Day 178, Month Verdantis, Year 12123, Era Elyndris
Beneath Thirtos – The Roots of the Old Pact
The silence beneath Thirtos hung heavily in the air, dense like a fog that wouldn't clear. Above, the bells of a newly built city rang out in celebration, but in this shadowed place, only echoes of forgotten dreams remained.
Fitran moved through the shadows, his boots crunching on the broken shards of ancient sigils that murmured of lost knowledge. The walls pulsed gently, pale roots intertwined with deep blue veins, each vibrating with a magic that felt foreign yet vaguely familiar, lurking within his shattered memories. "What have you done in this place, wraith?" he demanded, narrowing his eyes as he focused on the flickering figure. "This is no mere haunt anymore. It feels…alive."
"Alive?" The wraith's voice oozed with contempt as she spiraled closer, her form merging with the shadows and the twisting roots. "This realm is a testament to your failures, Fitran. Every step you take serves as a grim reminder of all that you have lost."
He came to a standstill, his fingers trailing along a groove in the cold stone. Runes shifted and danced beneath his touch—sigils that writhed as if imbued with life, striving to rejoin the cracks from whence they came. "You do not possess these memories," he asserted, allowing his fingertips to
He came to a halt, his fingers skimming over a groove in the cold stone. Runes shifted and stirred beneath his touch—symbols that twisted as if alive, trying to mend the fractures from which they had broken. "You do not hold these memories," he declared, letting his fingertips linger on an intricate sigil. "They are for those who dared to dream. We were their beacon of hope, were we not?"
"Hope?" The wraith's icy laughter echoed in the stillness, sharp and ruthless. "Hope demands a price, and you are still in debt. You sense it, even if you choose to ignore it." She inched closer, the air growing heavy with cold. "What other reason could drive you to return to this cursed place, Fitran?"
This place… I have roamed these grounds before, have I not? Or is it merely the echo of someone else's memories? Fitran's mind grappled with the haze of memories swirling just out of reach. Images surged to life, vivid yet fragmented: a city engulfed in flames, fiery tendrils clawing at the night sky, and a hand—warm and steady—gripping his own, a lifeline amid the turmoil. Laughter intertwined with cries, forming a haunting melody of joy and sorrow.
A shudder ran through the ground beneath him, rattling his bones. From the depths of shadow, a voice seeped into the stillness—not just words, but something primal and wild. "You remember, don't you, Fitran?" it hissed, wrapping around his thoughts like a serpent. The air thickened, weighed down by the smell of decay, pressing against the edges of his mind.
Fitran clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay rooted against the tremors of unease. "I have faced far worse than you," he muttered, his voice steady but low, echoing against the cold stones. Each word was a defiance, each breath a challenge. "I will not be your puppet, not now."
The darkness deepened, a heavy shroud, as a figure began to form from the void. Roots twisted and unfurled, shaping into something both horrifying and captivating—skin like dark stone glinting dimly, bones jutting out like grotesque armor, and eyes like dying coals, burning fiercely in the shadows.
"Rebirth...? Only over my dead name. Only through forgetting," the wraith rasped, her voice a discordant blend of human and sinister. Fitran saw flickers of lost lives reflected in her gaze, as if they longed to break free from their eternal prison. "You tread upon sacred ground, little man."
"Whether it is sacred or cursed matters little to me. I refuse to cower in fear," Fitran declared, his hands clenching tightly, ready for a magical attack. "What do you want from me? Are you here to invade my dreams or to consume my very soul?"
A cruel grin twisted the wraith's features, exposing a mouth filled with jagged teeth—a grim reminder of everything that had been lost. "Perhaps both. Yet, I also offer knowledge. Secrets that might unravel your sanity and bind you eternally to the void."
The air was thick with tension, each heartbeat echoing like a war drum. Fitran's heart raced, not in fear, but ignited by a fierce determination. "Keep your secrets! I know what I need. Your lies have no sway over me."
Taking a sharp breath, he summoned the fractured mana that thrummed just beneath the surface of his skin, feeling its warmth respond to his command. "Then you are already dust, lost in the sands of time. If you think you can drag me down, you'd better put in a much greater effort."
The wraith's grin spread wider, a reflection of malice, a swirling storm of memory and decay. "Then let the games begin."
Fitran flexed his fingers, sensing the fractured mana pulsing just beneath his skin, like the steady beat of a heart. "So, you think I'm already dust?" He scoffed, a crooked smirk curling at the corners of his lips. "If you plan to drag me down, you'd better bring more than that." His voice cut through the air, a challenge wrapped in mockery.
