THE BURIED GOD
Chapter 20: The Memory
The elder led them to a door at the end of the hall.
It was made of iron, black and rusted, its surface scarred by years of weather and neglect. The lock was old, the keyhole was dark, the handle was cold.
“Behind this door is the memory of the mountain,” the elder said. “The memory of the god. The memory of the hunger.”
“What will we find?”
The elder was silent for a long moment.
“The truth.”
She opened the door.
The room beyond was small. No windows. No furniture. No light. Just darkness.
And a well.
In the center of the floor.
Stone. Ancient. Deep.
Damon walked to the edge.
The water at the bottom was black. Not the black of night, not the black of shadow — a deeper black. An older black. The black of the hunger.
“What is this?” he asked.
“The Well of Memories,” the elder said. “The priestesses used it to speak with the god. To feed him. To bury him.”
“How does it work?”
“You look into the water. You see the past. You feel the hunger. You become the memory.”
Vespera stepped forward.
Her silver eyes were fixed on the black water.
“I’ll do it.”
“Vespera—”
“I was a priestess. I buried the god. I know the hunger.”
“You were dead for a thousand years.”
“I was. I am. I will be. Time has no meaning here.”
She knelt at the edge of the well.
She looked into the water.
The black water rippled.
The room grew colder.
The shadows deepened.
And then—
She screamed.
Damon grabbed her shoulders.
“Vespera!”
Her eyes were silver. Brighter than he had ever seen them. Brighter than the heart. Brighter than the seed. Brighter than the hunger.
“I see him,” she whispered.
“The god?”
“The god. He’s not sleeping. He’s waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
She looked at him.
Her silver eyes were wet.
“For you.”