《To Dream in a Dying World》 Chapter 1: Born anew An oozing liquid was the first thing the man saw. Floating in the strange substance he found comfort and warmth, but he slowly put those thoughts apart as clarity started to return. And with it, unease arrived. After his senses came back he felt the heat suffocate him as the fluid enveloped his body, causing the man to panic. He started thrashing against the strange substance, his limbs sluggish, and his movement slow. He pushed, again and again until finally, he tore through the membrane. A ripping sound followed, then the spilling of strange liquids as the man tore through the barrier. He blinked,adjusting to the light, before staring at his surroundings, his breath hitching as he took in a warm unfamiliar air. Before him stretched a corridor- not one of stone or metal. Instead it seemed to be made of flesh. and pulsated as if it had a life of its own. The passage extended endlessly as far as the man''s eye could see before vanishing into the darkness. "Where am I?" The man thought before turning back and looking to the thing where he had emerged from. It was a pod that resembled a meaty flower, markings made of unreadable symbols covering its leathery skin. He tried to reminisce about what he had done to get to this place. But the man couldn''t remember and,as his head pounded, he realized he couldn''t recall anything. The man''s memory was clouded by a thick fog. He stared at a shallow puddle in front of him in frustration and kneeled as his legs grew weak. Strangely, after getting out of that pod he didn''t stress over being in such a terrible situation. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. While wondering, the man looked at his naked reflection. He was young, barely past his twenties. Tall, not particularly well built and skinny . He had brow, messy hair and eyes, with a very ordinary face. He was unremarkable. Was this really him? The man couldn''t remember his visage well, but something about it felt off. His eyes fell on a strange brand placed upon his neck. An eye surrounded by six figures. They werent very detailed though and looked very simple. The mark felt alien in nature and when the man touched it it was unnaturally cold. "I need to leave" The man pushed himself to his feet and started walking towards the passage. There were no answers to be found in this place and he was determined to move forward. As he journeyed through the corridor the man felt his feet touching the tissue of the fleshy structure, each step making a faint squelch, as if walking through mud. Fortunately, he didn''t need to go through the dark as the walk was lit by some patches in the walls, which seemed to be fluorescent in nature, lighting the corridor in a sickly green. The tunnel seemed to stretch on and on, but after what seemed like an eternity, something broke the monotony. He saw a door, a massive structure made of black metal. Excited to have found an exit the man quickly approached the imposing gate with what little strength he had left. It loomed ahead, dark and ghastly, its touch cold and metallic in comparison to the man''s warmth. Slowly, he reached for the handle¡­ Chapter 2 :Beautiful vistas and what lurks beneath them. The man struggled to open the giant door. He was still weak, but slowly,he created enough space to slip through. He hesitated a little before finally crossing the door. There was no other place to go after all. As soon as he passed to the other side a cold gust of wind hit the man''s face, making him gasp. "Why in hell is it so much colder than the tunnel? " The man muttered angrily to himself before gazing at the environment. As he looked down he realized he was in a black, metallic platform, similar to the door. There, he gazed towards the horizon and saw a barren land of sand and jagged rocks. Further up , between the stormy clouds, a faint glow pulsed in the sky, casting shadows of a massive city over the desolate landscape. The man realized the sky lights were moving, and for a fraction of a second he saw a giant insectile wing emerge from the clouds. The man shivered¡ªnot just from the cold, but from the sheer scale of the sight before him. What was that giant creature and the place on top of it? The air was thick with the scent of iron and something faintly acidic. He took a cautious step forward, his feet clanking against the metal platform, the sound swallowed by the howling wind. His gaze drifted back to the horizon, where uneven rock formations jutted from the sand like broken ribs. Some were smooth, eroded by time and sand, while others stood sharp and angular, as if violently torn from the earth. Beyond, distant shadows slithered between the dunes¡ªtoo large to just be illusions created by the wind, yet too far to make out clearly. A sense of unease gnawed at the man''s gut. He wasn''t alone here. The man trembled as he felt the unforgiving winds pierce his skin. " I need to find clothes or I won''t get far". He looked through his surroundings, grabbed a sharp rock and returned to the fleshy passage. There, he steeled himself and pushed his revulsion back as he carved through the fleshy wall. After some time he had managed to fashion a cloak out of skin. A rather disgusting one , he thought, but it was better than succumbing to the cold. He covered himself in this strange habit, trying not to gag. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. The man had not only fashioned clothes, but also cut some meat out of the corridor for sustenance. He didn''t plan on staying any longer in that place. He needed answers, he needed to explore this strange world. The loneliness was getting to him too, so he hoped to find other people. Steeling himself, he pressed forward, each step leading him further into the unknown. Yet, as he started his journey through the rocky and cold dessert he saw a shape come closer from the distance. At first it was barely noticeable, a speck on the horizon. Then, it got closer and closer. It was too fast to be a human. The man panicked and started running back to the safety of the rocky landscape. While escaping, the man turned his head to see what was chasing him. The thing was still quite far away, but he could make out its shape. It had an arachnid body, with three pairs of legs and one pair of arms. It was grotesque, somewhere between an insect and a human nightmare given flesh. The creature''s arms were unnaturally long, each ending in claw-like fingers that twitched as if eager to grasp something. A bulbous torso covered by a black and chitinous caparace gleamed under the pale sky. Its head resembled a mans, but it had many eyes, similar to a spider and two nostrils instead of a full nose. The thing moved with terrifying speed, skittering over the jagged terrain as if it was a mere inconvenience. The man''s heartbeat pounded in his ears. He didn''t know where he was, who he was. Yet his body was giving him a simple message. "Run." He forced his legs to move, stumbling at first before pushing forward with everything he had. The cold bit into his lungs, his breath ragged as he weaved through the rocky landscape, searching for anything, anything that could hide him. A sharp screech tore through the air behind him. He didn''t dare turn around. He could hear it, the clicking of its limbs, the scraping of its claws against stone. Then, just as he felt the thing closing in, his foot caught on a loose rock. He fell hard, tumbling onto the ground, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. Pain flared through his body, but before he could rise, a shadow loomed over him. The creature had stopped a few meters away, its massive body twitching, its nostrils writhing as it sniffed the air, saliva dripping from its sickening mouth. The man held his breath. He knew it had seen him. The creater approached, its many unblinking eyes staring deep into the man''s soul. But just as it was starting to strike with its maw and claws something crashed down at full speed and grabbed the creature. This other creature was a huge bat of sorts? It was even more imposing than the horrifying thing that had chased him, yet also beautiful in a way. Blue fur adorned its body and fin like structures covered its back. Its face resembled a mix between a bat and a wolf. It took off with the creature without much trouble and the man saw how it dropped the humanoid spider from a great height, breaking its shell as a horrifying crunch resounded throughout the valley. The bat then slowly descended before feasting on its corpse. Taking advantage of the situation the man sprinted far away from that brutal scene. He didnt even know where he was going, he was just trying to escape. Only after the sounds of that creature feasting were no longer heard did the man stop. He couldnt even feel scared anymore, he laughed hysterically at the absurdity of the situation. The man wasn''t alive because he had fought, or escaped. It was just because something worse had found its meal. Chapter 3: Civilization? The man had continued his journey through the desert. As tough as the conditions had been, he had managed to survive, which made him realize there was something unnatural about him. After all, how would a normal human survive such conditions? He was not a talented fighter, and he hadn''t even managed to escape the creature, only saved through sheer luck. Yet, as he walked he felt his strength took longer to deplete, and despite his poor clothing he was handling the cold relatively well. The wind howled across the barren dunes, carrying the biting sting of sand. Still, the man trudged forward, his uneven footsteps marking the shifting ground. His lips were cracked and his throat a dry yet the thirst gnawing at him was distant . He had meat at least, the man thought as his face formed a slight self deprecating smirk. His body told him he should be suffering, yet his mind remained clear, his steps unwavering. Something was definitely wrong with him. Days had passed the man thought, or perhaps only hours. Time had lost its meaning in the endless sea of dust. The clouds covered the light of the fractured sun as it crawled across the sky, its light filtering through an ever-present haze, casting elongated shadows that looked unnatural. However, when night fell, the cold did not bite as it should have. He felt it, but it was distant, as if his body was adjusting on its own. That thought unsettled him. Had he always been this way? He tried to remember his life before waking up in that dreadful place. Before everything. Nothing came. