The silence of the city seemed heavier when the group decided to leave.
The decision to follow the hidden map was not taken lightly, but the medallion, beating like a troubled heart, left no room for doubt: they had to go.
The path to the location indicated by the rune map seemed, at first glance, ordinary. Familiar streets, silent houses, trees swaying in the morning wind.
Miguel led the way, holding the artifact tightly, though with each flicker of light he felt the bones in his hand throb. Elisa walked beside him, her gaze fixed on the streets that no longer seemed familiar. Pedro and Jorge followed close behind, carrying the papers on which they had copied the runes, fearing that some detail would be forgotten along the way.
The first oddity arose early: a street that always led to the market ended in a dead end, high walls where houses had once stood. Further on, the square's fountain was gone; in its place were only broken stones and water seeping through invisible cracks. The windows of the houses were repeated, as if someone had copied and pasted entire facades. The alleys stretched longer than they should have. And when they tried to take a shortcut back, they discovered the street they knew simply no longer existed.
"This isn't possible…" Jorge muttered to himself. It was as if the city were falling apart as they advanced.
Over time, they realized it wasn't just the scenery that was distorting. Pedro stopped suddenly, staring at Miguel with a blank stare.
"Who... who are you again?"
The silence that followed was suffocating. Pedro took a few seconds to recognize his own friend, and when he came to, he was pale and trembling.
Elisa didn't escape either. At one point, seeing a child playing alone on a deserted street corner, she turned to Miguel and wrote, asking:
"We... had siblings?"
The simple question carried enormous weight. Miguel didn't know how to respond. He remembered his own family, but for a moment he doubted: what if the curse had already erased parts of him too?
Each step was a struggle against dissolution. The city, once familiar, now seemed like a labyrinth that forced them to question not only their paths, but their history itself.
After long minutes of tension and streets that seemed to fold in on themselves, the group found a clearing suffocated by ancient trees. In the center, covered in moss and roots, stood a forgotten building: a chapel or temple, impossible to tell for sure. The roof was partially collapsed, but the walls… the walls breathed.
Runes covered each stone, glowing like open wounds. Some moved slightly, as if refusing to remain still. The medallion almost burned in Miguel's hand, responding to each symbol as if speaking in a language only he could hear.
"This place…" Clara murmured, her eyes wide. "It doesn't exist in the records. It never existed."
The door creaked as it was pushed open, revealing a cold, damp interior. But what awaited them inside was beyond logic: corridors that shifted, doors that opened onto rooms that hadn't existed seconds before, staircases that seemed to descend endlessly, only to reappear just ahead.
It was a labyrinth made of lost memories.
Jorge tried to mark the way with scraps of paper, but they soon realized the papers were disappearing, as if swallowed by the walls.
Pedro, upon entering one of the rooms, swore he saw his mother, who had been dead for years, sewing on a chair. As he approached, the figure dissolved into shadow and dust. Elisa heard voices calling her name in whispers, voices of people she couldn't identify.
The air felt heavy, as if every breath were being stolen by the building itself.
Elisa scribbled:
"This place doesn't keep secrets. It devours them."
After an incalculable amount of time, they found a larger hall. In the center stood a stone altar covered in symbols that shone much brighter than the others.
At the top, a single symbol, larger than all the others, pulsed like a living heart, radiating a suffocating light.
The medallion vibrated so violently that Miguel had to hold it with both hands to keep it from slipping away.
As they approached, each was overcome by fragmented visions. Silhouettes shrouded in veils, a figure walking silently, hands writing symbols in the air. The Guardian was there—not in body, but in intent. An overwhelming presence that made the air heavy, as if breathing were an affront.
Elisa fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face without knowing why. Pedro covered his ears, as if to block out voices no one else could hear.
Jorge suffered the most. As he leaned against the altar, his eyes rolled back for a moment, and he mumbled something in a broken voice:
"The... exchange... inevitable..."
Before anyone could ask, he fainted.
Clara fell to her knees, murmuring,
"She's watching us... she's always seen us."
Pedro dropped his pencil, his hands shaking.
"I don't want to forget my name... I don't want to..."
Miguel and Elisa rushed to hold Jorge back, but they knew deep down that those words weren't just a delusion. The place had demands. And the altar, pulsing before them, seemed to wait.
Silence fell over everyone, heavy and suffocating.
The group, searching for answers, finally understood: they were not just facing a city secret, but the living heart of the city's curse.