They traversed The Aisle of Soul's Pulpit—a shortcut often said to be taken by the ancient magus Gamma during his meditations and purification rituals. On either side of the corridor, spiral stones embedded in the walls emitted a soft glow, igniting ancient magic patterns when touched by a person bearing deep memories.

  Valkyrie slowed her pace, her keen eyes illuminating the stone panels with curiosity. “Be cautious here,” she said, her voice low yet filled with strength, “This corridor is filled with many sounds—more than mere echoes, but also the remnants of spells intertwined with the souls of the fugitives. At times, they speak to anyone brave enough to listen. I can feel it here.”

  Rinoa, walking beside her, nodded slowly. She approached one of the spiral stones, cautiously extending her hand. “Do you hear that, Valkyrie? It's like a soft whisper, a woman's voice… she calls out her child's name.” Her eyes sparkled, though the deep sadness within them was unmistakable.

  Fitran struggled to calm his thoughts, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can hear both of them,” he murmured softly. “A man’s voice—who knows who, but it seems he is praying. Their names blend into one, and it feels…,” he paused, searching for the right words, “Is this the residue of a protective incantation, or perhaps a lament?”

  Valkyrie lowered her head, her eyes studying the runes on the floor. “There is a power here that runs deeper than mere words,” she said, pressing one point with her glimmering metal finger. In an instant, a golden-blue light flared to life, forming a stunning glyph pattern. She sensed the voices gathering as if within an unseen space, waiting to be revealed. “We must honor them,” she continued, her voice trembling with profound reverence.

  Rinoa felt the presence of a strong, spirited aura surrounding her. “They once existed, and now…,” her head bowed slightly, “Perhaps only memories remain as a reminder.”

  Fitran took a deep breath, striving to calm himself amid the tension as the hallway seemed to absorb all sounds from the outside world. “Every step we take here… could be our last,” he asserted firmly. “Stay with me. We must not be separated.”

  “We will not fail,” Valkyrie declared with conviction, even as a hint of doubt cloaked her voice. “We will find what we are seeking—that is my promise.”

  Suddenly, the ethereal spirit of an old magus appeared in the center of the corridor—a shadow of a man draped in tattered robes, his eyes appearing to pierce through the veil of time. His gaze was fixed upon Rinoa, as if attempting to penetrate the deepest layers of her heart and mind. His voice, rough yet resolute, echoed in the cold air, “Do not overlook anyone. Every soul that wrote their name in this corridor once held a hope to be returned home. If you grasp a single memory, also hold onto a hope for those who could not find their way out.”

  Rinoa felt a tremor within her chest, a kind of emotional upheaval that words struggled to express. With deep reverence, she bowed her head, her voice trembling softly, “We do not wish to forget anyone. Yet, the world out there has swallowed far too many meaningful names.” There was a sorrow in her tone, as if she bore a weight that grew heavier each time she had to leave someone behind.

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  The spirit smiled bitterly, its gaze filled with a profound sense of longing and sorrow. “That is the duty of a true magus. It is not merely to heal wounds, but also to refuse to forget. I will entrust this purification glyph to you—if ever you find yourself confronted by the shadows of despair outside, use it. One incantation to erase trauma, and one to summon names.” It extended a hand, appearing to reach for something unseen, enveloping Rinoa in a deep magical aura.

  The light of the glyph flowed gently into Rinoa's palm, sending a warmth that penetrated and spread throughout her body, tingling as if awakening long-buried memories. Shadows hidden deep in her heart began to surface, the faces etched in her mind forever. At the end of the corridor, a figure appeared—an ethereal child’s spirit, running joyfully among the stone panels, their cheerful laughter echoing before fading into the cold walls. Rinoa felt tears pressing to flow; each of that child’s laughs brought a yearning for what was lost.

  Fitran examined the glyph intently, his voice barely above a whisper, echoing in the silence of the corridor filled with painful memories. “I have heard tales of them,” he said, his words rasping. “The blessed spirits of the purification glyph can return, as if they are coming home in the dreams of those who still remember them. Perhaps this is the reason behind the discovery of those names in places that ought to be forgotten.”

  Valkyrie replied, her gaze distant and melancholic, her eyes expressing a deep yearning. “I long for more than just a silent protector,” she declared with resolute energy. “I want to be part of that world of reminders— a witness who carries one more name from the darkness into the light. There is extraordinary power in remembrance, isn’t there?”

  They continued their steps, approaching The Echoing Aisle of Magic—a path adorned with magnificent magitek panels and glittering purple crystals, remnants of a place where refugees once fought fiercely to send messages or warnings to the surface. Here, the echoes of spells sometimes etched the walls, leaving a mark that would never fade:

  "My child, do not be afraid. I am with you, though the world is engulfed in darkness."

  "When the last light shines, call my name. I will come swiftly."

  "Do not let your spiral fade before dawn breaks."

  Rinoa closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the voices to seep into her soul, then fixed a piercing gaze on Fitran and Valkyrie. “Every corridor holds hopes that remain unfulfilled,” she said, her voice soft yet filled with conviction. “If we can emerge from this darkness, I promise… I will bring one name from among them back to the world.”

  Valkyrie smiled, though her smile appeared somewhat stiff, as if her whole being bore an invisible burden. The sound of her engine now echoed, becoming more than just a tool; it resonated with a tone akin to a prayer. She gazed far ahead, as if charting the path they would take. “Consider this, Fitran,” she spoke, her voice ringing clear yet resolute, “the last strength that remains in Gamma is not merely for survival, but to unite hope and magic into a single tale.”

  Fitran carefully brushed his fingers against the ancient glyphs etched into the wall, his face radiating a profound longing. He then whispered, his voice barely audible in the oppressive silence. “One name,” he murmured, “for those who wait in this darkness— we shall bear witness. Your names are not yet finished. They will never be finished.”

  Far down the corridor, the sound of their footsteps created a rhythm, interspersed with the gentle rumble of the ancient magic echoing all around, like a soft melody from the long-gone inhabitants. This refuge seemed to carve out new meaning, nurturing hope amid the ruins of the world. In the tension woven between them, Valkyrie felt her spirit reignite. Remembering that a simple conversation in the darkness could become a beacon, one small glyph could serve as the last legacy refusing to fade away amidst all calamities. She turned to Fitran, furrowing her brow. “Will we find a way out?” she asked, with a hope that flickered faintly in her eyes. Fitran replied, “We must, we must believe in the strength that remains.”