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. A headache throbbed at the base of his skull. It was if his mind resisted the act of remembering. He knew he had a name, but even that felt distant, slipping through his grasp like grains of sand. He cursed under his breath and kept moving. The landscape started to shift little by little . The dunes gave way to stretches of cracked earth, skeletal remains of dry trees standing as sentinels against the lifeless sky. He moved through them with caution, his senses sharpening. There was something unnatural about this desolated place. He felt as if someone was watching him. At first, he thought it was just paranoia and the lingering effects of exhaustion playing tricks on his tired mind. But then he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Shadows that didn''t belong. They slithered along the edges of his vision, darting between the dead trees and rocky outcroppings. Their shapes were indistinct, wrong, they looked like figures lost in time. He also heard them, they were sobbing quietly. He did not dare to look directly, though. Instinct told him that doing so wouldnt be wise. He ignored them and pressed on. The terrain changed further, the cracked earth giving way to something more solid; stone, turned smooth by centuries of wind. He stumbled upon what remained of a road, broken and barely visible beneath the layers of dust. The sight of something man made, of something artificial, sent a shiver through him. It was proof that others had been here before. Perhaps they still were. His heartbeat quickened. He followed the road, hoping it would lead him somewhere out of this forsaken wasteland. The road carved through sharp cliffs, their edges resembling teeth, which formed a natural corridor that funneled him forward. He felt so small beneath the towering views, the weight of the land pressing in on him. Still, he did not stop. He could not afford to. Then, at last, he saw it. A silhouette stood against the fractured sky, looming in the distance. The man could see towers, walls. The remnants of a city buried in the desert''s grasp. Hope flooded through him, but it was short-lived. The architecture was old. The angles too sharp, the proportions off. It was human, or at least it had been, but time had twisted it, molding it into something different. Structures that bent at odd angles, as if caught between moments of collapse and restoration. Windows gaped like empty eyes, some covered by remnants of curtains or clothes that fluttered in the wind like withered skin. Despite its eerie appearance, it looked like a shelter, like civilization. What was left of it, at least. He stepped forward, towards the city , towards the truth of who he was. Chapter 4: Ruins The shadow of the ruined city loomed over the man as he entered it. The entrance looked ancient, a once magnificent monument now left forgotten. Many old symbols adorned it, though they were unreadable due to the passing of time. The man traced his fingers through the markings in the thick stone. They felt ancient and alien, though not as unforgiving as the harshness of the wilds. He looked towards the streets of the city. They were empty, and barren. The weathered colors suggested it had once been a place full of life. He could almost imagine the once bustling streets... "What happened? Why aren''t there any people?" As the man walked through the city he saw how the interior of the city wasn''t in a much better state than the exterior. The streets were uneven, the pavement cracked and filled with debris. Buildings stood on each side, with weathered facades, and almost seemed to be bending due to old age. Rusted signs stood in some parts, but the man couldn''t read them. The man''s footsteps echoed as he walked, swallowed quickly by the oppressive silence. No birds, no insects, only the faint and distant howl of wind could be heard. Just the city, vast and empty. There was beauty in its desolation. As he wandered deeper, the man noticed the structures grew stranger. Some buildings partially sunk into the earth, as if swallowed by the desert itself. Others stood precariously, warped by forces he could not name. Streets led nowhere, twisting in on themselves. Staircases climbed to the sky, ending abruptly in the open. Though it wasn''t a big city its laberyntic nature made it hard to navigate. The man explored some of the more eye-catching houses. As he tried entering several homes he realized that most of them were empty, aside from basic furniture. After some time searching, though he managed to find a new cloak, hanged on a chair in a small house. The man had finally been able to get rid of the disgusting skin cloak he had carved from his place of awakening. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. That wasn''t the only lucky occurrence, he also managed to find a well which still had water in it! Granted, it was murky and brown in color but it still refreshed his throat. While his new condition had given him more endurance he had been feeling quite thirsty. With his urges quenched, and new clothing the man felt a slight happiness, something he hadn''t felt since waking up. Then he heard it. A wet, rasping breath. The man froze. He had not been alone after all. He turned his head slowly. Against a crumbling wall, partially hidden in the ruins, sat a figure. At first, the man thought he was dead, but the rise and fall of his chest indicated breathing. He was slumped against the stone, wrapped in tattered cloth that had once been robes. But it was his face, rather what was left of it, that held the man''s attention. From the nose up, the flesh was gone. Not burned, not torn, but simply¡­ absent. It was a smooth, unnatural wound, as if something had erased the top half of his head. Yet, he was alive. The lower half of his face twitched as he mumbled to himself. The man swallowed and decided to step closer. "Who are you?" The wounded man jerked as if noticing him for the first time. He coughed, then let out something between a laugh and a wheeze. "A living human" the wounded man rasped. His voice was raw, distant. " A rare sight these days... You''re not the first. though. Won''t be the last either." The man hesitated. "What happened to this city?" The wounded man''s expression twisted to form a smile. He extended three things from his hand. "Three Things". he whispered. "Time. Fate. The things that walk between." The man trembled "And you? What did this to you?" The wounded man chuckled in a croaked laugh. "I saw them. I saw what wasn''t meant to be seen." His fingers twitched. "And it took." "I was once a protector, yet borrowed strength comes at a cost. This was mine" "A protector?" The man asked The wounded man stopped being coherent and started to ramble madly "Ah, I see movements in the dark. You see, my eyes are not here. They are in a void, in Eternal Night" The man stared, unease pooling in his stomach . He tried switching questions. "What do you know about this world?" The wounded man turned his head slightly as if gazing beyond the ruined city. "Nothing. And everything. The world moves, but the rules are broken. People come, but not all leave." His voice dropped to a whisper. "The land is sick. It remembers." A gust of wind swept through the streets, sending a shiver through the man. The wounded man laughed again, a dry, empty sound. "You should leave," he muttered. "Before it remembers you too." The man said nothing. He only stared at the ruined city stretching before him, a graveyard of history and things best forgotten. Chapter 5: Passing on grudges The wounded man looked at him. The man could feel his gaze, even though he had no eyes. After a bit of silence on both parts, the wounded man spoke. "I have a deal for you." The man frowned. What was that weird man thinking? "What type of deal?" The wounded man coughed, a rattling sound like sand shifting in a hollow chest. "I can give you a weapon. A cursed being like myself isn''t much of a delicacy for the bastards of these lands, so I don''t need it anymore. But you''ll have to promise me something." "Promise what?" the man asked, suspicion tightening his voice. "You have to find the one who did this to me. The one who taught me this power. Curse him! A hundred years of solitude for learning this curse!" The man said nothing at first, only studying the broken figure before him. Finally, he spoke. "What did he do to you? What do you want me to do?" The wounded man''s lips curled into something like a bitter smile. "He was the one that taught us the art of Realm Weaving. A traveling nomad, blessed with immortality. And in his supposed kindness, he gave us power." His voice cracked with resentment. "Look at me. Had I not had power, I could be in the sand with everyone else." He let out a wheezing chuckle, but it held no humor. "I want you to find him. And in whatever way you can, make him suffer. I''m sure the bastard is still alive somewhere." The man contemplated the possibilities. "What makes you think I''ll be able to do that? Or what guarantees you that I will fulfill my promise?" The wounded man exhaled sharply, a breath that almost resembled a scoff. "You don''t strike me as someone who walks away from opportunity," he said, voice hoarse yet certain. "Power in these lands is the only thing that lets you keep breathing. It can also be your doom though." He reached into the folds of his ruined robes and pulled something free¡ªa dagger. Its surface was blackened, the blade cracked as if it had been struck by lightning but refused to break entirely. The hilt was wrapped in faded leather. It emited a faint white glow when the wounded man touched it. It was warm. "This is the last thing I have left," the wounded man murmured, turning the dagger in his fingers. "It''s not just a weapon, it''s what remains of me." The man narrowed his eyes. "And if I take it?" The wounded man smiled¡ªa cracked, dry, knowing smile. