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2024-11-18 19:10:55An unbearable iciness stood heavy in the atmosphere around the group who were petrified in front of the monumental figure of Zarekth, shrouded in all directions. The sculpture remained dilapidated but there was a strong feeling, a force, which made the very ground and the rocks they stood and walked in vibrate with the ancient eldritch energy that had long been erased from time.
Lyra found it rather hard to ignore how it was working its way towards her epicenter, an irksome oscillation that brought all kinds of creeps to the back of her neck. Harrison shone his flashlight on the inscription carved into the pedestal of the statue. He wore a frown as if concentrating hard on something. His fingers ran over the other symbols as if trying to make sense of the hundreds of years that lay in the past. The first mechanism in his breath spoke about hope inside which a strange excitement girth had wrapped around it. Generally, it looked like that of a person who became an area in which people saw a place, where images were kept, and the people stored them in every historian’s fantasy. “This is it,” he said in a near whisper. It was directed more to himself than to the others. There was amazement in his voice. A note of wonder crept into his tone. “This is Zarekth, the god who was sealed away.” Lyra fought the urge to roll her eyes. Not because she didn’t believe him—there was something undeniably eerie about the place, a heaviness that made it impossible to dismiss the statue as mere stone—but because Harrison always got this way around ancient relics. His passion for history was infectious, but at times like this, it bordered on obsession. Feigning exaggerated wonder, she leaned in closer. “So, what’s the story? Zarekth just pissed off the wrong gods and ended up as a lawn ornament?” Harrison’s eyes lit up, eager to share his knowledge. “Kind of. Zarekth was the god of chaos and order, which made him unpredictable. Even the other gods didn’t know which side of him would dominate—whether he’d bring balance or destruction. He was powerful. Too powerful. The gods feared him because they couldn’t control him, so they sealed him away, locking him in a prison that no one could find.” Ivy, who had been unusually quiet, let out a laugh that sounded forced. “Sounds like someone I know.” She shot a glance at Lyra, her smile teasing. Lyra smirked. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Harrison, oblivious to their banter, pressed on. “He’s been trapped for thousands of years. No one even remembers where, exactly, but the legends say that his prison was hidden somewhere so remote, so dangerous, that even gods avoided it.” Lyra looked up at the statue, studying Zarekth’s face. The features were worn, the details lost to time, but the intensity of the expression remained—eyes cold and calculating, sword raised as if ready to strike down anyone foolish enough to challenge him. A chill crept over her. The thought of a god like Zarekth being trapped, buried away in some forgotten corner of the world, made her stomach twist with unease. “Seems like a rough deal,” Lyra muttered, trying to dispel the tension. “Guy gets locked up for being too powerful, and now we’re here gawking at his statue. If I were Zarekth, I’d be pretty pissed.” Ivy chuckled, elbowing her. “And that’s why you’ll make a terrible god.” Rhett, who had been leaning against a nearby wall with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, finally spoke up. “Fascinating history lesson and all, but can we maybe move this along? Or anyone got a snack? I’m starving.” Before Harrison could respond, Ivy suddenly stiffened, her playful smile fading. “Wait—did you hear that?” They all froze, their attention snapping to the shadows beyond the statue. The wind rose again and stirred the dry leaves spread on the ground, but there was something more. A low hiss, nearly inaudible, escaped the breeze yet Lyra’s edginess identified it well enough. "What was that?" Lyra murmured, glancing fast at the source of the sound, her heartbeat loud in her own ears. Ivy stared all around like a frightened animal. “It’s nothing. Just windy.” “No.” Harrison stated, but with struggle. “That wasn’t wind.” A feeling of impending doom came over the group as the whisper came louder, enveloped them and saturated their senses. Lyra’s grip on the torch she had held firm despite the attempted mental opposition from herself, knowing well it was purely psychological, had her mind’s eye being drawn to the statue. A gaze seemed to be penetrating hers from Zarekth’s stony eyes, as if he was demanding the very recess of her mind. “I am not okay with this,” Rhett whispered, retreating back. “Can we leave now?” Ivy nodded, her