"It's him…"
This space wasn't the darkness of night,it was a material void, dense and heavy, as if it were a frozen vessel absorbing heat, light, and hope itself.
The air wasn't cold,it was dry and suffocating, laden with the scent of sulfur, rust, and a history of eternal torment. Every breath Eldweyn took filled her lungs with the taste of decayed earth.
In the endless horizon stood the Tree of Vyrnax.
It wasn't merely a tree,it was a wound in the fabric of existence, colossal beyond comprehension, its twisted trunk stretching into infinity, releasing streams of dense black energy that slithered like silent serpents.
Its leaves were icy-blue and radiant, flashing with sharp light that pierced the darkness for mere moments—only to conceal within them the sorrow of ancient frost.
At the heart of this towering force existed a vast entity a luminous black aura, encircled by the blue roots of the tree. It was a silence so complete that it promised cosmic annihilation.
Fear began to devour Eldweyn literally. She felt it crawl beneath her skin, choking the white light glowing from her eyes.
Then, a scream erupted,not from a throat, but from the fabric of creation itself.
It was a cosmic fracture, the last cry of a dying universe.
The scream of darkness in agony,an eternal howl that shattered the void and paralyzed the very core of Eldweyn's soul.
A scattered, fading voice spoke:
"You are not welcome."
The voice that emerged from the abyss was not something mortal ears were meant to bear.
It was infernal,a fusion of hellfire's roar, the miserable wails of countless tormented souls, and a language forged from harsh, inhuman consonants not of this world.
In that instant, Eldweyn grasped the ultimate truth: she possessed no power here. In this spiritual realm, she was stripped baredeprived of all strength.
Her white light flickered… then vanished entirely, as though the very source of her power had frozen and crumbled before the supremacy of that cursed being.
The moment her light went out, Eldweyn was violently thrust back into the reality of the black tent.
She collapsed to the ground beside her white branch, her body stiff and cold, consciousness forced back into her as though reanimated from death.
She trembled uncontrollably, not from cold, but from spiritual humiliation.
Her face, once marked by ancient wisdom, was now distorted by pure, unfiltered terror.
Ethan, too, fell to the floor with his branch. He hit the dark-purple carpet hard, like a body suddenly drained of all energy.
He was paralyzed with exhaustion unable to move or speak yet his eyes remained open, fixed upon Ainliss's face, which was frozen in raw, primal fear.
All the calm and control had drained from Ainliss's expression in an instant.
He rushed toward the old woman with frantic desperation, his shout cutting through the heavy stillness of the tent:
"My lady…!"
He lifted Eldweyn's frail body with care and placed her gently on her grand chair. She remained motionless, a wax statue barely breathing, her hands trembling uncontrollably around the two branches.
Ainliss knew time was running against them.
He suddenly turned toward Ethan, his face twisted with panic and fury. He knelt beside him and began slapping his face repeatedly lightly, but out of sheer desperation, trying to bring him back to consciousness.
Ethan didn't feel the slaps. He was trapped between two worlds.
Then, as the slaps continued, his body convulsed violently, and a guttural, horrific scream burst from his throat.
He gasped for air, chest heaving in erratic spasms, as if his lungs refused to function.
He rubbed his trembling body with frantic energy, but not because he felt cold.
Just as Ainliss moved to gather the branches, a harsh coughing sound shattered the silence. Ethan began to cough violently, then stammered in a broken whisper:
"…I was… on the edge of… death!"
The instant Ainliss heard his voice, he fell to his knees in pure relief, shouting:
"Ethan! Damn it, man! You scared me to death!"
But his gaze drifted toward Lady Eldweyn still seated on her throne, eyes wide open, staring at him with an expression of utter horror… as if she were seeing something monstrous in him.
A heavy silence descended. Then Ainliss, voice trembling, asked quietly:
"What's wrong with her? Why is she looking at me like that?"
He was too shaken to think straight.
"I… I don't know," he stammered. "We just have to wait until she calms down."
The strong scent of incense mingled now with the stench of sweat and fear, thickening the air.
Time itself seemed to stop, trapping them in a moment suspended between reality and nightmare.
