"Aaahh."
Zen jolted upright, the scream bursting from his throat, raw and primal.
"Huff!"
"Huff!"
He breathed heavily, feeling the cold sweat that clung to his skin. In the slave quarters, the air was stale and thick with the musty scent of damp stone, but all he could truly perceive was the lingering smell of fire. The echoes of his nightmare clung to him like a thick fog.
His heart pounded in his ears, almost deafening in the quiet of the room.
It took a moment for him to fully grasp that he was awake, that this was reality. Just another nightmare, leaving its mark on him.
With a groan, he ran a trembling hand through his sweaty hair. Every muscle in his body protested; his shoulders felt heavy, his back was stiff, and his legs ached. The journey to Nitya, the desperate fight for the orb, the return… it had drained him completely. The cost was more than physical; it was as if something irrevocable had been stripped away.
And even now, rest betrayed him.
Swinging his legs over the side of his cot, he felt the chill of the stone floor bite at his feet. He buried his face in his hands, letting out a shaky breath.
He wanted to sleep. Gods, he was soo tired.
But now, even rest was a battlefield fraught with memories that echoed through him. The scent of blood and fire lingered. Whispers tickled the edges of his mind. He felt the heaviness of being swallowed by a darkness that never seemed to release him.
Then came the silence.
But it wasn't just silence, it was emptiness.
She wasn't there.
His sister, he could still picture her tiny hands wrapped around his sleeve, her sleepy voice softly calling his name whenever his nightmares clawed their way into the night. She would sit beside him, her presence a warm shield against the fear, even when her own eyes were heavy with sleep.
She used to wipe away his tears without needing to say a word.
Now… she was gone.
He had made that choice. Her new life, far away from the shadows that haunted him. He wanted her to have a bright future, one free from chains and the monsters that lurked in the dark.
But right now, in this heavy silence, with the empty space where her hand used to be, the ache was too much.
A lump rose in his throat, but he held back tears. Not fully.
His hands curled into fists.
His heart ached, not out of weakness,
But from love.
From loss.
Suddenly, the air grew colder.
A low hum vibrated through the stone walls, and shadows began to shift. From the dimness of the room, something emerged, peeling away from the darkness like smoke taking shape.
It floated into view.
Thin and elongated, a figure that seemed almost otherworldly. Its skin, pale and semi-transparent, hung loosely over a skeletal frame. Its arms stretched impossibly long, ending in fingers that resembled claws, moving with an eerie, deliberate grace. At the center of its chest, a vertical eye glowed softly, green and unblinking, a watchful presence.
It had no mouth.
And yet, its voice echoed in Zen's mind, abrasive and unsettling, like glass scraping against stone.
"You're awake."
With a slow movement, it raised one clawed hand and tossed a vial toward him. Zen fumbled, catching it awkwardly. The liquid inside swirled with an uncanny glow, thick and luminous, a mix of molten red and sickly green.
"Drink. Now."
For a moment, Zen hesitated, a million thoughts racing through his mind, but he knew he had no choice. Mustering what little resolve he had, he drank.
The moment the strange object touched his throat, Zen felt something shift inside him. It started with a sharp sting, followed by a wave of warmth that spread through his body. Then came a strange feeling of lightness. A comforting heat filled his limbs, easing the pain that had stayed with him for so long. His wounds began to close, and the tiredness that clung to him slowly started to lift.
He glanced down at his hands. They trembled, but it was no longer from weakness.
"Get up," commanded the demon with a raspy voice. "Follow me."
Without waiting for a response, it turned and drifted effortlessly through the stone wall, merging with it like a wisp of smoke.
With a grunt, Zen pushed himself to his feet. His body still protested with aches, but they felt manageable now. Yet, his mind felt chaotic, as if it had been shaken up and then scattered.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward and trailed behind the demon.
The stale air of the slave quarters faded into the heavy quiet of the outer halls. Torches flickered along the rough stone walls, their light casting strange, shifting shadows. The ceiling rose high above, and the walls felt like they were hiding something large and unsettled just beneath the surface.
Outside, the world lay under a strange twilight, caught between night and day. Dark, towering spires reached toward the dark sky, wrapped in drifting mist. Along the ridgelines, strange shapes moved, their outlines twisting as they cast long, distorted shadows.
The demon who called himself Veyrax glided ahead, completely silent.
They passed through a rusted gate and descended into a tunnel carved deep within the mountain. An icy chill seeped into Zen's bones, and whispers seemed to echo around him, though he couldn't discern if they were real or merely echoes of a fading dream.
Eventually, they entered a vast, dimly lit chamber.
The air hung thick with the smells of metal, ink, and charred bone.
This was an experimental facility.
Crimson glass tanks lined the walls, each one containing grotesque forms swimming in a strange fluid. Runes etched into the floor pulsed with a strange energy, powering ancient machines that hissed and clicked softly.
Veyrax led him deeper into the maze, guiding him toward the central chamber.
Here, the atmosphere shifted.
The air felt denser, colder, almost oppressive.
Unusual devices dangled from the ceiling, resembling mechanical spiders that dripped fluid, twitching as if they were barely alive. Pipes snaked into the walls, while tables bore the marks of past experiments, stains, cages, jars filled with twitching limbs and blinking eyes.
At the center of the room stood a raised platform, surrounded by tall tubes glowing ominously in red. Shadows writhed within, hinting at failures or unformed beings still clinging to existence.
Veyrax lowered himself in a bow.
His voice, barely above a whisper, carried weight.
"Master, I brought him."