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. "Then you will carry my burden." A pause. The air grew thick, heavy with unseen weight. The man reached out. And took the dagger. It was warm in his hands. It felt comforting on a way, but too hot to grant relief. It seemed as of it had a great, boiling rage inside it. The man took a step back, watching as the broken figure slumped against the stone, his breath like a death rattle. The empty space where the upper part of the face should have been seemed darker now, as though the absence itself was deepening, stretching beyond flesh and bone. The wounded man was being absorbed somehow. But before he disappeared, he gave him a final warning. "Be careful if you find him. The man who wronged me is dangerous, but he''s probably far away. The dagger will know though. And it will guide you. " The wounded man breathed in, and smiled. It was probably the first true smile he had done on a long time. "Free at last" The man looked. There was nothing left except the wall. He shivered, but he was slowly getting used to the unnatural occurences. He drew the dagger into its hilt and looked at the city to plan his next move. Something about this place gnawed at his mind. The silence had weight, pressing in on him, making his own thoughts feel louder than they should be. The city was not abandoned. No, it was merely waiting. He turned away from the wounded man''s resting place and pressed forward, deeper into the maze of crumbling buildings. Paths that should have led straight curved subtly, alleys stretched longer the moment he stepped into them. The ruined city pulsed with something unseen, an intelligence lurking beneath its shattered stones. Then, a whisper. At first, he thought it was the wind, but the voice was too deliberate, too close. It slithered into his ear as if spoken directly beside him. A name... do you have one? He stopped dead, pulse hammering. The air had thickened, humid despite the dry ruins. He turned his head, scanning his surroundings. Nothing. Do you have one? the voice repeated, teasing, curious. He clenched his jaw. He had no answer to give. He had woken in a cocoon of flesh, nameless, alone, and now... A breath of warm air brushed against his neck. He spun around. There was nothing there. A sharp creak echoed from above. His gaze snapped upward. Atop a broken archway, something crouched. It was humanoid in shape but wrong in every way. Limbs too long, fingers ending in delicate, curling tips like the legs of an insect. Its face was a smooth expanse of pale flesh, devoid of features except for a single slit where a mouth should be adorned with small sharp teeth. The creature''s body shifted, twitching in small, rapid movements, like it was adjusting to his presence. The whisper had not come from its mouth, yet he knew it had spoken. You walk where others are forgotten. Why? His throat was dry. He took a slow step back, fingers curling around the hilt of the knife at his side. "I don''t know," he admitted. The creature cocked its head. A crackling sound came from its throat, something close to a laugh. Then you will learn. It leapt. The man threw himself backward as the thing landed where he had stood, its limbs bending unnaturally to absorb the impact. Dust exploded into the air. The creature moved with a predator''s grace, not attacking immediately but circling the man, its posture almost playful. Your kind comes and goes through this place. Some stay longer than they should. He drew his knife, keeping his breathing steady. "And what happens to those who stay?" The creature twitched, its faceless head tilting. They become a memory of the past. The ground beneath his feet shuddered. The air grew heavier, like the weight of a thousand unseen eyes pressing against his skin. A realization struck him then¡ªthis city was not merely ruins. It was aware. And it did not like to be forgotten. The creature lunged. The man reacted on instinct, dodging to the side as the thing''s elongated fingers swiped through empty air. He slashed out with his knife, aiming for its torso. The blade met flesh¡ª ¡ªAnd passed through as if slicing through smoke. The creature let out a sound, not of pain, but amusement. You are not ready. Its form flickered, dissolving into the surrounding dust, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. The man staggered backward, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. The city was silent once more, as if nothing had happened. But he knew better now. The city was not dead. Chapter 6: The City Awakens The man moved through the ruins, the dagger weighing heavy at his side. The city was endless, a sprawl of broken stone and warped streets. He could no longer tell if he was walking in circles or if the city itself was shifting around him, rearranging itself whenever he looked away. The silence was oppressive. Not the silence of emptiness, but something more deliberate¡ªa hush held in reverence, like the city was waiting for something. As he moved forward, he noticed a change. The deeper he went, the more intact the ruins became. Crumbling towers stood straighter, broken archways regained their curves. The decay lessened, as though time itself unraveled in reverse the closer he got to the city''s heart.And then there were the figures.At first, he thought they were statues. In the distance they seemed like shadowed forms hunched against the walls, standing in alleys, crouching in doorways. But they were wrong. Too detailed. Too lifelike. Their bodies were frozen in various poses¡ªsome reaching out, others shielding their faces, a few curled into themselves as if bracing for something unseen. Their faces were twisted in expressions of fear, grief, or something worse.He approached one, hesitant. Its skin¡ªif it *was* skin¡ªwas dry and cracked, flaking like stone. The eyes were hollow, empty sockets staring at nothing. He reached out, brushing his fingers against its arm.A whisper slithered through his mind. *Remember us.* He recoiled, breath sharp, heart hammering. The whisper was gone as quickly as it came, but he had felt something. Not words, but a presence. A memory.He turned his head. More figures lined the streets now. They had been there all along, hidden by the city''s twisting design.The man exhaled and pressed on. The dagger at his side pulsed faintly, its glow almost imperceptible. It was leading him somewhere.Ahead, a wide stairway descended underground. Unlike the ruins above, it was untouched by time¡ªpristine stone, unbroken, steps leading into darkness. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. He hesitated at the top, listening. No wind. No sound. Only the weight of something unseen, pressing against his chest.He stepped forward.As he descended, the silence deepened, swallowing the faint echoes of his footsteps. The air grew warmer, thick with something like breath. The walls closed in, narrowing slightly. The symbols returned, but now they glowed softly, pulsing like veins beneath the stone.At the bottom of the stairs, a vast chamber stretched before him. The ceiling was high, vaulted, held up by pillars that curved unnaturally, almost organic in shape. And at the center of the room stood a monolith.It was tall, towering over him, its surface the same blackened stone as the dagger. It pulsed faintly with the same white glow. He approached, drawn by something beyond his understanding. As he reached out, a voice whispered¡ªnot from the monolith, but from within his own mind. *You are not the first.* He froze. The words were different from the whispers before. They did not plead. They did not warn. It was as if they knew him .His fingers brushed the surface, and a vision consumed him.A city, whole and thriving. Towers unbroken, streets filled with people¡ªuntil *something* came. A shadow, a presence that slithered into their minds, bending their will. The people changed. Their bodies twisted. And then, the silence came.The city hadn''t just fallen. It had changed.The vision snapped away. The man staggered back, breath ragged. He turned, ready to flee¡ªbut the stairway was gone.The chamber had changed. The monolith pulsed brighter, and the figures¡ªthe ones from the streets¡ªstood at the edges of the room now, watching. They had moved. Then, a sound. A low, shuddering breath.Not from the figures. Not from the monolith.From something else. Something waking up. Chapter 7: Memories: A Vicious City The man stood frozen, his breath shallow, his heart pounding in his chest. In a similar way, the chamber around him seemed to be pulsing, in rhythm with the monolith''s faint glow. The frozen figures lining the edges of the room moved their heads further, their hollow eyes fixed on him. They did not move, not yet, but their presence was no longer passive. They were waiting. Watching. He felt a sense of anguish come from them. The low, shuddering breath came again, louder this time, reverberating through the chambers like the growl of a colossal beast. The sound was in the air, in the walls, in the floor, in the very fabric of the city itself. The man felt it in his bones, it was like a vibration that made his teeth ache. Dust and small rocks fell from the ceiling covering the ground and hitting the man. He gripped the dagger with all his strength, its warmth seeping into his palm. The weapon still pulsed faintly. It felt heavy, both in weight and in purpose. The wounded man''s previous words echoed in his mind: "The dagger will guide you." But guide him where? To fulfill its owners vengeance? Or somewhere else? The man took a step back, his cautious eyes darting to the figures. They remained still, but their presence suffocated him. He could feel their gaze. He could feel their whispers, though no sound reached his ears. *Remember us* The words slithered into his mind again, more insistent this time. They were not pleading anymore. They were demanding. The man shook his head, trying to clear the whispers from his mind, but they only grew louder, more chaotic. Voices overlapped, memories flooding his mind¡ªfragments of lives he had never lived and faces he had never seen from people he had never met. A woman screaming. A child crying. A man laughing, his voice twisted with madness. The visions came in flashes, disjointed and overwhelming him, each one accompanied by a surge of different emotions¡ªfear, despair, rage... He stumbled, clutching his head. The dagger slipped from his hand, clattering to the floor. The sound was sharp, cutting through the chaos in his mind. The whispers stopped abruptly, leaving him gasping for air. The chamber was silent again, but the tension was palpable. The frozen figures had shifted. Their heads were no longer tilted; they were now fully facing him, their expressions frozen in a mix of sorrow and accusation. One of them¡ªa figure with its arms outstretched¡ªtook a single, jerking step forward. The man''s breath hitched. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing the dagger as he backed away. The figure did not pursue him, but its movement was enough to send a chill down his spine. The others remained still, but he could feel their intent. They were testing him. Waiting for him to make a mistake. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. The shuddering breath came again, louder and closer. The monolith''s glow intensified, casting long shadows across the chamber. The shadows moved, twisting and writhing like living things. They reached for him, their forms indistinct but their intent clear. The man turned and ran. The chamber seemed to stretch as he moved, the walls shifting and warping to block his path. He dodged around pillars that hadn''t been there before, leaped over cracks that opened in the floor. The shadows pursued him, their whispers growing louder, more frantic. *Remember us.* *Remember us.* *Remember us.* He burst into a narrow corridor, the walls closing in around him. The shadows were closer now, their forms taking shape¡ªelongated limbs, featureless faces, mouths filled with too many teeth. They were the same as the creature he had encountered earlier, but multiplied, their numbers overwhelming. The man slashed at them with the dagger, the blade cutting through their smoky forms. They dissipated with each strike, but more took their place, their whispers growing into a cacophony of voices. *You cannot escape.* *You will be one of us.* *Remember.* Paying too much attention to the threat of the shadows he hadnt looked at the environment. He quickly realized his mistake as his back hit a wall. The shadows closed in, their forms solidifying, their clawed hands, trying to reach for him. He raised the dagger, its glow flaring brighter. But the man feared there were too many for it to help. And then, the city breathed. Again. The shuddering breath grew louder and louder until it became a roar, a sound vast and deep that it seemed to come from the earth itself. The shadows froze, their forms flickering as if caught in a sudden wind. They tried to resist, but where quickly swatted away by the invisible force. The man felt the ground beneath him shift, the walls of the corridor collapsing inward. He was thrown downwards, tumbling into darkness. When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the chamber or the corridor. He was standing in a vast, open space, the sky above him a swirling mass of clouds. The city stretched out around him, but it was different now. The ruins were gone, replaced by towering spires and grand archways. The streets were filled with people, though their faces were blurred, their bodies were grey and their voices were just a distant hum. He was in the city''s memory. The man looked down at his hands. They were solid, real, but the world around him felt like a dream. The dagger was still in his grip, its glow faint but steady. He could feel its warmth. A figure approached him, its form shifting and indistinct. It was not one of the shadows, nor one of the frozen figures. Hidden behind silvery mists he could see what resembled a human figure. "You are the first to enter the memory. A long time has passed for you to be a survivor. Are you a newcomer?" it said, its voice echoing in his mind. The man stared at the figure, his grip tightening on the dagger. "What do you want from me?" The figure did not answer. Instead, it raised a hand, pointing to the horizon. The man turned, following its gesture. In the distance, a massive structure loomed. It was a massive tower, it surface was blackened, its shape twisted and unnatural. Strangely, it pulsed with the same white glow as the dagger and the monolith. "Go," the figure said. "I shall be waiting." After that it dissolved into the mist, it''s vaporous form slowly fading into the streets. The man hesitated, but not much. He had no choice since he was trapped in the dream. But he was determined to find out the truth of the city, and of this world. He stepped forward, the dagger glowing brighter with each step. The city''s memory shifted around him, the streets and spires dissolving into shadows and light. He was no longer going to run away from this cursed place. He was going to face it. And the city awaited for his arrival. Chapter 8: Memories: Full yet empty streets The man walked through the streets of the memory, his footsteps echoing against the cobblestone paths. The city, once a ruin of desolate silence and shifting shadows, was now whole¡ªalive, yet empty in a way that unsettled him. Towers of smooth, silver stone loomed over him, their spires stretching into the swirling sky, adorned with symbols he did not recognize. The roads, broad and clean, were filled with people, that were not truly there The faceless figures moved through the streets in an unnatural rhythm, their gestures mechanical, their conversations reduced to an unintelligible hum. They did not acknowledge his presence, did not react to him as he passed between them. They were echoes¡ªshadows of a life that no longer existed. Yet, something about them felt *real*. The city breathed with a lost history, its people trapped in a memory that did not fade. A man in a long coat stood at a fruit stand, exchanging currency that shimmered like liquid metal. A woman walked past him, leading a child by the hand. A group of figures gathered beneath an archway, their heads inclined as if discussing something of importance. Yet, the man couldn''t see theirfaces. Nor hear their voices. He pressed forward, his gaze flickering between the figures and the towering structures around him. The city was grand beyond anything he had ever seen¡ªan architecture that was both ancient and impossibly advanced. Bridges arched over canals filled with dark, still water. Carved runes adorned the walls of buildings, glowing faintly, pulsing with life. Statues lined the roads, depicting figures robed in flowing garments, their hands raised as if in prayer or warning. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. His gaze turned toward the horizon, where the blackened tower loomed. Even here, within the city''s preserved memory, it remained a twisted aberration¡ªits surface unnatural, warping in and out of focus like a smudge on reality itself. As he walked, he began to notice the fractures. The figures that filled the streets occasionally flickered, their forms distorting for a brief moment before snapping back into place. The hum of their voices wavered, sometimes rising into an unbearable screech before returning to a quiet drone. The figures simply ignored the man as they walked. They seemed to be trapped in the past . He gripped the dagger tighter. He passed beneath a massive stone arch, its inscriptions weathered yet pulsing faintly. He traced the carvings with his free hand, feeling a deep, hollow sorrow emanate from them. The symbols told a story¡ªone he could not read, but could *feel*. A story of a city that had fallen. The man whirled around, but the street was unchanged. The faceless figures still moved, unaffected. The buildings still loomed, the runes still pulsed. His heart pounded. He turned back to the road ahead and kept walking, his pace quickening. The presence of the tower weighed on him now, its impossible form pressing against the edges of his mind. It did not belong in this memory. It was something else. The closer he got, the more the memory distorted. Buildings began to shift, their surfaces warping like melting wax. The faceless figures twitched, some bending at unnatural angles, their limbs snapping like marionettes with tangled strings. The hum of voices cracked and splintered. The air grew heavy. The city was unraveling. He had to reach the tower before the memory collapsed entirely. With a steadying breath, he pressed forward, his eyes locked on the distant spire. Chapter 9: Memories: The Towers entrance The man stood before the tower''s entrance, its vast doors looming over him like a monument to something long forgotten. Up close, the structure was even more unnatural¡ªthe blackened stone was not just burned but warped, as if reality itself had twisted in upon it. The pulsating glow that matched the dagger''s faint shimmer seemed almost alive, like a heartbeat trapped within the walls. The city''s memory still surrounded him. The streets behind him were full, yet empty¡ªphantoms of a past long gone, figures moving about their daily lives with blurred faces and voiceless murmurs. They did not acknowledge him. The dagger pulsed in his palm, its warmth guiding him forward. He reached out, pressing a hand against the cold surface of the door. At his touch, the carvings flared to life, glowing with the same eerie light that had followed him throughout the city. The door rumbled, ancient mechanisms stirring awake. A deep, resonating chime echoed through the streets, and the ghostly figures halted in their movements, as if frozen in time. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. The door cracked open, revealing a darkness so absolute it seemed to swallow the light. A gust of air rushed out, carrying the scent of damp stone and something older, something that made his stomach twist with unease. The city''s memory trembled around him, its streets flickering like a dying flame. *Prove your worth.