“She hasn’t spoken since your last visit. Eyes open. Just... watching.”

Evander said nothing. He nodded once, the gesture more habit than meaning, and stepped inside.

The chains creaked gently with her slightest movement.

She sat exactly where she had been. Draped in shadow, hood still drawn. Her hair had dulled beneath the grime and damp, and yet something in her posture remained regal. Unbroken. Even in chains.

Evander:
“I was told you’ve remained silent.”

She said nothing. Her head tilted faintly—barely a gesture at all.

Evander (stepping closer):
“You’re not waiting for rescue. So what are you waiting for?”

Hecate (barely a whisper):
“…You.”

The torch guttered.

Evander felt it, just then—a thread of doubt he hadn’t known he’d brought. He studied her face beneath the hood, but her eyes remained dim, unreadable.

Evander:
“You’re not human. Not fully.”

Hecate (calm):
“Neither are you.”

That silenced him. For a breath.

He turned away, scanning the cell’s sigils. Old ones. Wards carved in languages most Inquisitors no longer recognized.

Evander (quietly):
“These spells were designed to hold demons.”

Hecate:
“Do you believe they work?”

He didn’t answer.

The silence stretched.

Evander (finally):
“They say you took control of minds. Bent them to your will. Made good men turn on their comrades.”

Hecate (softly):
“I didn’t have to make them. I only… showed them what they already wanted.”

He looked at her then. Fully.

Evander:
“You believe the Inquisition is corrupt.”

Hecate (head tilting):
“I believe it is human.”

Another silence.

Evander:
“Do you remember their names? The ones you… twisted.”

Hecate (gently):
“Do you remember the ones you burned?”

That hit deeper than he expected. A flicker behind his eyes. A memory. A scream he had once silenced in fire, told himself it was justice.

He stepped back.

Evander:
“You speak as though you’re innocent.”

Hecate (smiling faintly):
“I speak as though I’m still listening.”

The torch sputtered again, briefly dimming to coals.

And in that moment, Evander felt the stone breathe again. The walls leaned closer. The chains didn't rattle, but they felt—tense, somehow. Coiled.

Hecate (barely audible):
“They're afraid of you, Warden.”

Evander (calm):
“They trust me.”

Hecate (smiling wider):
“No. They trust what you can resist.”

He turned sharply, the torch flaring at his motion. She hadn't moved. And yet—

There was something behind her. Something darker than shadow. A shape. A memory. Gone when he looked again.

Evander (gritting his teeth):
“What are you?”

She didn’t answer.

She only looked at him—with those quiet, ancient eyes—and smiled.

It wasn’t kindness.

It was recognition.

Evander’s patience cracked. He turned away, boots grinding against the cold stone as he stormed back toward the exit. The cell remained behind him, untouched. Silent.

The stone door groaned shut behind him.

Evander stood in the corridor for a long time, the flickering torch in his hand the only light. He could still feel her presence behind the wall. Not watching, not moving—just there.

She hadn’t spoken again.

Yet the silence followed him like perfume.

He climbed the spiral steps slowly, boots echoing up the winding path carved by time. Somewhere above, thunder rolled. The scent of old dust and wet stone gave way to torch smoke and incense as he emerged from the lower vault.

But as he reached the final landing, he paused.

He swore he heard breathing behind the wall.

Slow… steady… and not his own.