GRAVEHOOK

Chapter 7: Gate Communion

“Read the rest.”

Sylveth’s voice carried calmly across the underground chamber while chains groaned beneath the abyss.

Draeven stared at the parchment in his hands.

The page looked old enough to crumble apart. Church seals marked the corners alongside signatures from clergy long buried beneath cathedral stone.

But one signature stood above the others.

Aurell Mordryn. His father. Draeven’s eyes stopped there. For several seconds he heard nothing except the slow pounding of blood inside his skull.

Malgraves stepped closer carefully.

“What is it?”

Draeven handed him the document without answering. The priest’s face changed the moment he read the lower section.

“God preserve us…”

Oric looked between them anxiously.

“What does it say?”

Malgraves swallowed once before speaking.

“It says the communion ritual required a blood relative to complete the binding.”

The mountain seemed colder suddenly. Draeven looked toward Sylveth.

“My father agreed to this?”

“No,” she answered softly. “He volunteered.”

The words hit harder than the curse ever had.

The black veins beneath Draeven’s skin flared painfully up his throat. Mournhook vibrated against his hand like a living thing reacting to his anger.

Oric stared at him.

“You never knew?”

Draeven ignored the question. His mind had already returned to the memory from moments earlier.

A child standing before the abyss. Blood everywhere. Hands forcing him toward the pit.

Not strangers. Church robes. His breathing slowed dangerously. Sylveth watched him carefully through the black glass veil.

“The church feared what slept beneath Blackwater,” she continued. “It could influence minds across entire regions. Corrupt flesh without touching it. So they searched for bloodlines capable of surviving contact.”

“And they found mine.”

“They created yours.”

Silence settled heavily after that. Even the chains below the abyss seemed quieter now.

Malgraves looked physically shaken.

“No bloodline survives corruption naturally,” the priest whispered. “The church engineered hunters.”

Sylveth nodded.

“Generation after generation. Failed children buried beneath cathedrals. Failed hunters burned before they turned.” Her gaze returned to Draeven. “But your father’s line adapted better than expected.”

Draeven’s jaw tightened.

“He fed me to that thing.”

“He believed he was saving mankind.”

The answer disgusted him more than rage would have. Severin finally moved from the pit’s edge.

“You should be honored,” the executioner said calmly. “Most subjects died screaming within minutes.”

Draeven looked at him coldly.

“And what exactly are you?”

Severin smiled faintly.

“A survivor.”

The answer carried too much truth behind it.

Mournhook whispered softly. He smells like the old chambers. Draeven understood immediately.

Severin was another experiment. Not the same kind. Something older. More stable. Maybe worse.

The children inside the cages suddenly began whispering together again. Not words at first. Just low murmuring. Then every head slowly turned toward Draeven at once.

Their black eyes widened.

“He remembers now,” they whispered together.

The abyss answered.

A deep rumble shook the chamber hard enough for dust to rain from the ceiling. Several chains snapped below with thunderous cracks.

Malgraves backed away immediately.

“The seal is failing.”

Sylveth remained calm.

“It was always temporary.”

Draeven folded the parchment carefully and slid it inside his coat.

“You brought me here for a reason.”

The Veilmother nodded once.

“The church cannot stop what’s beneath us anymore. But you can.”

“Why would I help any of you?”

“Because if the chains break fully, every city from Brașov to the Black Sea dies first.”

The mountain groaned again.

This time something slammed violently against the abyss walls below. The impact shook the entire chamber.

Oric nearly fell.

One of the cages burst open nearby as black corruption spread suddenly through the iron bars like living veins.

A child inside began screaming.

His skin darkened rapidly while bones twisted beneath the flesh. Transformation. Too fast.

Malgraves rushed toward the cage instinctively.

“Help him!”

Draeven moved first.

Mournhook swept downward and severed the corrupted bars before the spreading black veins reached the others. The transformed child lunged immediately with a distorted shriek.

Draeven caught him midair. Too light. Too fragile.

The boy could not have been older than ten. Black corruption pulsed beneath translucent skin while his jaw stretched unnaturally wider.

“Please…” the child whimpered suddenly.

Human again. For half a second. Then the corruption surged violently through him.

Mournhook whispered. End it. Draeven’s grip tightened. The child looked directly into his eyes.

Terrified.

The gauntlet closed around the boy’s throat before the transformation finished.

One sharp motion. The neck broke instantly. Silence followed.

Oric looked sick.

Malgraves lowered his eyes quietly. Only Sylveth watched without judgment.

Draeven laid the body down carefully. Another chain snapped below the abyss. Louder this time. The voice returned immediately inside his skull. You carry his violence beautifully. Pain exploded behind Draeven’s eyes.

He staggered backward as flashes tore through his mind again.

A battlefield beneath black skies. Hunters wearing his bloodline crest. The same abyss open centuries earlier. Something enormous climbing from darkness while entire armies burned.

Then one final image. His father kneeling before the pit.

Crying.

“I’m sorry,” the memory whispered.

Draeven came back violently, breathing hard.

Blood dripped steadily from his nose onto the stone floor. Malgraves grabbed his shoulder.

“What did you see?”

Draeven wiped the blood away slowly.

“My father.”

Sylveth studied him carefully.

“The memories grow stronger near the gate.”

“What exactly is down there?”

For the first time since meeting her, hesitation crossed the Veilmother’s posture. Not fear. Respect.

“The first king.”

The title settled strangely inside the chamber. Severin finally spoke again.

“Long before churches or kingdoms, it ruled these mountains. Entire civilizations vanished trying to bury it.” He looked toward the abyss. “The church renamed it a demon because mankind fears old gods less when they sound simple.”

The abyss rumbled again. Mournhook’s whisper became strained now.

We should leave.

Draeven frowned slightly. The scythe had never sounded afraid before.

That mattered. One of the remaining chains suddenly jerked upward violently.

Then snapped.

The sound that followed shook the chamber harder than anything before.

A laugh.

Deep. Ancient. Endless. Every lantern flame died instantly. Darkness swallowed the underground halls. Children screamed inside the cages.

Somewhere near the abyss, stone cracked apart.

Then two enormous red eyes opened below. Not near the bottom. There was no bottom. The thing had climbed higher. Much higher.

Malgraves whispered a prayer under his breath.

Oric stumbled backward into the wall. Even Severin looked tense now. Only Sylveth stepped closer to the abyss.

Almost reverently.

The massive eyes fixed directly onto Draeven through the darkness. Then the voice returned. Not inside his skull this time. Inside the chamber itself.

“You are smaller than your father.”