Ronan stood amidst the dimly lit chamber, the air thick with sorrow and forgotten memories. The walls were lined with ancient carvings depicting scenes of torment, war, and kneeling figures bound in chains. A faint blue luminescence pulsed from cracks in the ceiling, barely illuminating the transparent forms gathered before him.
There were dozens of them.
Souls.
Their figures drifted in silence, translucent and worn thin by time. Hollow eyes lingered on Ronan with quiet desperation, as though they had long forgotten hope yet still clung to it out of instinct. One of them stepped forward—a tall man with a ghostly beard and sunken features. His voice carried the weight of centuries. "What do you want to know?"
Ronan met his gaze, suppressing the unease crawling beneath his skin. "Why are you trapped here?"
The man smiled faintly, though there was no warmth in it. "We may disappoint you. This story belongs to an age long buried. Digging into old history rarely brings fortune."
Ronan folded his arms. "Then tell me this. If you're trapped down here, how do you know anything about the outside world?"
A woman drifted closer, her long spectral hair floating as if underwater. Her voice sounded like wind slipping through broken stone. "We can only see and hear what happens inside this cellar… and sometimes within the mansion above. Nothing beyond it." Her eyes lifted toward the ceiling. "We do not know what lies outside these walls. We have not seen the sky in a very long time."
"Then how do you know time has passed?"
"Visitors."
The bearded spirit answered. "Every hundred years or so, someone eventually finds this place. Some come seeking treasure. Others come by accident."
Ronan frowned. "And none of them helped you?"
A silence followed. The spirits exchanged glances heavy with old disappointment. "We asked," the woman said quietly. "But none could grant what we truly wanted."
Ronan looked around the chamber again. "And this mansion?"
"It was not always here," another spirit answered. A scarred man emerged from the crowd, his features sharper, his expression colder. "This place existed long before the structure above. Beneath this chamber lies a sealed mine. A massive reservoir of soul energy."
Ronan's eyes narrowed. "A mine?"
The scarred spirit nodded. "Soul energy gathers here naturally. Endless. Dense. Ancient. The mansion was later built to exploit it." His expression darkened. "It became a laboratory." The room seemed colder as he spoke. "They experimented with soul energy. Humans. Beasts. Monsters. Anything they could drag into these halls." A faint tremor ran through several spirits nearby. "For ten years, suffering filled this place."
Ronan felt his jaw tighten. "What happened?"
"One of their creations escaped." The scarred spirit's gaze drifted toward the darkness behind Ronan.
"It slaughtered everyone."
"Everyone?"
"The researchers. Guards. Servants."
His eyes hardened.
"The master of the experiments survived. He destroyed the creature afterwards and sealed this place forever."
Ronan frowned.
"And then?"
"We do not know."
The answer came from several spirits at once.
"He left."
"Abandoned everything." The chamber fell silent again.
Ronan exhaled slowly. "What exactly are you?"
The bearded spirit looked at him for a long moment. "We are prisoners."
Ronan's eyes sharpened. "Prisoners?"
"From the Kingdom of Oranyth." The name carried a strange weight.
Several spirits lowered their heads immediately after it was spoken. The woman looked uneasy. "You should not say that name carelessly."
Ronan noticed the shift instantly. "Why?"
"Bad luck," she whispered.
The scarred spirit spoke more firmly. "Some names are better left buried."
Ronan remained silent, curiosity stirring. "The Kingdom of Oranyth?" he repeated slowly. "I've never heard of it."
The reaction was immediate. The spirits froze. Confusion spread across their faces.
"You have never heard of Oranyth?" the bearded spirit asked.
Ronan shook his head. "I live in the Serenwyn Kingdom."
Several spirits exchanged uncertain looks. "Serenwyn…" one muttered. "We do not know that kingdom."
"It came later," Ronan said. "It's a vassal kingdom under the Empire of Solmaris." At the mention of Solmaris, the spirits stirred.
"Empire?" the woman whispered.
Ronan nodded.
"Solmaris is an empire."
A strange stillness settled over the chamber. The spirits looked at one another, disbelief slowly giving way to something heavier. Melancholy. The bearded spirit lowered his head. "So Solmaris still stands."
"Very much."
"And Oranyth?"
Ronan hesitated.
He remembered many fragmented stories told in distant taverns and temple archives.
"There was no mention of Oranyth"
The words landed like a blade. No one moved. No one spoke. The silence carried grief too old for tears.
Finally, the scarred spirit spoke. "A few thousand years ago, someone came here." His voice grew distant. "He knew the name Oranyth." Ronan listened quietly. "He called it a kingdom of sinners." The scarred spirit's jaw tightened. "He said nothing remained of it." His eyes drifted downward. "He refused to help us because of where we came from."
The woman closed her eyes. "Our kingdom is not merely gone." Her voice trembled. "It has vanished." The sadness in the chamber deepened. Not only destroyed but forgotten.
Ronan felt something tighten in his chest. These souls had endured centuries believing their homeland still existed somewhere above. Instead, history itself had erased it.
The bearded spirit finally looked back at Ronan. "We asked about Solmaris because we needed to know." His voice cracked. "When did it become an empire?" "When did we disappear?"
Ronan had no answer for the first question. Only silence.