The entity's mouth curled grotesquely, stretching into a grin that echoed with long-forgotten memories, tainted by the stench of decay. Its eyes, glowing embers of malice, flickered in the surrounding darkness. "You understand nothing of decay, little mage. I have feasted on the memories of countless souls." It inhaled deeply, as if relishing the remnants of lives that lingered like faint whispers.
With a slow, deliberate motion, the root-wraith raised one gnarled arm, ancient glyphs igniting along her form, casting a flickering light that danced among the shadows. "Bindings of Unborn Law!" she proclaimed, her voice a whisper as rough as grinding stone, slithering through the thick air.
From the wraith's outstretched fingers, a surge of spectral chains exploded forth, each link marked with forgotten edicts—ancient whispers that twisted the very fabric of reality. The chains lunged toward Fitran, aiming to ensnare him—binding both body and soul, plunging deep into his mind like daggers of lost memory.
Fitran's heart pounded in his chest as he dove to the side, narrowly evading the initial attack. "Not today," he muttered under his breath, feeling the chains snap against his cloak with a wicked hiss. Driven by raw desperation, he pressed his palm to the ground, summoning the electric pulse of mana surging within him.
"Spiral Severance!"
A swirling glyph burst to life beneath him, unleashing a torrent of spinning blades made of silver light that cut through the spectral chains as if they were mere stalks of wheat. Sparks exploded into the air, swirling around him in an entrancing dance; the chains recoiled in shock, yet one stubbornly clung to his ankle, as cold as regret and heavy like the weight of forgotten memories.
Fitran gritted his teeth, fury coiling within him like a serpent ready to strike. "You cling to your dead past," he snarled, his voice a low growl filled with defiance. "You aim to drag the world into decay alongside you." The weight of the creature's history pressed down on him, a haunting reminder of what had been lost and the encroaching darkness threatening to swallow him whole.
The wraith hissed, her form quivering, her hollow eyes glowing with fierce intensity. "The past is all we have, little mage. Embrace it, or be consumed by the fleeting shadows of your existence." Her ethereal figure loomed closer, preparing to unleash another wave of haunted wrath.
The entity raised both arms with a flourish, summoning a swirling sphere above her head—a vortex made up of words, names, and faces—each element stripped of meaning, as if a tapestry of cherished memories was being unraveled before Fitran's very eyes.
"Obliviate Canticle!" The wraith's voice slithered through the air, wrapping around Fitran like a snake. Effect: The atmosphere trembled with an unsettling vibration, each note discordant against the delicate threads of Fitran's memory. He felt precious details slipping from him—names he once cherished, vivid colors painted across the canvas of his life, every face he ever loved crumbling like ancient stones caught in a relentless storm. The chamber itself seemed to thrum with a tangible fear.
Fitran staggered, his vision fading like a dream dissolving into the void. Scenes flickered at the edges of his mind—Rinoa's eyes, bright with hope; the warm voice of a mother long gone; the fresh, sweet taste of spring rain. Each fragment pulled at him, trying to drag him into an unfathomable abyss of forgetfulness.
"No—" he cried out, pressing both hands firmly against the cold stone of the chamber. "You shall not take them from me!" A surge of determination flowed through him, rising like a battle cry in the vast emptiness.
"Axiom Reclaimer!" he shouted, a fierce energy igniting within his chest. Effect: A network of blue-gold light burst forth from him, reaching out like a hand reclaiming the scattered pieces of his essence from the brink of oblivion. The radiant energy wrapped around the fragments of his identity, binding them to the very stone surrounding him. Names, once hidden in the shadows of forgetfulness, returned to his mind—not fully restored, but enough to ignite the flames of his defiance.
His voice emerged, ragged yet steadfast, laced with a strength that cut through the overwhelming despair. "You cannot seize what I vow to remember! You'll require more cunning than this!"
For a brief moment, the anti-song faltered, the wraith pulling back as though burned by an unseen fire. Its form flickered, dread carving itself into its malevolent gaze.
As the roots twisted and contorted, they transformed the very air into a cage, tightening their grip around Fitran. The walls pulsed with an unyielding rhythm—each beat crashing against his resolve, like the pounding of a monstrous heart.
"Do you truly believe you can withstand the burden of this reality?" the wraith uttered, her voice a chilling whisper, soaked in ages of indifference. "This realm thrives on forgetfulness. Here, you are nothing more than a wraith. Release your grip—let the world remain void yet whole."
Fitran's body trembled, but his spirit would not give in. "Even a ghost can fight!" he declared fiercely, lifting his right hand with steadfast resolve. Arcs of mana crystallized around him, shaping into sparkling ice that glimmered with a cold, otherworldly flame. Each flicker of light echoed the memories he fought so hard to protect.
