Who am I?
The question felt hollow, as though shouting into a void where no answer had ever existed.
It lingered in his mind, heavy as stone. Eventually, he gave up trying to recall his name. No matter how hard he tried, nothing came.
Looking around, his eyes locked onto a particular arched doorway ahead.
Unlike the other corridors, which were half-buried under fallen beams and crumbling stone, this room still stood. The frame, though worn out, it still remained mostly intact. And more curious than the structure itself… was the faintest glimmer of light seeping from within.
It was barely visible — less than a candle's glow. For a moment, he thought it a trick of the eye.
But no. It shimmered again, just barely.
Hm. Let's take a look… maybe there's something to wear in there.
He looked down. While he couldn't see in the dark but he could feel the cold, damp air brushing against his skin.
shiver~
breathing warm air onto his hands, Walking around half-naked isn't exactly the best idea.
With little thought, he stood up without trouble.
The stone floor was icy against his soles. Each step echoed faintly in the ruined hall, loud in the silence. There was something wrong in the way he walked — as if the body remembered more than he did.
The sensation felt hollow. Off. His balance was fine, but the motion of standing on two feet felt… disconnected.
I can feel I'm barefoot, but—
He cut the thought short.
There was already enough wrong. No name. No memory. No clue where this place even was. He didn't need more reasons to panic.
He stomped his foot once. Then again. The feeling subsided. He adjusted. Walking eventually became natural with every step.
The intact room lay deeper inside, past the fractured remains of what must have once been the grand hall. The closer he approached, the more real that light became.
So I wasn't imagining it after all…
His pace quickened slightly. Curiosity overcame the weight of confusion. Whatever lay inside, it was real. That was enough.
He stepped through the archway.
The source of the glow revealed itself immediately.
Looking up.
Pale light spilled through a round, opaque skylight, shaped like an eye. Dust particles hung suspended in the air, dancing through the dim beam. The glass was clouded and worn with time, but through it, the scarce light of a moonless night filtered in, pale and weak.
The beam of light fell upon a single object in the room.
It was covered.
A threadbare cloth draped over something tall and human-sized.
He glanced around. The room was completely empty aside from that one form.
No furniture. No tapestries. Just stone and a eerie silence.
Drawn by instinct, he approached. Each step echoed faintly.
Standing before it, he hesitated for a moment.
Then, with one swift motion, he gripped the cloth and pulled.
The fabric slid down and dropped on the floor.
And there it stood.
A statue.
A woman carved in perfect marble, standing tall, her right arm outstretched. and her left hand holding a spear. The place where her face should be was blank and undefined. it might have been an unfinished art.
looking at how this was abandoned, the crafter might have left it here on purpose.
In that cold, broken temple, under the moonless night… something stirred.
[ ... ]
[Who are you?]
A soft, feminine voice resounded throughout the ruined temple.
His body jolted. Every hair on his skin stood on end as he stumbled back in horror, nearly tripping on the uneven stone beneath his bare feet.
"Who's there?!" he shouted instinctively.
"Show yourse—"
His voice cut short. His throat seized mid-sentence, as if someone had reached into his chest and crushed it.
He collapsed again, coughing violently. Each breath came sharp and ragged. A sharp, metallic tang spread across his tongue.
He gasped again, then another. "What… what is happening to me?"
[You may be experiencing partial vocal cord dysfunction.]
The same feminine voice, calm and strangely clinical, echoed from all directions within the ruined chamber.
[I advise that you do not speak unnecessarily.]
He looked up, chest heaving. The voice came from everywhere at once with no clear direction. His eyes slowly drifted to the statue of the woman.
"Vocal... cord dysfunction?" he asked hoarsely.
[Yes. Your vocal cords are in a very unique state. Speaking excessively or applying too much strain may cause irreversible damage. However, short sentences, spoken calmly and with enough delay, will help you avoid aggravating the condition.]
He listened in silence. The explanation matched the pain. He stayed still, hands pressed against the cold floor, until the burning in his throat faded and the crushing pressure began to ease.
So I can't speak properly… and I can't raise my voice either.
This is going to make communication a nightmare.
Ever since he woke up, every moment had been wrapped in pain.
Why the hell do I have so many problems?
He sighed and slowly stood. When he spoke again, his voice was low, cautious.
"Thank you—"
He froze. A sharp jolt surged up his throat—like a knife scraping bone.
"…"
He waited until the pain ebbed.
"You are truly… benevolent. I owe you more than I can say."
He bowed slightly, keeping his tone reverent.
Whatever this being was, it hadn't harmed him. The fear had subsided. If this voice was connected to the statue, then staying on her good side might be wise.
[Flattery…]
Her voice came softer now, low and without any discernible emotion.
She sounded… distracted. As if lost in her own thoughts.
The silence stretched awkwardly between them. He didn't interrupt.
It didn't last.
[You've adapted faster than expected.]
Her voice carried the hint of approval.
Of course I did. Who would enjoy having their throat scraped raw like sandpaper?
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"Pain teaches faster than any lesson."
[An affirmative statement.]
"…Right."
The quiet returned. The air felt heavy again. This time, he broke the silence.
"How… may I address you?" he asked carefully.
[Address me?]
He waited, then clarified:
"A name."
The silence stretched longer this time.
Then, at last, her voice returned, serene and distant.
[You may address me as Gaia.]
...
"Gaia…"
He repeated the name softly.
Then, after a pause, he asked, "Lady Gaia… if it's not too much to ask… are you perhaps the being within that statue—?"
He stopped himself just in time, sensing the rising sting in his throat. His voice faltered before the pain could surge again.
[ … ]
Silence returned. The only source of clarity was the faint light filtering through the opaque ceiling window, its weak beam barely outlining the ruined room's features.
[No. I am not her.]
The voice came at last—quiet, but firm.
[I could never be.]
"Then… who is she?" he asked, still confused.
Another pause.
[She is one of the Inheritors. One of only six.]
That didn't help.
This isn't clarifying anything… Inheritor? One of six? That just raises more questions.
He swallowed his frustration and focused on what mattered.
"…What is an Inheritor?" he asked, keeping his voice slow and measured.
[ … ]
The voice responded again after another long silence, though this time her tone was more distant.
[It is a term… referring to those who have inherited the stars, and the light of heaven.]
There was another pause, but it felt different.
Not stoic.
Hesitant.
[They also used to call themselves by another name…]
The voice faltered slightly.
Then, in a quieter tone—almost mournful—she added:
[Humanity.]