bravado fading. “Yeah, maybe we should.” But Harrison remained glued to the spot, his gaze fixed on the statue’s inscription. “Wait… there’s something more here.” He crouched down, his fingers tracing the ancient carvings. “This isn’t just a statue. It’s… it’s like it’s holding something back.” Lyra’s stomach twisted with unease. “Holding what back?” Harrison didn’t answer immediately, his focus still on the inscriptions. When he finally spoke, he only whispered. “Zarekth wasn’t just sealed away because the gods were afraid of him. There was something else… something worse.” Lyra took a step back, the cold dread in her chest growing stronger. Every instinct screamed at her to leave, to get out before something went terribly wrong. “We need to go. Now.” For once, Rhett didn’t argue. He was already half-turned, ready to bolt, but Ivy and Harrison hesitated, torn between curiosity and self-preservation. Lyra could see the battle playing out on Harrison’s face, his desire to uncover the truth warring with the growing fear that they had already gone too far. “We can’t leave now,” Harrison insisted, though his voice wavered. “We’re so close.” Lyra shook her head, taking another step back. “Close to what? Getting ourselves killed?” Before anyone could give a reply, a loud crack of thunder took up the air, the noise so sharp and sudden that all of them jumped. The storm clouds which had been brewing above at last emptied themselves, casting down a rain that beat relentlessly upon the ruins. “We must go,” Lyra said with an edge to her voice. Harrison paused for a breath longer, and without much of a choice, shook his head. “Yeah… yeah, let’s go.” They turned to leave. It was as if the air around them contorted, a growl emanating from below as if the earth was alive. For Lyra, her heart began to gallop when she turned to inspect the statue, its solid gaze intact although it seemed to be watching them, the wind screeching in her ears. And for the briefest moment, she swore she saw the statue move. They hurried through the ruins, the weight of Zarekth’s presence pressing down on them, the ominous rumble of thunder echoing behind them like a warning.
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Zarekth strode ahead, his long legs carrying him swiftly over the rough, uneven ground of the Abyss of Oblivion. The air here felt stale, heavy, as if it hadn't been stirred by life in centuries.The dark and jagged landscape stretched out endlessly, an eternal void, littered with the remnants of the people who had died here—skeletons scattered like forgotten memories.Whispers slithered through the darkness, soft but insistent, their words unintelligible, as if ghosts of lost souls could be heard trying desperately to make contact through thick veils of shadow.Behind him, Lyra struggled to keep up. Every step felt like an enormous effort, her legs trembling beneath her weight. It seemed as though it had been ages since she had last taken any food or drink. Her mouth felt dry, her throat scorched, and she was breathing in an erratic manner. Most likely, she wasn’t sure how far they had walked together but she had to stop, her body was aching for rest.But Zarekth, with his infuriatin
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The ruins stood like a forgotten monument, its jagged stones and crumbled walls offering shelter from the night’s chill. The distant wind whispered through the ruins, carrying the last remnants of the battle they had just escaped. Lyra’s breath came in shallow gasps, her body tired but her mind racing from the encounter. She had barely noticed the minor scratches that lined her arms and face, too preoccupied with the danger that had almost claimed them.Viana, ever the healer, moved swiftly to her side. “You’re lucky, Lyra. Nothing too serious here,” she murmured as her hands glowed with healing light, closing the shallow cuts with a practiced touch.Lyra nodded, grateful for the comfort, but her eyes drifted toward Zarekth. The god’s face was strained, his jaw clenched as he stood, trying to ignore the pain radiating from his side. The slash was deep, the blood oozing from the wound in thick golden rivulets. Lyra’s heart skipped at the sight—gods didn’t bleed red, as mortals di
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The Creatures of the Night