"Eclipse Vector!"
His voice cut through the heavy darkness, a bold command that resonated through the emptiness. In response, a blade fashioned from pure shadow and distant starlight materialized in his hand, its edges shimmering with an unnatural glow. He swung it in a wide arc, the weapon slicing effortlessly through the spectral barriers that sought to restrain him. The blade tore through the root-cage; tendrils and sigils yielded to its relentless hunger. Light and shadow danced in a chaotic ballet, warping the very air around him.
The entity shrieked, its cry howling through the air like a storm, its very essence unraveling as Fitran pressed forward. "Was that your final breath? You were once feared as a formidable specter—yet here you are, reduced to a mere echo."
Fitran inhaled sharply, sinking to one knee, but the fire of defiance ignited in his gaze. "Is this truly all you can muster? I was led to believe you were merely a legend, a dreadful shadow weaving through the nightmares of men—yet here you are, nothing but a figment of frantic imagination." His breath caught, each labored inhale filled with fierce resolve, his voice ringing out defiantly, struggling to drown the weight of despair.
Magic: Counterstrike
With a low, menacing growl, the wraith regained her footing, her hands clawing through the void as if attempting to seize an ethereal enemy. "You think you can escape your past? Allow me to reveal the true nature of despair," she spat, conjuring a vortex of shimmering mirrors. Within that swirling chaos, a thousand faces flickered, each a grotesque mimicry of Fitran's own tormented visage, twisted by suffering, shame, and unspeakable horrors.
"Refraction of Guilt!"
The mirrors burst forth in brilliant light, unleashing beams that penetrated deeper than flesh, searing into the very heart of his soul. "Revisit your darkest memories, Fitran. Let every betrayal rekindle its fiery sting!"
Fitran's scream echoed within the vaulted chamber, his body collapsing beneath the weight of the memories that crashed over him—a relentless surge of torment. Blood trickled from his nose, staining the cold stone beneath him, his fingers clawing at the ground, desperately trying to anchor himself against the unyielding tide of sorrow. Yet, amidst the agony, at the heart of every reflection, one image glimmered defiantly—a blue flower, fragile yet unwavering, breaking through the oppressive dark earth.
Gathering the remnants of his strength, Fitran seized the memory, transforming his pain into fierce determination. "If I cannot find forgiveness within, then I shall tear you apart first!" he bellowed, each word brimming with resolve as he rose to his feet, the blade of darkness gleaming ominously in his grasp.
"Law of the Unbroken Thread!"
Golden strands of energy wove through the air, stitching his wounds shut and intertwining memory with essence. Each thread pulsed with an ancient promise—a vow never to break, never to allow the past to be reduced to ashes alone. The atmosphere shimmered with arcane power, every line a declaration, a desperate plea for survival.
Fitran swung his arm in a wide arc, shattering the illusory mirrors. "Do you really think you can trap me in your twisted visions? Look again!" His voice echoed with defiance. As the beams of light faded and the images fractured into shards, the wraith's laughter filled the air—an icy sound that felt like cold fingers crawling over his skin.
The chamber shuddered as the wraith's essence began to break apart, fragments swirling together and reforming into a storm of roots and tortured voices. "You cannot escape me, mortal! I am the darkness buried deep within your very soul!" she shrieked, her scream chilling both blood and magic.
"Null Dominion!"
With a sudden twist, the fabric of space wrenched and distorted, as if the universe itself were under attack. An immense weight pressed down on Fitran, tightening like a noose around his chest. "Do you actually believe this is where my story ends?" he shot back, defiance dripping from his words. Ink-like letters pulled away from the walls, whirling glyphs devolving into a chaotic symphony of nonsense. "If you think you can unmake me, you are gravely mistaken." He understood that faltering now would not mean death—but a complete and utter unmaking.
He staggered forward, each step feeling like a monumental struggle, as though an unseen weight held him back. The glyphs inscribed upon his skin flared with life, echoing a fierce determination that he would not relinquish. "This battle is mine alone, not yours!"
"Enough—" he snapped, his voice raw and stripped of any pretense, leaving only an unyielding ferocity. "You are not the protector of this world. You are its tomb." His words hung in the air like the final breath of a dying realm, a daring challenge against the encroaching tendrils of despair that sought to pull him into their abyss.
He summoned every part of himself—anguish, hope, and the relentless spirit that would not bow to the void. Energy surged within him, a storm waiting for the moment to break free.
"Origin Aegis!"
