The air was growing tighter, and the walls closed in with it. The corridor Alpha was walking through seemed to be swallowing him bit by bit. Every step echoed with a creak through the emptiness, as if the place itself was breathing slowly… or watching him.
The walls were decorated with faded carvings, some of which glimmered briefly before dimming again, as if trying to speak. Alpha brushed his hand along one of them and felt a faint warmth—a subtle shiver that ran across his skin. As he approached a narrow junction in the passage, he suddenly stopped.
"This wall…" he muttered, stepping closer. He stared at the aligned stones and pressed his fingers against a small protruding piece. A moment of silence… then a faint clicking sound. The wall began to move. It wasn't sliding or crumbling—it was as if something inside was pulling the stones away.
Behind the wall was a small room, cloaked in shadows and ash. Alpha stepped inside, eyes scanning every corner. In the center, upon a low stone pedestal, lay an ancient scroll bound with frayed leather. It bore strange drawings and writings, similar to those etched on the outer walls.
He unwrapped it slowly. Page after page revealed delicate lines forming circles, knots, and shapes unlike anything he'd ever seen. The texts were indecipherable, yet strangely familiar—like a language he once knew but had long forgotten.
"These aren't just scribbles… they're a story. Or a map. Or maybe… my history?" he murmured, trying to decipher the symbols.
But he didn't get the chance to finish the thought. The silence of the room was broken by the sound of footsteps. He turned sharply toward the passage, hand on his dagger, eyes narrowing with focus. At the end of the corridor stood a being unlike anything he had fought before. It wasn't a beast. It wasn't a man. Its body was cloaked in a long robe of shadow, and its face… was unclear, as if mist hovered eternally around it.
The creature spoke in a hollow voice, in tangled tongues—then suddenly, one phrase became clear:
"At last… you've awakened."
Alpha froze. That language… it was his. "Who are you?" he asked sharply.
"I am the warden, the prisoner, the witness of this world's fall… And you—you are the one who should not be here."
"And this sword? These markings? Are they mine? Or some forgotten theft?" Alpha retorted.
The creature laughed—a dry, ancient sound like it had crawled out of a sealed grave. "Nothing here is given. Everything must be paid for."
And just like that, the being vanished, as if it had never been there. Alpha stood in stunned silence. He stepped forward, past where the shadow had stood, until he reached the end of the corridor, where a faint light was spilling from an open chamber.
There, in the center of that room, sat a towering throne made of bone, cloaked in a thick layer of dust as though untouched for thousands of years. The skeletal figure seated upon it was still intact, its bones interwoven as if still clinging to life. In its grasp—a sword of peculiar design.
The sword's markings mirrored the carvings, yet they pulsed faintly, their deep crimson glow resembling dying embers.
Alpha stepped closer, studying it.
"Why does it seem like it's breathing?... Even the dead here refuse to let go of their weapons," he whispered.
He reached out. The bones offered no resistance. The moment his fingers touched the hilt, the skeleton collapsed into ash—as if it had been waiting for this moment to be released.
A strange feeling washed over him—not fear, but something ancient, like a reunion. The sword was warm. Alive. As though it had been waiting for him.
But he wasn't alone. Beside the throne, nearly hidden within the cracked stone, he noticed a small door. He opened it and entered a narrow, dark room lined with rotting shelves.
Ancient books filled the space, most without titles. Some were written in unknown languages. Others held twisted illustrations and unnatural movements—resembling rituals or transformations.
What drew his eyes, though, was a black book with cracked leather. It was… breathing. He picked it up, and the moment he opened it, the first page lit up with a faint purple glow—then dimmed again.
He stared at it for a moment, then closed it and slipped it into his satchel.
And at that instant, the room shook.
"Damn it! Did I just take something I wasn't supposed to?" he shouted.
The shelves toppled, the walls cracked, and dust burst into the air. Alpha sprinted out of the room, past the throne, sword still in hand. But the further he went, the stronger the tremors grew—as if the place was bound to the sword… or the book.
Behind him, the throne cracked apart. A pillar of light burst from the floor, and the ceiling exploded, hurling stones in every direction.
Suddenly, a massive wall on the opposite side groaned open, revealing a dark exit.
The escape wasn't easy. The path was littered with debris, and rocks rained from above. From deep within the shadows, whispers echoed… and heavy footsteps followed.
He turned—but the darkness was too thick to see anything. He ran, weaving between collapsing pillars, dodging falling stone, the sword still pulsing in his grip.
At the end of the tunnel, his breath faltered—but he saw it: light. An opening to the outside. Without hesitation, he leapt for it. The moment he crossed through, the entrance caved in behind him, sealing that hidden world away.
He collapsed to his knees, gasping for air—the book still in his satchel, the sword still in his hand.
Lifting his head, he looked at the cloud-covered sky and whispered,
"What did I just awaken?... And what will rise with me?"