The spirits lowered their heads. The grief spreading through them felt heavier than chains.
After several moments, the woman looked toward him again. "What do you want from me?" Ronan asked quietly.
The spirits drifted closer. One by one, they bowed. "We want freedom."
Ronan frowned. "You want me to release you?"
The scarred spirit shook his head. "No."
His eyes lifted toward the massive statue at the centre of the chamber.
Chains of faint silver light extended from every spirit, connecting them to its surface.
Ronan noticed them clearly now.
Each soul was tethered. "It was Solmaris," the scarred spirit said. "They found us. They imprisoned us here. The war became chaos… and we were forgotten."
Ronan stared at the chains. "So you weren't hiding during the war."
"No."
The bearded spirit answered softly. "We were prisoners."
Ronan stepped closer to the statue, observing the chains without touching them.
"They're linked to this."
"Yes."
The woman nodded.
"As long as the chains remain, we cannot leave."
"Break them," another spirit whispered. "And we enter the cycle again."
The scarred man shook his head. "But we do not want reincarnation."
Ronan looked at him. "What do you mean?"
"We want erasure." The words hung heavily.
"Not rebirth, memory or another life."
The woman met Ronan's gaze. "We are tired. A thousand years is enough."
Ronan remained silent. The chamber felt impossibly still.
The bearded spirit spoke again. "You conquered the Silver Flame."
Ronan's eyes sharpened. "You know about it?"
"In our time, it was called the Ghost Flame. It burns the soul itself."
Ronan frowned. "I still cannot properly control it."
"You do not need to." The scarred spirit gestured toward the chains.
"As long as the Ghost Flame touches the bindings, they will disappear. And with them… us."
Ronan lowered his gaze. The silence stretched. He could feel the weight of their hope pressing into the air around him. Not desperation. Acceptance. They had already endured eternity. They only wished for an ending.
Finally, Ronan spoke. "I'll do it."
The spirits stared. Shock rippled through the chamber. The bearded spirit's expression trembled. "You would grant this to us?"
Ronan nodded slowly. "A punishment may last for life." His eyes hardened. "But not forever."
The woman bowed her head deeply. "Thank you."
Ronan paused. "One last question."
The spirits looked up.
"The Ghost Flame. Why does no one seek it?"
The scarred spirit's expression shifted. The bearded man sighed.
"The Ghost Flame devours. It cannot coexist with other flames. It consumes them. And eventually, it consumes its owner."
Ronan listened carefully.
"It feeds on the soul. Most who attempt to wield it fall into madness."
His gaze sharpened.
"You've already seen nightmares, haven't you?"
Ronan remained quiet. That answer was obvious. The woman added softly,
"It can erase traces of existence. Even lingering Aether signatures disappear beneath it. You seem special in some way, but I can not actually point it out. The Ghost Flame should already have started to erode your soul, yet you are perfectly fine. Maybe you can really tap into the full potential of this Ghost Flame" Then she paused for a second and said, "Ghost Flame is related to soul and if you really want to uncover the truth or the origin of this Flame. Never ever abandon stergthing your soul."
Ronan nodded. Then he raised his hand. A silver ember flickered into existence above his palm. The chamber dimmed. The Ghost Flame danced silently, its pale glow reflecting across countless spectral faces.
The spirits knelt. One voice emerged from among them. "What is your name?"
"Ronan." He paused. "Ronan Greystone."
A faint smile touched the bearded spirit's face. "Thank you, Ronan."
Ronan looked toward the chains. "May you finally rest." He released the flame. Silver fire drifted through the chamber like falling starlight.
It touched the chains first.
The silver fire wrapped around the bindings like living threads, spreading along each spectral link. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the chains ignited soundlessly.
The flame raced across every connection, climbing toward the massive Light Goddess statue at the center of the chamber. Silver cracks spread across its surface, glowing brighter with every passing second.
The instant the fire reached the statue, the air changed.
A crushing pressure descended without warning.
It slammed into Ronan's soul like an invisible mountain, ancient and merciless. His knees nearly buckled as the weight pressed down from every direction. The chamber trembled faintly, dust drifting from the ceiling as the statue radiated a suffocating divine presence.
Ronan sucked in a sharp breath.
The pressure felt familiar.
The same overwhelming force he had once sensed when he gazed upon the Light Goddess statue with Keen Eyes.
His chest tightened, yet he refused to step back.
No screams followed.
Instead, the chains shattered one after another beneath the Ghost Flame. The bindings dissolved into silver ash, and the spirits began to glow. Their forms unravelled slowly, breaking apart into drifting particles of light as centuries of imprisonment finally loosened their hold.
One by one, the chains dissolved. The souls shimmered. Their forms began to unravel into countless silver fragments.
The spirits looked lighter as they faded, as though centuries of suffering had finally loosened their grip. Several wept. Others smiled. Their final expressions held relief. Gratitude. The bearded spirit looked toward Ronan one last time. "Thank you." The words echoed softly as he vanished.
Soon, only silence remained. The chamber felt emptier. The pressure on Ronan also vanished, and Ronan fell onto his knee, paining hard. He took a few more minutes to finally stand again.
The Ronan stood alone beneath the pale glow, staring at the now-dark statue. He slowly extinguished the Ghost Flame.
"Rest well."