Then, the silence shattered.
Lady Eldweyn gasped—a violent, shuddering breath as if her fleeing soul had been slammed back into her body.
Sweat poured down her wrinkled face, her hands trembling uncontrollably as they clutched the sacred branches.
Ethan lifted his head. Ainliss did too. Both froze, waiting for her judgment.
She opened her mouth, eyes wide from the horrors she had witnessed, and uttered the first coherent words since the ordeal:
"I saw him…"
Ainliss rushed to the throne, leaving Ethan stunned behind him. He dropped to his knees before Eldweyn, his voice trembling with barely restrained panic.
"What did you see?" he asked, his tone a whisper of desperation.
Her reply was faint, but her words carried the weight of doom itself:
"The books do not lie… I saw him… sealed!"
Terror filled Ainliss eyes. He knew too well what "sealed" meant in the language of the old myths.
Ethan couldn't hold back any longer. Crawling toward the throne, he gasped,
"Who is he, my lady? Who are you talking about?"
Eldweyn turned her terrified face toward Ethan. Her gaze pierced him to his soul as she spoke, her voice cold and dreadful:
"The Fallen Andar[1]…"
Ainliss froze completely. Words deserted him. His eyes widened in disbelief.
Ethan, confused and overwhelmed, whispered:
"Who… is that?"
The old woman's eyes fixed on him as she replied:
"He is known by many names. Anahanga. Aurillac. Poltzin… But across all nations, he is remembered by one name
Jhal'kora."
Ethan spoke hesitantly, trying to connect this myth to something familiar:
"So… Jhal'kora is like a demon in this world?"
Both Eldweyn and Ainliss nodded grimly. The old woman's voice deepened, carrying the gravity of history itself:
"He corrupted the world and ruled it for centuries—he and his followers, the Elonkin and their beasts. In the end, he was sealed within the Tree of Power, Vyrnax. And the land of Morgast became a realm of endless monsters… the Forbidden Land of Darkness."
Ethan was completely lost. These fragmented legends meant nothing yet. He said, almost childishly:
"I want to hear the story… from the beginning. All of it."
Eldweyn tried to steady her breath, her voice frail but firm:
"I don't have the time now, Ethan. But remember this—your branch belongs to the Tree of Vyrnax."
Ainliss quickly stepped in, trying to regain control:
"Calm down. I'll give you our sacred book. Read it to your heart's content...but right now, there's something more important."
Ethan nodded, unsatisfied but understanding.
Then, with a sudden, trembling movement, Eldweyn pulled a small device from the folds of her robe—a sleek metallic object, half the size of a hand.
At its top was a glowing violet crystal, carved with delicate lines that pulsed with hidden vibrations, as if awaiting a command to turn energy into voice.
"My son," she murmured, "I will send you an interesting boy… be ready."
Ethan stared at the device, both fascinated and wary. His mind raced to decipher her cryptic words.
"Send me a boy? Was she talking to me..or to someone else through that thing?"
He remained silent, watching.
Ainliss's expression began to soften, and Ildeon's eyes turned toward Ethan, as though she had read every thought swirling in his head.
Her voice came slowly, but it was firm and piercing:
"You wish to return to your world?"
In that instant, all pain, all fear, all thoughts of Jhalkora vanished.
Only one purpose remained, pure and absolute. Ethan's answer came swiftly, as though carved into his very soul:
"Yes."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, heavy with meaning:
"Very well, Ethan… I know the way. But the key to your return lies with my son... Detective Arenwald. He is the one who can illuminate your path home."
Then she turned her sharp gaze toward Ainliss and gave her final command:
"Ainliss, I don't want to see you here again. take care of ethan...and go. You'll find my son in Lumeron."
Ainliss bowed his head in obedient silence.
Ethan lifted his eyes, a faint glimmer of hope shining within them for the first time since his arrival. The confusion had ended—his quest had begun.
He had accepted the pact:
Find Detective Arenwald, and the way home would be revealed.
But Ethan did not yet realize that his journey with Ainliss had only just begun—
and that Detective Arenwald might not be the savior he imagined,
but the one who would turn his new world upside down.
[1] Singular of Andarean