* The whisper slid into his mind unbidden, a voice both foreign and familiar. He turned, but there was no one beside him. Only the dagger''s glow remained steady, its purpose clear. He had come this far. There was no turning back. Steeling himself, the man stepped forward, into the darkness of the tower''s entrance. As he crossed the threshold, the door groaned shut behind him, sealing him inside. The city''s memory faded, and silence reigned. Ahead, the unknown awaited. Chapter 10: Memories: White flames awaken The man ascended through the tower''s chambers. He was surrounded by a pure darkness and each step was swallowed by silence. The only light came from the dagger in his grip, its white flames flickering like a heartbeat. The air here was thick, oppressive¡ªeach breath felt like inhaling dust from a world long buried.Then, an unsettling sound echoed through the chambers. Not whispers, not visions this time¡ªNo, something real. A low growl, followed by the wet scrape of claws against stone. The man tightened his grip on the weapon, heart pounding. The dagger pulsed in response, the white flames licking up its edge as if it could sense the threat ahead.From the darkness, twisted beings came. Shapes slithered from the walls, their forms unnatural surrounding the man. They had a humanoid look, but somehow they seemed broken. Their limbs were too long, each elongated finger ending in sharp white claws that glistened from the daggers glow. Their bodies were cracked and rotted, but worst of all were their mouths. They split open in jagged maws filled with many eyes. each one dripping with something thick and black.The first lunged. The man barely had any time to react , throwing himself to the side as claws raked against the stone where he had stood just seconds ago. He lashed out, the dagger carving through the air. The blade connected, slicing through flesh like paper. White flames surged, engulfing the wound. The creature shrieked, its body convulsing as the fire spread, devouring it from the inside out. Within moments, it was nothing but ash. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Another came from behind. He pivoted, bringing the dagger up in a desperate slash. The flames trailed behind it like a comet''s tail, cutting a burning arc through the dark. The creature staggered, half its face melting away under the heat. It screeched, clawing at its ruined flesh, but the man didn''t wait¡ªhe drove the dagger into its chest. White fire erupted, consuming it entirely. More emerged, their grotesque forms twisting and writhing in hunger. They moved in tandem, leaving him no place to escape. His breath was ragged, but his grip never wavered. The dagger pulsed again. Ever since he had entered the tower he had felt its warmth grow. He felt power calling to him, a burning hate emitted from the blade. The man raised the dagger, letting the flames surge higher. Then, he struck the ground. The impact sent a ripple through the floor arroud him, and a wave of white fire exploded outwards, consuming the creatures, that howled as the flames tore through them, burning away their grotesque forms like paper in the wind. The chamber fell silent. The only thing left was smoldering remains and the smell of burnt flesh.He exhaled, steadying himself. Blood dripped from a shallow cut on his arm, but he was alive. More importantly, he had fought. He had used the dagger¡ªnot as a tool, but as a weapon. He thanked the strange wounded man internally for such a gift although he was still skeptical about the whole revenge thing. He didn¡ät think himself capable. Though, for the first time since arriving in this cursed city, he wasn''t just surviving.He was fighting back. And whatever was waiting at the top of the tower, he would be ready for it. Chapter 11: Memories:Struggle The climb was endless. The man walked, each step being heavier than the last as the weight of exhaustion pressed down on him like chains. The tower''s spiral staircase stretched upward, winding through a space that seemed to defy sense¡ªsometimes narrow and claustrophobic, other times vast, opening into hollow chambers . The dagger burned in his grip, its white flames guttering weakly, as if reflecting his own dwindling strength. He had been fighting for what felt like hours. The creatures here were relentless, twisting, forms that lashed out with clawed hands and gnashing teeth, their hollow faces shifting with barely recognizable features. They attacked in silence, save for the wet slithering of their movements and the occasional, distorted echoes of voices that were not his own. He killed one. Then another. Then another. Each strike of the dagger cut through their forms, the white flames flaring briefly before the creatures dissipated into ashen mist. But they were endless, and he was tiring. His movements slowed. His grip wavered. The cuts and bruises that littered his body throbbed with every motion. One of them lunged from the side, catching him off guard. A claw raked across his arm, tearing fabric and flesh. He stumbled, hissing in pain, barely managing to bring the dagger up in time to drive it into the creature''s core. The flames roared, consuming the thing instantly, but his balance faltered. He fell against the wall, his breath ragged. He couldn''t keep this up. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. His eyes flicked up the staircase. The end was still out of sight, the stone steps disappearing into shadow. His legs screamed at him to stop, to rest, but he knew if he paused for too long, they would overwhelm him. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself up and kept moving. One step. Then another. The creatures did not stop coming. They slithered from the cracks in the walls, emerged from the shadows in the corners, always waiting, always watching. His swings became wilder, more desperate. A missed strike almost cost him his throat, the creature''s claws barely missing as he jerked away at the last second. His own blood slicked the steps beneath him, making his footing unsteady. At some point, he lost count of how many he had killed. It didn''t matter. All that mattered was climbing. Surviving. His vision blurred. His breaths were sharp and shallow. His arms felt numb. He wasn''t sure if he was sweating or bleeding more, but neither boded well. And yet, through the haze of exhaustion and pain, the dagger''s glow remained steady, unwavering. A final set of steps loomed ahead, leading to a doorway bathed in pale light. The top? He didn''t have time to consider it. The largest creature yet pulled itself from the shadows behind him, a towering, amorphous mass of limbs, eyes and teeth. It let out a piercing shriek, so high pitched it was almost unaudible, the sheer pressure of its presence making his skull throb. His knees nearly buckled. It lunged. The man managed to barely avoid the attack by jumping away. As he felt his vision blurred from all the action and his blood loss he knew something had to be done. He quickly cauterized the wound using the blade of the weapon before continuing the fight. Although this beast was much larger it was also slower , though one hit would probably end him. The man quickly thought of a strategy to get rid of it. Suddenly, he staggered. His endurance was running out. He tried too fight it back, he didn''t want to die in such a horrible place. He felt a strange strength take hold of his body for a few moments later, its presence replenishing his body and filling it with renewed strength and warmth. Im this instant He managed to dodge through its attacks. He didn''t think¡ªhe just reacted. He twisted, raising the dagger and driving it forward with all the strength he had left. The blade buried deep, and the white flames erupted from its torso, engulfing the creature. It writhed soundlessly, its countless eyes flickering like dying embers before it finally dissolved into nothing. The force of the strike sent him staggering back. His foot met empty air. For a terrifying second, he thought he was going to fall¡ªuntil his free hand caught the edge of the doorway. He barely had the strength to pull himself through before collapsing onto the cold floor beyond. Silence. No more creatures. No more stairs. Just the dull pulse of the dagger in his palm and the feeling of solid ground beneath him. He had made it. Barely. Chapter 12: Meeting at the top The man stumbled up the final set of uneven stone steps, his breath ragged, his body screaming in protest. His clothes were torn, stained with sweat and blood, some his, others belonging to the things that had tried to drag him down. His grip on the dagger was iron-tight, its white flames flickering weakly, as if it was as exhausted as he was. The last creature had nearly gutted him, but he had managed to survive by butning thw wounds. Now, he stood before a doorway of jagged black stone, its edges pulsing faintly like veins beneath flesh. There was no grand entrance, no echoing chime like before. Only silence. He pushed forward. The chamber beyond was massive, its walls stretching far into darkness. In the center, a lone figure stood before a window¡ªor what passed for one. It was an opening into something vast, swirling with light and shadow, shifting in ways his mind refused to fully comprehend. The figure turned. It was human, or at least it looked like one. It was taller than him, wrapped in tattered robes of faded red and deep black. The hood was drawn, but beneath it, he could make out the barest hint of a face, pale, too smooth, too perfect somehow. Yet the presence it radiated was undeniable. Heavy. Inescapable. "You made it," the figure said, with a smooth voice, calm, and almost welcoming. "I expected you to fall long before reaching this place." The man tightened his grip on the dagger, though his arm trembled from exhaustion. "Who¡­ are you?" His voice came out hoarse. The figure took a step forward, slow and measured. "A question you should already know the answer to." He didn''t. But he wasn''t about to admit that. