Perspective: Freya Van Daalen
The first thought that crossed Freya's mind, staring at all that horror, was whether she should really let her little brats play this game.
Alright, maybe she was exaggerating — being overly protective.
It was unlikely that places this dreadful and grotesque would show up during a normal day at the magical academy her kids attended, in the relatively safe environment of the starter zones.
Still… the doubt lingered.
It wouldn't be wrong to say that she and Aslan had actively gone looking for this cursed place.
It hadn't been enough to enter a dense, hostile forest where every creature seemed built to hate intruders. They'd also descended a tunnel so long and dark that, more than once, Freya swore they were approaching the depths of the game world itself.
And even when that room finally appeared before them — every inch of it screaming a silent warning, "Cursed place. Terrifying. Enter only if you dare." — they still chose to move forward.
So yes, there was no denying it.
The sight before them was the direct result of their own choices.
Even so, just imagining her kids — so innocent, so full of energy — being exposed to this kind of brutality scared her far more than any skull, bloodstain, or pulsing dark magic ever could.
It was a visceral fear.
And it came with an uncomfortable comparison.
Even spiders — and she hated spiders — didn't unsettle her this much.
Just the idea of seeing her little monsters running through corridors like this was enough to make her stomach twist.
Then a thought crossed her mind.
A place this old, dark, and filthy… it probably had spiders.
That realization made her a lot more alert.
Luckily, her companion seemed completely immune to such concerns.
Aslan stood firm as ever — exactly as he'd been since the first time she laid eyes on him.
He moved slowly through the laboratory, inspecting the tables covered with bones, the broken shelves full of skulls and decayed jars — calm, composed, like a man browsing products at a city shop.
The way he faced all that horror with such casual ease was almost disturbing.
Then, his deep voice broke through the heavy silence.
"Let's check the side doors first. We might get lucky."
He didn't wait for her response.
He just walked toward one of the smaller wooden doors flanked by green torches.
Freya hesitated for a few seconds, her eyes darting between him and the opposite door — equally inviting and threatening.
A part of her actually considered exploring it alone.
But before she could decide, his voice came again — low, firm, steady.
"Stay behind me. We don't know what's in this place."
She exhaled softly, almost laughing under her breath.
Well, at least he was somewhat of a gentleman.
She couldn't complain about that.
Aslan didn't open the door right away.
Before moving, he raised his massive shield in front of his body, setting it like a living wall.
The axe at his waist remained sheathed, but the way he gripped the shield made it clear — if anything waited behind that door, he was ready to meet it head-on.
With his other hand, he reached for the handle. The ancient metal groaned under his gloved fingers, but his movements were slow, controlled.
He turned the lock until a faint click echoed.
Then, instead of forcing it open, he gave a gentle push.
The door creaked only slightly — then began to move on its own, as if it had waited centuries for that single touch.
The stale air of the lab flowed into the chamber beyond, letting the eerie green torchlight spill through the opening.
Aslan didn't move.
He stood perfectly still, shield up, blocking most of her view.
Curious, Freya rose slightly on her toes, leaning just enough to peek over his broad shoulder.
And what she saw made her swallow hard.
The room was simple — a straightforward chamber of horror.
No runes. No rituals.
Just bones.
Countless bones.
They formed a grotesque mountain stretching across the entire space — a pile so high it nearly touched the uneven stone ceiling.
Human bones. Animal bones. Some small, others monstrously large — all jumbled together in chaotic decay, as if centuries of slaughter had been dumped there without reason.
To Freya, the scene could only be described one way:
The promised paradise for every good dog that ever lived.
She arched an eyebrow, curiosity slipping out before she could stop herself.
"Any chance the items are buried under all those bones?"
Realizing she'd said it aloud, she braced herself for silence — maybe even mockery.
But instead, Aslan replied immediately, his tone calm and rational as always.
"No. Their magic would've corroded every bone in this room by now."
Freya pursed her lips, staring again at the endless pile.
It made sense.
A cruel kind of sense… but sense nonetheless.
Aslan said nothing more.
He stepped forward, closing the door with a deliberate, almost ceremonial motion.
He pushed it until it clicked into place — avoiding even the faintest sound.
And the way he did it… it almost felt like he feared the noise itself might wake those bones — as if, at any moment, they could rise and rebuild themselves into something alive.
The silence that followed was thick.
Then, without wasting a word, the two moved toward the second side door.
Aslan repeated the ritual with the same meticulous calm.
He raised the shield before him, its metal rim catching the green light in distorted reflections. His arm held steady, the weight carried effortlessly — that defensive stance seeming less like preparation and more like second nature.
With his other hand, he reached for the handle.
Slow. Careful.
His gloved fingers brushed over the cold surface.
Freya stayed behind him, quiet — but her mind raced.
Her curiosity was burning.
What kind of nightmare could be waiting behind this door?
Could anything be worse than that mountain of bones?
Her imagination ran wild, conjuring images she desperately hoped weren't true.
If the first door hid bones…
Then maybe the second hid the rest.
A sea of dried blood, soaked into the stones.
Walls darkened with old stains — the thick, clotted remains of life long gone.
It made sense.
After all, if one room held the bones… the other had to hold what once covered them.
Freya took a deep breath, bracing herself for whatever came next.
And before her eyes, the handle began to turn.