A brilliant shield erupted around him, inscribed with the ancient law that even the void could not erase—existence persists, even in the face of loss. The radiant light pushed fiercely against the consuming darkness, a blazing bastion of determination.
The cyclone battered the shield without mercy, black lightning crackling through the air like a thunderous roar. Roots pounded against the barrier in relentless fashion, each dull thud resonating like the blows of an enraged giant. "It can't hold up much longer!" he cried, his voice almost drowned out by the howling storm surrounding him. Yet, beneath the turmoil, he clung to a flicker of hope—the shield would endure, at least, for now.
With a fierce roar that echoed through the tempest, Fitran drew on every ounce of mana and buried memory within him. "This ends now!" he proclaimed, thrusting his hands forward, channeling every part of his being into a decisive strike.
"Inheritance Ignition!"
A lance of blinding white-gold shot from his palm, radiant as the sun and fed by the fading echoes of his past that clung to him like shadows. "I won't yield!" he shouted, heart racing, as the spell surged forward, piercing the cyclone's chaotic heart.
In that brief moment, all sound fell silent. The world seemed to pause. The wraith flickered before him, her grotesque form briefly revealing the dread concealed beneath her dark cloak. "Do you think destruction will set you free?" she hissed, her voice dripping with menace, before shattering into shards, her essence dissolving into specks of light and dust. Fitran stood in stunned silence as the roots, once fervently trying to reclaim their soil, withered and fell away, leaving a profound hush—a hush that felt electric, as if reality itself was waiting for the next surge of life.
Fitran slumped heavily against the cool stone wall, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. "What have I done?" he managed to say, pain lacing each word, every muscle in his body protesting under the heavy weight of fatigue. Once adorned with glyphs that shimmered like stars, his skin now flickered feebly, save for one solitary mark—its spiral form, fractured yet alive, pulsed weakly like the last flicker of a distant star.
He pressed his palm against the ground, feeling a fragile rhythm pulsing beneath his touch, like a heartbeat meant just for him. "Something... something new," he murmured, a thread of hope woven with the ache in his chest. "Something alive." It struck him that the city above remained blissfully unaware of the silent struggle being fought for its future, a future precariously balanced on the brink of existence.
With a voice trembling from exertion, he whispered, "You do not conquer by erasing the world; you prevail by enduring it." The weight of his words hung heavily in the stillness around him, each syllable forging an unspoken connection with the very air.
Pushing himself upright, Fitran took each unsteady step as an act of defiance against the encroaching darkness. "I may not remember everything that has happened, but…" he paused, steadying himself with a shuddering breath, "…I remember enough to keep moving forward." With every beat of his heart, his resolve solidified. "Enough to challenge the very void itself."
And above him, as dawn crept cautiously through the cracks of the ancient city of Thirtos, the roots of the world quivered—not from fear, but from a hesitant, growing hope.
"Do you see that?" Fitran murmured, his breath forming mist in the biting cold. His eyes, wide with a mix of fear and eagerness, followed the shifting shadows like a hawk. The wraith stood beside him, an ominous figure against the pale light, her form swirling like smoke in the wind.
"See what?" she hissed, her voice reminiscent of leaves rustling in a restless breeze, her features obscured yet undeniably menacing. "Hope is the companion of fools in this desolation."
Fitran gritted his teeth, a surge of defiance rising within him. "Perhaps hope is foolish, yet it is the only flame we have to light our way through this darkness." He stepped forward, his gaze locked on the horizon where the first rays of dawn struggled to pierce the shroud of shadows. "We will move on, wraith, or we will perish in this cursed place."
The wraith's eyes shimmered with a flicker of surprise, a fleeting expression crossing her formless visage. "You dare to confront the abyss with mere words? Empty promises will not fend off death, mortal."
"I do not rely solely on words," Fitran retorted sharply, his fists clenched at his sides, muscles taut as he prepared for whatever was to come. "This world… it breathes and it listens. We can find strength in what we think has been cast aside."
As Fitran spoke, the roots surrounding them pulsed with a steady rhythm, a gentle light spilling from their twisted forms. He could feel the energy swirling, thickening the air with an electric tension. "Magic still exists in this realm," he whispered, his voice nearly reverent.
The wraith regarded him with a spark of curiosity in her hollow eyes, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You and I? Such an unusual alliance, yet perhaps you possess more wisdom than I first thought. But heed my warning—the deeper the roots reach, the darker the secrets they hide."
As the first light of dawn spread across the horizon, Fitran felt the heavy burden of the choices awaiting them. "Then let us reveal them. There will be no turning back." He looked out at the world coming to life before him. "Together, we will uncover what lies beneath."