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. "Are you the wandering nomad? The one the wounded man told me about" The man asked The figure laughed. "Perhaps, you could say I''m that in a way. I''m not the real one though. You are still in a memory " The figure gestured toward the dagger in his grip. "So you knew? And yet you carried it here. Did it whisper to you? Did it burn when you hesitated?" A pause. "Did you really think you could end me?" The man said nothing. His thoughts felt sluggish, his mind a mess of exhaustion, pain, and lingering adrenaline. A low chuckle escaped from the figure. "You stand at the threshold of understanding. And yet you still cling to fear." The man forced himself to straighten. "I didn''t come here for riddles." "Of course not." The figure''s hooded head tilted slightly. "You came because you had no other choice." A sharp gust of wind howled through the chamber, yet the air remained still. The man didn''t move. The figure sighed, almost wistful. "You are more ignorant than I thought. Shall we see if you are truly worthy?" And then, without a sound, the figure raised a hand. "I???????????????? ??????????????????????" The man heard the figure speaking in a strange tongue, but it sounded as if it was blurred somehow. He barely had time to brace himself before the world twisted. In the figure''s hand a sword started to materialise. First, a metal hilt, then.... A bizarre blade? It was red as blood and it lacked a pointed end . The man looked, surprised, as suddenly eyes started to open in the blade. The moment the blade fully formed, the air in the chamber grew dense, suffocating. The eyes embedded in the sword''s surface blinked in unison, their gazes locking onto him, staring through him. The weight of it pressed against his mind, like unseen hands gripping his skull. The figure lifted the executioner''s sword with an unnatural ease, its blood-red metal humming as if alive. "This is the end of the path for you," the figure said. "Unless you can prove otherwise." The man''s grip on the dagger tightened. The white flames guttered, weak but defiant. His body ached, his muscles screamed for rest, but there was no more time to hesitate. He had already come this far. The figure moved. No sound, no wasted motion¡ªjust a blur of red and black. The sword came down in a brutal arc. The man barely managed to throw himself to the side, the impact shattering the stone where he had stood. The force sent him stumbling, his vision swimming, ears ringing from the sheer power of the strike. Too fast. Too strong. The man forced his body to react. He lunged forward, dagger thrusting toward the figure''s side. The blade''s white flames flared as it neared its target. But the figure was faster. A flick of the sword''s flat side sent him crashing into the chamber wall. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, pain lancing through his ribs. His fingers went numb, and for a horrifying moment, he thought he had dropped the dagger. But as he pushed himself up, he felt its warmth still in his grasp, pulsing like a dying heartbeat. "Too slow," the figure remarked. "Too weak." The man gritted his teeth. He couldn''t overpower this opponent. He could barely keep up. But he had to survive. The figure raised the sword again. This time, the man didn''t dodge. He ran forward. The blade came down, but he was already moving past it, feeling the wind of its swing graze his back. His dagger lashed out, the white flames crackling, searing through fabric, through flesh. The figure staggered slightly, the first sign of resistance. The man didn''t stop. He pressed in, slashing, stabbing¡ªdesperate, relentless. The dagger burned brighter, feeding on his will, the flames licking hungrily at his enemy. And yet, despite the strikes, the figure did not fall. It merely¡­ laughed. "Good," it murmured. "You''re learning." And then, with terrifying ease, the executioner''s sword swung upward. The man barely saw it before pain exploded across his body. His world turned to darkness. Chapter 13: Memories: The Archives Darkness swallowed him whole. At first, he thought he was dead. The exhaustion, the wounds, the sword was the last thing he should have seen. But as the place around him shifted and contorted, stretching into impossible distances, he realized this was something else entirely. A library. It didn''t look like one built by human hands, nor one bound by the constraints of space. It was vast, endless, its towering bookshelves stretching far into a sky he could not see. The architecture shimmered, twisting and bending in ways that made his mind ache if he focused too long. The air was thick with whispers and murmuring at once, speaking in languages he both recognized and didn''t. Then, six voices cut through the noise. They didn''t not speak in words, but in thoughts pressed directly into his mind. Some were gentle, others were sharp, but none of them were whole. Their fragmented phrases overlapped, blending into incoherence: *"Citadel."* *"Don''t continue the path."* *"Embrace the fire."* *"Doom awaits"* He tried to respond, but his throat wasnt able to produce sound. It didnt seem to work here. He could only listen as the voices muttered and discussed between themselves as they guided him forward, urging him to an ancient wooden table at the heart of the shifting space. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Upon it laid a single book, its cover blackened by burns. Beautiful emblems of white flames adorned the sides of the book. His hands moved on their own, drawn by something deep. He opened it. And then he was no longer himself. --- He felt as he was seeing the entire life of someone. A man who he didn''t recognise. Yet, he recognised the city. It was the same way as the memory. He saw too many scenes to remember them all. Hope, light, then despair. A life of someone flashing through his eyes. Then, the scenery changed He was running. A man, wounded, stumbling through a burning battlefield. In his hand, he clutched a sword wreathed in white flames. And his body was adorned the same way, an armor of burning light Flames that burned not just his enemies, but himself. Each time he swung, searing light devoured those who stood in his path, reducing them to nothing. But with every use, parts of him where consumed by some invisible force, soon dissolving into nothingness. The man had to wait before using his powers after this happened, before continuing to burn everything in his path. The fire was not a gift. It was a curse. A burden. Yet he fought, again and again, until the last of his strength was gone. Until his mind was consumed as well. For a brief moment the man saw something he knew he should have seen. Pure darknes. Though that didn''t mean there was an absence of things there. He could feel many presences. They had watched the wounded man. Or were they watching him as well? Was this the Eternal Night he had mentioned? Thankfully, the vision switched, to the time when the wounded man met another¡ªa desperate figure, just like him and offered the blade as a final act. The wounded man''s hoarse voice echoed in his skull: *"Take it, and let it burn you too."* The illusion shattered. The library returned. --- The book in his hands burst into white fire. He gasped, staggering back, but the flames did not consume him. Instead, they seeped into his skin, branding themselves into his very being. His neck burned. The mark¡ªan eye surrounded by six simple figures¡ªshifted. One of the figures twisted, reshaping itself. No longer just a vague outline, it took the shape of the wounded man, consumed by the flames. For a moment, the searing cold he has felt when touching the brand for the first time turned into a heated pain, before slowly subduing. Power coursed through him. He looked down at his palm, and as if responding to his thoughts, a flicker of white fire emerged from his fingertips. But he understood, now. This was no ordinary strength. This was a fire that devoured. That used his user''s as fuel. A voice¡ªone of the six¡ªspoke, clearer than before: *"It will burn."* The library trembled. Reality cracked. The world snapped back. --- The man awoke in the tower. His body was still weak, his wounds still raw, but something had changed. The dagger in his grip no longer flickered weakly. The white flames surged forward steady and strong. He clenched his fist, feeling the weight of the knowledge he had taken. He had not simply gained strength¡ªhe had taken a piece of the wounded man''s existence, his memories. A burden he would have to carry. And there were still five empty figures left to be filled. Chapter 14: Memories: Awakened versus Executioner As the man stood up from the towers cold floor the first thing he felt was heat. Not the warmth of life, but the searing, consuming kind. The kind that devoured flesh and bone alike. It pulsed beneath his skin, flickering between past and present. And there, standing amidst the tower''s chambers was the figure. Though, his appearance had changed. He resembled a swordsman cloaked in black, his weapon gripped tight in his hand. His stance was poised, practiced. Dangerous. He was still wielding that unnatural thing¡ªlong, heavy, and lined with five open eyes on each side of the steel, that seemed to gaze at him intensely. It was a weapon that seemed more ceremonial in nature, it was made for executions after all. But that that didn''t make it any less dangerous. Then, the figure''s voice cut through the silence. "I thought I had split you in half. Maybe your more interesting than I gave you credit for." The dagger in his hand trembled, vibrating with something vicious. Hatred. Rage. A desire for vengeance so deep it felt alive. It pulled at him, demanding he strike, as if it had unfinished business with the figure. The man took a breath. He didn''t understand why, but he obeyed. He had made a deal after all. He lunged. Flames roared to life from his free hand, white-hot and hungry. He didn''t hold back¡ªhe swung wide, letting the fire consume the air between them. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. The swordsman moved like a shadow, fluid and effortless. He sidestepped, his sword lifting in a graceful arc¡ª The first eye on the blade snapped shut. Darkness swallowed the Awakened man''s vision. A sharp, unnatural blindness. He staggered, but the dagger tugged and forced him move anyway. A second too late, and he would have been cleaved apart. He felt the rush of steel cut the air where his neck had been just moments ago. The blindness lasted only a moment. Then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone. He exhaled sharply. A power with a cost. That was the rule, wasn''t it? "You''re learning." The swordsman''s voice was smooth, almost amused. Familiar. The Awakened man could not place it, but it sent a chill down his spine. "Did you think power came without consequence?" the swordsman continued, taking a slow step forward. The Awakened man said nothing. Instead, he struck again¡ªthis time following the dagger''s lead. It guided his hand, twisting in his grip, forcing him to strike at weak points. It knew this enemy. White flames exploded against the figure''s sword. The heat distorted the air, the steel groaning under the pressure. Then, something unexpected happened. The swordsman did not evade. He stepped into the fire. He walked through the flames, unharmed for the most part, the flames just sizzling weakly against his robes. "Flames are weak if you don''t give them fuel to grow. " He said mockingly. "For power, you have to sacrifice some part of yourself" The swordsman reached up, fingers brushing against his own cowl. Slowly, deliberately, he removed it. What lay beneath should have been beautiful. The face was young¡ªalmost too young, sculpted with unnatural elegance. But the eyes¡ªor what was left of them¡ªwere nothing but charred ruin. The flesh around them was burned, disfigured beyond recognition. "I was like you, once." The swordsman''s voice had lost its amusement. "Do you know what it means to wield a gift like yours?" The Awakened man clenched his fist. The fire in his palm flickered¡ªas if uncertain. "It means you will have to burn," the swordsman said simply. Then, all five eyes on the blade shut at once. The world vanished. Chapter 15: Memories: Fuel to the fire Silence. Not the silence of an empty room or a quiet night, but an absolute absence of sound. A silence that swallowed everything¡ªhis breathing, his heartbeat, even the crackle of his dying flames. The darkness was thick, suffocating. He couldn''t see his own hands, couldn''t tell if he was standing or falling. For a moment, panic clawed at his mind. He reached out, but his limbs felt sluggish, heavy. Then¡ª A whisper. "You don''t understand yet." It was the swordsman''s voice, but it seemed to come from every place possible "Power does not make you strong." The feeling of cold sharp metal brushed against the skin of his neck. He flinched, but there was nothing there. "You are still holding on to yourself." Then, pain. Blinding, unbearable pain. His body convulsed, fire bursting from his flesh in erratic, wild shapes. It burned him just as much as the unseen force pressing against him. The dagger in his hand pulsed violently, as if screaming. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. MOVE. Blind, in agony, he struck out. The blade found nothing but air. Again, he swung, each movement desperate, primal¡ªbut nothing connected. He could feel the swordsman, could sense his presence like a phantom lurking just out of reach, mocking him with his words. "You still think like a weakling" The voice was closer now. Right behind him. He felt the presence of steel on his neck again and a slight pain as it cut though his skin slightly. He stabbed in the direction of the voice, but failed to strike his target again. "What will you do?" The man tried to focus. He collected himself and summoned the white fire. It enveloped him, consuming his body. At first, they didn''t hurt, but slowly it started to feel hotter and hotter. Yet, at the same time he felt the flames grow and surge with more intensity The darkness started to crack as the fire expanded through everything A single, jagged line of light tore through the void¡ªsearing, overwhelming. It expanded rapidly, shattering the blindness like broken glass. The world came rushing back. He was still in the tower. The swordsman stood before him, unharmed, his blade lowered. The five eyes on the steel were still shut. But something had changed. The man gasped, stumbling back, his flames guttering in his palm. His chest ached, his skin felt raw, and the dagger in his grip no longer trembled. He was still burning, envelopped by flames, but he didnt feel bothered. It felt... calm. The swordsman tilted his head, looking at him. At least thats where the man thought he was gazing. "You finally understand." The swordsman''s voice had lost its edge. No mockery, no disdain¡ªonly something quieter, heavier. Expectant. The man looked down at himself. His clothes were ruined, barely more than scorched fabric clinging to his body. His skin should have been charred, raw from the flames¡ªbut it wasn''t. A slow heat pulsed beneath the surface, steady and unfamiliar. He tightened his grip on the dagger. It no longer trembled, nor did it burn against his palm like a restless thing demanding freedom. He had finally understood how the flames worked. Chapter 16: Shattering Memories The fire burned, but it no longer consumed him. It was a part of him now¡ªwoven into his very being, thrumming beneath his skin like a second heartbeat. The swordsman stood before him, his blaMemories: Shatteringde still lowered, but the five eyes remained shut. Watching. Waiting. "You finally understand," the swordsman murmured. There was no mockery left in his tone¡ªonly acceptance. The awakened man met his gaze. "I do." Then, he moved. This time, he wasn''t fighting against the fire. He wasn''t wielding it like an outsider grasping at something beyond his reach. It was his. The tower chamber exploded with light as flames surged from his body, white-hot and radiant. The air warped from the heat, the stone beneath his feet cracking, glowing with molten veins. The swordsman reacted instantly. His blade lifted, the first eye snapping shut. Darkness surged again¡ª ¡ªbut this time, it did not take him. The blindness clawed at his vision, but his fire roared in response, piercing through the void. He could see the swordsman now¡ªnot with his eyes, but with the heat, with the way the air shifted around him, the way the flame felt his presence. The blade descended. He did not step back. Instead, he raised his dagger, flames coiling around the steel, and met the swordsman''s strike head-on. The impact shook the chamber, a shockwave of heat and force sending cracks spiderwebbing through the stone walls. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. For the first time, the swordsman was forced back. His blade trembled in his grasp. A flicker of something passed across his ruined face¡ªnot fear, but recognition. "You''re not the same," the swordsman muttered. "No," the man agreed. "I burned away the weakness." He lunged. His dagger struck fast, white flames exploding from the edge, engulfing the air between them. The swordsman twisted, avoiding the first strike, but not the second. Fire raked across his arm, searing through fabric and flesh alike. The swordsman did not flinch. Instead, he grinned. Then, all five eyes on the blade snapped shut at once. Silence. Darkness. Stillness. But he did not falter. The void closed in around him, but this time, he did not fight it. Instead, he let the fire consume him. He felt his body unravel, become something more¡ªnot just a man wielding flames, but the flame itself. Heat. Light. Destruction. Rebirth. The darkness did not swallow him. He burned through it. The swordsman was still there, waiting in the silence. Expecting him to stumble, to hesitate. But when the fire shattered the void, he was already behind him. The dagger struck true. Straight through the swordsman''s back. The flames surged into him, and for the first time, the swordsman staggered. He exhaled sharply, a choked breath¡ªnot of pain, but of completion. He turned his head slightly, as if to see him one last time. The ruin of his eyes met his own, and the swordsman smiled. "Good," he whispered. Then, the flames consumed him. His body cracked apart like embers in the wind, his form collapsing into light and heat. The blackened steel of his sword shattered, the eyes on the blade closing forever as the weapon crumbled into dust. The tower chamber fell silent once more. The awakened man stood alone, his dagger still glowing, the heat still pulsing in his chest. He had won. But he was no longer the man who had started this fight. He had burned. And from the ashes, something new had emerged. The man felt a distant ringing, the sound of the toll of a bell, chiming with force and rattling the very air around him. Each chime seemed to reverberate deep, from the resounding chambers to the inside of his bones, shaking him As the sound grew louder, the world around him began to crack, and thin spiderweb fractures spreaded across the space, splintering everything in sight. Time itself seemed to bend, stretch, and twist in response to the relentless toll. And then, with one final, deafening clang, the world shattered into many pieces . The man awoke. Chapter 17: Ashes and Ruins The man smelt the scent of smoke and stone. He laid on his back, the ruins of the tower stretched out around him¡ªblackened, shattered, lifeless. He had returned to the future and so, the once-mighty structure had collapsed, reduced to little more than charred rubble, and a crumbling foundation. Had it really happened? The man knew it to be true, but there was little trace of the past. Even the wounds he had received in ybe memory had healed, leaving no mark. He pushed himself up, muscles aching, skin still tingling with residual heat. The dagger lay beside him, its blade dull now, the fire within it quiet. The storm of battle had passed. And yet, something lingered. As if it''s purpose was still not fulffiled. He turned his gaze toward the center of the ruins, where the swordsman had stood. Where he had fallen. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. There was no body. No remnants of the one he had fought. No ashes, no blade, no sign that he had ever existed. Only the air, thick with something unfinished. The memory of the swordsman was gone. But he was not. Somewhere out there, he still remained. Waiting. Not a shadow of the past. A test. Was that all it had been? The man exhaled, gripping his dagger tighter. His journey was not over. He turned, taking in the ruins of the city below. He had seen them before of course, but now he gazed in a new light. What had once been a grand place¡ªa city of towering spires and intricate bridges, alive with people¡ªwas now little more than a graveyard of stone. Buildings lay in ruin, streets broken and consumed by time. The remains of the city stretched as far as he could see, a wasteland of forgotten history. The man had seen it, the end of the city.In that strange archive he saw visions of what had been the fate of the land. A prosperous city that fell to both disasters from the inside and the outside. They had fallen victim to their own powers, but also to something else;A disaster had happened a long time ago. Something that brought the Realm to this desolate state. But the visions where fragmented. He didn''t truly know what happened. Just that it had been a catastrophe beyond human hands. And in the end, only the tower had remained. And now, even that was gone. The man exhaled. His fire still burned, but it did not rage. It waited. He had changed. The battle, the swordsman, the flames¡ªthey had forged something new within him. He was no longer weak. He had learned to survive and to fight back. But his journey was not over. He had burned through the past. Now, he would step forward. Toward whatever lay ahead. He tightened his grip on the dagger, turned from the ruins, and walked. The road stretched before him, empty and endless. And so, he continued on. Chapter 18: Through the fog and to the depths The city lay in silence behind him, a skeleton of stone and ash beneath the weight of time. Its streets, once filled with life, had been swallowed by decay. The presence of something watching him had vanished completely. The petrified humans had crumbled to dust and shadows no longer followed his steps. The man felt relief as he walked through the desolate landscape. Haunting, but beautiful in a way. Buildings stood like tombstones on an old abandoned graveyard, their wundos hollow. And above it all, the shattered tower remained in ruins, its purpose¡ªlike the rest of the city¡ªlong forgotten. The man did not look back. He had no reason to. He had seen all it could offer. But it had only created more questions than answers. Even when connecting the dots he felt as he knew little about the world. Only that there had been a disaster a long time ago. Now, beasts ruled the lands. Though, perhaps civilization remained in some places, the man thought with hope. He remembered the worm he had seen when he had arrived. The thing in the sky was carrying a city. The man shuddered. Perhaps there was life there, but he was sure it wouldn''t be something normal. Though, even if he wanted to reach such a place he had no means to go up into the sky, nor find that strange and massive creature that roamed between clouds. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. The dagger pulsed faintly in his grip, the only sound in the still air. A quiet heartbeat, subtle but insistent, pulling him forward. It was leading him¡ªsomewhere. Someplace beyond the city''s grave, beyond the echoes of what had come before. He followed without question. He had no other leads after all. --- The journey beyond the city was different. The land stretched endlessly, shifting between deserted roads, abandoned fields, and twisted remnants of forests that had long since withered. Ruins dotted the horizon, monuments of past civilizations swallowed by time. Some were half-buried beneath the earth, their structures breaking apart as if the land itself sought to erase them. Others still stood, fractured yet stubborn, refusing to be forgotten. There were no signs of life. No birds, no animal. The only company was the faint whisper of the winds. And the dagger. Guiding. Pulling. Leading. At times, the man felt as if he were walking through the remnants of a world that had already ended. And maybe he was. --- Days passed. Maybe weeks. The sun rose and fell, but it brought no warmth. The nights stretched long and cold, yet he did not shiver. He no longer needed to. The fire within him had settled into something constant, a steady pulse beneath his skin. He felt less hunger and thirst than before even It sustained him, in a way he didnt understand much. Where hunger should have gnawed at him, when exhaustion should have weighed him down he felt little more than a slight feeling of weakness. And so, he walked. --- The dagger''s pull grew stronger. The first time he felt it, it was like a whisper in his bones, urging him eastward. The second time, it was a pull, sharp and insistent. By the third time, it was undeniable. He stood at the edge of a valley, the earth sloping downward into a chasm of mist and broken stone. At its center, half-hidden by the rising fog, something loomed. Something old. He did not know why, but he understood one thing: This was where the dagger wanted him to go. And so, without hesitation, he descended. --- The air grew thick as he moved deeper into the valley. The mist curled around him, heavy with something ancient and unseen. The earth beneath his boots was uneven, cracked in places where strange and sharp rocks jutted out like ribs from a forgotten corpse. The deeper he walked, the more he could feel a strange presi¨®n on his body, as if the gravity was changing. The dagger pulsed again. --- He reached the base of the valley. And there, standing before him, was an entrance. A massive archway, carved into the rock, its surface etched with symbols that had long since worn away. A gateway into something deeper, something buried beneath the world. The dagger thrummed, eager. He stepped forward. He did not look back. He had no reason to. The journey continued. Chapter 19: Underground The great archway stood solemn, once a great structure though now it was ancient, swallowed by the valley''s creeping mist. Cracks ran deep through its surface, but even with time and its relentless erosion, it endured. Faint carvings could be seen, now a thing of the past. He ran his fingers across them, feeling the rough stone beneath his calloused skin. He couldn''t read the carvings¡ªwhatever language they once belonged to had been lost¡ªbut something about them felt right, as if they belonged here, as if they had been waiting. The man stepped forward. The air thickened the moment he crossed the threshold. The weather was cooler here, damp with the scent of wet stone and moss, as if he had stepped into the breath of the earth. The fog pooled at his feet, curling along the uneven terrain like a living thing, but it did not obscure his path. It simply lingered in a silent and gentle manner. The passage sloped downward, guiding him into the depths of the world. Stalactites dripped water steadily, the droplets vanishing into underground lakes. He let his body guide him without much thought, his footsteps quiet against the smooth, worn stone. For a moment, the unforgiving world felt different. Not oppressive. Not suffocating Alive. The further he walked, the more he could feel it¡ªthe quiet pulse of the cavern''s existence. The fresh air moving through tunnels. The distant rush of water carving its way through rock. The scent of minerals mixed with damp earth,both rich and untouched by time. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. He summoned flames that flickered at his fingertips to guide himself through this corridors. The fire casted a warm glow against the walls and revealed thin veins of white crystal embedded deep within the stone, that glimmered faintly in response. He paused, contemplating the scene. They sparkled like trapped starlight. He ran his fingers over one, feeling the way the mineral cut into the stone, forming delicate, twisting patterns as if they had grown rather than been placed there. It was strange to think about¡ªhow deep below the surface, in this place untouched by the sky, beauty still thrived. He exhaled, watching as his breath curled into the cool air. Then, he continued. The tunnels stretched on, winding and twisting like the veins of a great beast. Some narrowed, forcing him to lower his head as he passed. Others opened into vast chambers, their ceilings lost to darkness. In one such cavern, he stopped. A lake spread out before him, its surface perfectly still, reflecting the faint glow of the crystals that adorned the walls like distant stars. Stalagmites rose from the water''s depths, their jagged forms casting long shadows across the cavern floor. And in the center, a stone bridge¡ªnatural, yet impossibly perfect. It arched over the lake''s surface, smooth and unbroken, as if the earth itself had willed it into existence. He walked across it slowly, his footsteps barely making a sound against the rock. Below, in the water''s undisturbed depths, faint shapes moved¡ªnot creatures, but light. Pale, drifting glows, like embers trapped beneath the surface, shifting with an unseen current. He knelt at the edge of the bridge and reached down, brushing his fingers against the water. It was cool to the touch, but not biting. The glow swirled in response, forming soft ripples that spread outward before fading back into stillness. For a moment, he simply sat there. The dagger remained silent in his grip, as if it, too, was watching. After some time, he stood and continued. The cavern narrowed once more, leading him deeper, further than he would have thought this passages coukd reach. The rock formations changed subtly¡ªthe walls smoother, the ceilings higher. The air, once rich with moisture, grew thinner, yet still carried the scent of rain-soaked stone. And then, he reached it. A vast chamber. It seemed to be the end of the path A great hollow in the earth, its ceiling arching impossibly high above him. Thin waterfalls streamed from cracks in the rock, their silver threads vanishing into shallow pools . The mist was thicker here, still swirling at his feet, rising toward the towering stone formations that jutted from the ground . And at the chamber''s heart, half-buried in the earth, stood a door. Though strangely it didnt appear to be one carved by human hands. It was grown, formed by the very stone itself, its surface lined with veins of crystal that pulsed faintly, like the steady breath of something dormant. He approached. The moment his fingers brushed against the cold surface, the air shifted. The waterfalls stilled. The mist trembled. The silence deepened into something else. He pushed, and pushed with all his strength slowly moving the massive piece of rock. And then¡ª The door began to open.