The dwindling fire barely illuminated the camp, casting subtle, flickering shadows. The night remained tranquil, disturbed only by the occasional leaf rustling in the breeze and the soft crackling of the embers. Lyra and Viana rested on their bedrolls, swathed in their cloaks, the fire's warmth easing them into a profound slumber.Zarekth, ever vigilant, had drifted into a restless slumber, though his mind never fully left the surrounding woods. Even in sleep, his senses remained sharp, attuned to any threat that may arise.And something was coming.The unfolding events began with a mere whisper, a faint and fragmented murmur that hovered on the fringes of consciousness. Subsequently, the ambient temperature plunged, shrouding the camp in a chilling embrace, while shadows seemed to lengthen ominously. An array of peculiar sounds permeated the atmosphere: soft skittering, faint rustling, and indistinct murmurs, suggestive of a veiled observer, a silent presence lingering nearby. As
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The Unseen Threat
The forest was alive with the murmurs of dusk—leaves rustling in the breeze, branches creaking under the weight of night-dwelling creatures, and distant howls echoing in the cool air. Lyra crouched low behind a jagged stone, her fingers tightening around the smooth wooden shaft of a borrowed bow. Viana knelt beside her, whispering instructions that only half-registered in Lyra’s buzzing mind.“Steady your hands, keep your eyes on the target,” Viana murmured, pointing toward their prey—a deer grazing in a moonlit clearing not far ahead. Its ears twitched as if sensing danger, though it continued its meal, oblivious to the two figures hidden among the shadows.Lyra exhaled deeply, feeling her heartbeat resonate loudly as she pulled the string back. Her muscles quivered under the unfamiliar strain, yet her anticipation overshadowed any physical discomfort. Peering intensely along the arrow's path, she observed her breath forming mist in the crisp air. Her focus narrowed to a singular
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The air reeked of sulfur and decay. Shadows swayed unpredictably on the uneven walls, driven by a restless, simmering fire casting erratic flickers in the heart of the chamber. Within the vast expanse, skeletal remains, devoid of flesh, stood in rows, their empty sockets giving an impression of a perpetual, haunting gaze.The oppressive heat of the place made even the darkness feel alive, writhing with malicious intent.From the depths of the gloom came laughter—low and guttural at first, then rising into a cacophony of voices, each more twisted and deranged than the last.“Awake. Awake!” one voice hissed, its tone dripping with mockery. “The son of Aureon lives again. Can you believe it?”Laughter rippled through the chamber, sharp and biting, like claws scraping against stone.“Foolish,” another voice sneered. This one was deeper, a slow rumble that seemed to shake the very ground beneath. “He should have remained buried, forgotten. Who dared disturb the seal?”A third voice join
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Fractured Memories
The group rested beneath the canopy of stars, the firelight flickering low as the chill of the night settled in. Lyra and Viana had drifted into peaceful sleep, their figures wrapped snugly in soft, woven cloaks that bore the craftsmanship of Sylvaen’s villagers. The faint sounds of their steady breathing blended with the crackle of the dying embers and the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the cool wind.Zarekth, seated a few paces away from the campfire, allowed himself to close his eyes. Just for a moment.He rarely afforded himself this luxury, knowing how vulnerable it made him. But tonight, weariness lingered at the edges of his thoughts, pressing down with a weight even he couldn’t ignore. His eyelids drooped, and in the obscurity behind them, remnants of something long concealed began to awaken. A whisper—initially faint and indistinct—intricately wove its way into his consciousness, gradually increasing in volume with each fleeting second.The words were foreign, sh
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The Road to Valestra
Zarekth scowled, his patience already wearing thin. He cast a cold glance at Viana, who stood before him with a determined look in her eyes and a travel bag slung over her shoulder. The sight of her preparing to join their journey only added to his irritation. It was enough that Lyra had been thrust into his path—an unexpected weight he hadn’t asked for—but now this? Another mortal tagging along? He released a quiet exhale, gently squeezing the bridge of his nose.“You should go back,” Zarekth said, his voice flat and commanding. “This journey isn’t for you. It’s dangerous, and you’ll only slow us down.”Viana tilted her head proudly, indifferent to the biting coolness of his refusal. "I'm no longer a child," she said in a steady tone.“Alda knows that, which is why she let me leave. I’m seeking a better future, and I’ll find my own path when the time comes. But for now, I’ll travel with you both.”Lyra, standing at Viana’s side, crossed her arms and looked at Zarekth with a raise
