The gate opened without resistance.
A soft gust of wind brushed past Roy's face; it was warm, fragrant, and unfamiliar. It carried no scent he could name, only the feeling of something ancient stirring.
Beyond the gate, the cathedral's interior shimmered like a mirage. The floor was made of polished obsidian, reflecting not Roy's body, but flickers of other versions of himself; some standing, some kneeling, some screaming.
The air inside pulsed with quiet energy, like a heartbeat buried beneath stone.
Roy stepped through.
The gate closed behind him.
The moment his foot stepped across the threshold, the air changed around him. Not in temperature or pressure, but in weight. It felt heavier, as if the cathedral itself was aware of him now.
Watching. Waiting.
The cathedral was vast, impossibly so. The ceiling stretched far beyond what the exterior suggested, vanishing into a dome of swirling constellations. The stars above pulsed in a slow, rhythmic way, like a heartbeat.
The walls were carved from a white stone that shimmered like moonlight on water. Intricate detailed lines covered every surface: scenes of faceless figures building towers, tearing them down, and offering gifts to something unseen. The carvings moved subtly when Roy wasn't looking directly at them.
He walked in deeper.
Massive columns spiralled upward, and stained glass windows stretched from the floor to the ceiling, but instead of saints, they depicted abstract geometrics like spirals and the golden ratio.
Impossible shapes that seemed to shift when viewed from different angles.
The cathedral was silent but not still. The air carried a low hum. It vibrated in his bones, in his teeth, and to the back of his skull.
At the far end of the hall stood an altar.
It was raised but sunken, set into the floor like a wound. A spiral staircase descended into it, vanishing into darkness. Around the rims, where symbols Roy could see properly, he reached out to it, and it lit up, saying, "Don't look forward."
What could that mean? How does that even work? What was in front of Roy that he should see?
All of these questions started attacking Roy.
But wait a second, did he just read what was on the floor just now? Roy looked back at the symbols; it was not English.
Wait, how did Roy read that then?
He hears footsteps.
Roy stood still, his thoughts dissipated as he heard the footsteps, but he didn't want to alert whatever that was following him that he clocked on to the fact that he knows it is here with him.
He didn't descend, not yet at least.
He had two goals in mind: one, to discover why he was here, and second, to prove that something was here with him.
Instead, he turned to the side aisles.
There were doors: tall, arched and sealed. Each one was unique: one made of bone-white marble, another of rusted iron and the third made of translucent crystal that shimmered like a frozen lake.
None of the doors had handles; none of the doors had hinges – they were simply there.
He heard crying, so he approached the crystal door from where they were coming from.
As he neared it, the surface rippled, revealing a faint reflection, not of himself, but of a younger version. A child. Alone. Crying.
He stepped back, and the image vanished.
He turned away.
There was nothing else to venture around except that staircase that was descending.
There were no signs of life, no dust disturbed even though there was no dust; it must have been cleaned, and no footprints but his own, and yet the cathedral felt inhabited even though something was here with him.
He returned to the altar; the spiral staircase beckoned. He stood at its edge, staring down into the dark; he waited and listened; nothing.
No whispers. No movement. Just the hum of the cathedral, steady and still.
He took a deep breath and descended.
The steps spiralled downward, carved from the same polished black obsidian as the floor above, but here it was veined with faint silver threads that pulsed with light like veins. Each step felt colder than the last, not in temperature, but in the atmosphere around him.
Roy thought to himself, How far does this go for?
While he grips the wall as he descends.
The hum of the cathedral above faded, replaced by a deeper resonance. A low vibration that settled in his chest, like a second heartbeat.
He hears footsteps.
The whispers started to come again.
This time louder than ever, he slowly descended step by step.
∷𝙹|| ↸o リoℸ ̣ ꖎooꖌ ⎓or∴ᔑrd∷𝙹|| ↸o リoℸ ̣ ꖎooꖌ ⎓or∴ᔑrd∷𝙹|| ↸o リoℸ ̣ ꖎooꖌ ⎓or∴ᔑrd∷𝙹|| ↸o リoℸ ̣ ꖎooꖌ ⎓or∴ᔑrd∷𝙹|| ↸o リoℸ ̣ ꖎooꖌ ⎓or∴ᔑrd∷𝙹|| ↸o リoℸ ̣ ꖎooꖌ ⎓or∴ᔑrd∷𝙹|| ↸o リoℸ ̣ ꖎooꖌ ⎓or∴ᔑrd
As he took the next step, his foot landed on nothing.
The obsidian vanished beneath him; Roy fell.
There was no sound, just the sound of his scream. No wind. No sensation of speed, just the sudden absence of ground and the slow, terrifying realisation that he was no longer descending; he was plummeting.
What just happened? Where did the staircase go? He thought, panic blooming in his chest.
The whispers surged around him, louder than ever.
∷𝙹|| ↸o リoℸ ̣ ꖎooꖌ ⎓or∴ᔑrd∷𝙹|| ↸o リoℸ ̣ ꖎooꖌ ⎓or∴ᔑrd∷𝙹|| ↸o リoℸ ̣ ꖎooꖌ ⎓or∴ᔑrd
He kept falling. There was no light; he couldn't make out anything in the abyss. His limbs were flailing, but there was no resistance, no wind resistance or gravitational pull.
Nothing. Then, impact.
Not with stone, not with ground, but with water.
The whispers disappeared.
Roy plunged into a vast, black ocean. The surface broke around him silently, swallowing him with only a single ripple. The water was thick, almost gelatinous, and impossibly cold.
It clung to his skin like ink; however, it was dry.
The water stretched endlessly in every direction, smooth and mirror-like; above him the sky was a dome of shifting symbols, glowing faintly, barely glowing enough to allow Roy to see, like constellations rearranging.
He floated. Alone. No whispers. No footsteps.
Where am I? Roy thought as he scanned the horizon.
In the distance, something shimmered, a faint light, a structure? A shore?
Roy began swimming in that direction.