** Could an undying love blossom in the ruins of a shattered world? **
And so the world of men was lost
and a new one, our world,
was born.
- Morrígan
Goddess of the Battle
of the Túatha Dé Danann -
4th cycle anno Bellum.
The Second World War...
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Down here, on the damp stone, her shoes made a dull, echoing sound. The vault in this corner was dark and moist, with only a few fires lighting up the gloomy darkness. It didn't stink like in the depths of the catacombs, but the air was thick and stuffy. Whimpering could be heard from some of the cells and pleading from others, where the prisoners perhaps had even more strength. They flitted past like shadows without giving the poor souls a second glance.
"This way," whispered Geryon. The scratching of stone sounded with every step he took as the gargoyle led them through the dungeons. The animated statuette of a handsome young man with a flowing toga had once come from ancient Greece and had been an exhibit in the Louvre. Today, he serves as the auction house's silent observer and guardian. As annoying as these stone eyes might sometimes be, they had their uses.
"There ... in the furthest cell," the stone lips whispered to her, and the head of light-colored alabaster turned alertly to peer into the darkness behind them. "You won't have much time," he continued, and Myreille nodded in understanding.
"That's all right. Thank you. Hurry back to your place before someone notices you're gone."
For a moment, Geryon stood so still that you would have thought he really was just a statue. But then Stein cringed as he nodded. Where his eyes usually stared blankly, the narrow brows drew together in concern this time.
"This thing is spreading far and wide ... Something is still hiding in the darkness. Something we can't see. The stone ... it trembles and whispers ... Take care, Myra," he murmured, turning away and hurrying back the way he had led her.
The undead sighed softly. All those vaesen with their habit of speaking in riddles, rhymes or strange sentences were an incredibly annoying. The fae, in particular, loved these games, and the gargoyles were no exception. But she didn't have time for that now.
She overcame the last few steps with long strides and stopped in front of the small cell with a mesh of thin iron bars. This dungeon was ideal for holding vaesen and humans captive. Each of these cells had its own unique features, and the one where the Caith-Sith now sat was no exception. Cold-forged iron blocked his way... the same rare material that had been used to forge the damned dagger she had been looking for. The only material that could not only imprison Fae but also kill them.
