The Warden had no face. It did not need one; it wore every regret the hall had buried.
Seven empty graves waited beyond the cracked wall.
That was excessive even for architecture with abandonment issues.
Each grave had been carved directly into the floor of the corridor, rectangular and shallow, lined with pale stone that gleamed like old bone. No bodies. No lids. No dirt. Just spaces measured with insulting precision.
Aiden's grave bore a golden sword.
Liora's, a broken red blade.
Elara's, a withered root.
Seraphina's, a cracked halo.
Niko's, a small compass.
Ren's, a tea tray.
Nyx's, a black knife.
Mine had no symbol.
Only words.
NOT WRITTEN FOR BURIAL.
I stared at that longer than I should have.
Liora noticed, because of course she did. Her eyes moved from the grave to my face.
"Valdrake."
"Do not step inside any of them."
"I was not planning to lie down."
"You say that now."
Aiden crouched near his own grave without touching it. "These are threats."
