The darkness pressed against Eliard like a living thing.
Cold. Suffocating. Unnatural.
He staggered back, breath shallow, as whispers slithered through the void. They weren't words—at least, not in any language he recognized. But their meaning clawed into his mind.
You are not meant to be here.
A sudden force struck his chest, sending him tumbling onto the cobblestones. The impact rattled his bones, but the pain barely registered. Slowly, the world flickered back—the dim lights, the curling mist, the uneven stones beneath him.
The cloaked figure was gone.
Eliard's pulse hammered in his ears. Was it an illusion? A warning? His hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into his palm to ground himself. Whatever had just happened, it wasn't normal.
He should leave. Run. Get as far from this place as possible.
But then he saw it—a small, ornate card lying in the bloodstained puddle where he had woken up.
A playing card.
Something about it pulled at him. Hesitation warred with curiosity before he reached out, fingers brushing the damp surface. The moment he touched it, a sharp, searing pain lanced through his skull. Visions—fractured and chaotic—flashed before his eyes.
A towering figure wreathed in shadow, holding the same card between clawed fingers. A crimson moon hanging over a ruined city. A book, bound in chains, its pages shifting as if alive.
Then, a voice—deep and resonant, unlike the whispers before.
Find the rest.
Eliard gasped, ripping his hand away. The visions vanished, but the weight of their meaning pressed down on him.
Find the rest?
His heart pounded as he took in the unfamiliar city, its towering buildings looming like silent watchers. The world suddenly felt much larger, much more dangerous. He wasn't just a lost soul in a strange land anymore.
He was part of something much bigger.
And there was no turning back.