ECHOES resounded, and the lights danced, as the darkness seemed to fester. They had not made very far down the steps, having just passed one loop with not an end in sight. While having traversed rather large steps many times before, these proved to be much more daunting, for they were deeper. Tūmbṃār wondered to himself how he had crossed these on that particular night. He wished that for all these large steps, there would be smaller ones in the middle, not much different from the small throne atop the large one in Viprūtaram.

Lights lit one by one as they proceeded downward. They were inset into the walls, and their glow was much more potent than anything a torch could produce. And looking into them directly would have been strong enough to blind a person.

After much time was spent in their descent, and their eyes had fully adjusted to the dark, they could see a little smudge toward the ground, where it looked as if the steps ended. At once did all the remaining lights alight at once. They hurried down, but Tūmbṃār could feel his heart ache; the pain that had vanished sometime ago came back in full force as if to crush him then and there. Yet he persisted, and as like many other times, he bore the pain and grit his teeth.

When they had reached the bottom, Tūmbṃār gasped for breath. He noticed that the skeletons had disappeared. Looking above, the darkness seemed to have lifted. They could see the very top of the steps high above them; a speck of light in the center of their eyes.

In the center of the floor, there stood seven stone structures hewn in an unusual manner. They had a very odd mix of angular and sharp edges, and upon their surface, there was inset writing in the unknown script and various holes of which they assumed something was to be placed inside. Vrihkhaḥ then moved away from the group and beckoned them to follow. On the far side of the space, there was a large arched entrance with even more stairs leading down. The darkness that sat above them seemed to have moved down here, and Tūmbṃār and Iḷēhaḥ quivered in sight of it. It seemed as if it were following them, but ever being one step beyond. Having already spent some time scouring and finding nothing related to a bolt, they continued down further.

The passage felt narrow, though indeed was large. On account of the darkness that covered much in sight did their vision and touch feel tight and constrained. The light upon the walls did little to relieve them, and their pace had slowed considerably. The large steps seemed to stretch, as if they were made just to torture them. So deep were each of the risers, that they had to fall a great distance to reach the step below. Tūmbṃār, Iḷēhaḥ, Nakthaḥm, and Yūrmatṛtha helped the others by using air to soften their fall, and while successful, it proved exceptionally difficult to descend Vrihkhaḥ and Hvesykhiḥ. All the while, Nakthaḥm would not cease his complaining about his shackled powers, of which each time the boy and maiden would shout back: Nay!

Though it was rather obvious for the ones that had not been informed why Nakthaḥm’s power was sealed, Aiṛth asked about it.

“I understand you do not trust his nature, but should you not give him just a little more leeway?”

Before any of the others could speak, Nakthaḥm interjected, “Aye! Listen to the priestess, it would behoove you to give me a little more room to flex my might and, in due time, my benevolence.”

“I am surprised you would take his side, Aiṛth”, said Iḷēhaḥ. “’Tis unexpected, since all the chants and hymns you recite would no doubt have you calling for their destruction and asking for our protection.”

“Oh yes, I very much know that—but I cannot help but feel that the Demons it speaks of differ from the ones that live in the Hells,” she said as she tapped her mask. “There is something strange about it, for Daryurhaḥ rules over that realm and it is said that the Demons are his kin and children. So that being the case: would it not stand correct that Nakthaḥm and the other residents are more or less watchers or jailers of a sort? It would also stand to reason that we should need them for the souls that should need to suffer there to have their sins expiated.”

“I had heard that to be the case,” said Iḷēhaḥ with some doubt, “though if that were really true, it should seem more fulfilling to stay there being given a rather noble task, than to seek dominion over Ārhmanhaḥ, would it not?”

“You are both half-right on the matter!” said Nakthaḥm, now more festive. “Recall when it was that you saw Druhastuṃār, whom the high priest Furutham had summoned. He called him as a guardian but it would be more apt to call him as, Aiṛth has said, a watcher. They and their subordinates are the ones that mete out punishments across all the twenty-eight levels, of which the most well-known is the Sea of Lamentations. A place where the wailing and drudgery never ceases in the magma filled water that stretches far across under the red and black firmament.

“But do not think all my kin are in that position, for as much as I would not like to say it, very few are as noble and upright as I! Yes, most persist in those Lower Realms much like animals, and the Lord Daryurhaḥ often laments about their state of which he can do little about. He has all but resigned them to their ways, and though we have great nations that rest there, many of which I would say are grander than here, they are soiled by those lower-class kin! And it adds to just one more reason they as a whole seek to return to Ārhmanhaḥ or even to the Heavens, if it should be so.”

“And what is it you wish for, Nakthaḥm?” asked Iḷēhaḥ.

He remained silent for some time, but he had already come to an answer and wanted to see how they would react. They all looked his way, eager for what he might say. He took a deep breath and said, “To be beside you all.”

Now this was rather unexpected, and they all laughed to that. The darkness seemed to have no more control over them and their sense lightened and they felt a little more joy in that dark, drab space. But it was not to last, for the darkness slowly lifted and more of their sight came, and when they had fully crossed it, dismay came to them, feeling so greatly cheated of their hope. Winding stairs all about, moving in all directions, no doubt all as tall and wide as the ones they had just crossed and moving so deep into the earth that it seemed what they traversed was just a mere fraction of what was to come.

“Our luck just keeps getting worse and worse, doesn’t it?” said Sanyhaḥmān shaking his head.

They continued on through. Whatever joy they had thus gained was now completely deprived.