Watching the thick fog slowly dissipate, Henry mumbled to himself.
"It's morning."
Immediately, Henry reached for his leather waterskin. Taking the sharp side of a rock he marked the side, there were now fifty marks in total.
'Nearly two months…'
In the past fifty days, many things had become apparent to Henry. First, this place seemingly was devoid of all life, and if it wasn't, he had never come face to face with whatever dwelled in the ancient city. Second, well, there isn't any sun nor moon, this city does have its own time schedule, at least unintentionally. Every twelve or so hours, a thick fog rolled in, making it nearly impossible to see, this fog dissipates after around six hours. While enshrouded in fog, the city moves. This was apparent by Henry finding himself in new locations when the fog disappeared.
He shuddered, thinking about all the things he had lost due to the fog's relocation. This was why he now kept everything tied to him, or he laid on top of it when the fog surrounded him.
Henry begun walking through the ruins, watching each of the houses roof's. Sometimes, If he were lucky, water would pool at the top and drip through creating, a somewhat grainy yet filtered supply.
Eventually, he found one, and setup camp. After his time in the ancient city, he had created a small collection of goodies.
In a makeshift rucksack he had, broken down twigs, multiple degraded linens used for fires, silverware including dull knives which were for cutting delicate things, and two stones each with a rune engraved on it.
Most resources he had found within normal ruins, there was a hierarchy inside the city in which different groups had differing commodities in their homes.
A vast majority of the ruins were marked with the word "Peasant" in the ancient language, but occasionally he would come across places that used to be inhabited by those of higher ranking, such as the so-called "Viscount's". Their homes normally had linen, or silverware. Though within the highest ranking ruin's he had entered, a "Marchioness" was only the two indecipherable runes. Within the runes was some sort of energy unknown to Henry, its hue alien, and ever shifting, as if looking at it warped the colors visible to him. It made him uncomfortable, yet he knew it was most likely part of how he could escape this place.
Henry took some twigs, linen, and with the help of a rock, and fork began making a fire.
Currently, the only food source within the ancient city, was thick kelp like vines that grew in unorthodox locations, usually those overflowing with miasmal energy. They tasted disgusting, and had a repulsive texture, but were better than starving.
Once the fire was roaring, Henry threw the vines on the fire, and watched them sizzle and bubble. This way, he could lower how much slime they produced when eating.
To his right, footsteps echoed in the ruins. Quickly, he turned and watched the area, until he was sure nothing was there.
In the ruins, staying in one location too long left you paranoid, and seemingly caused you to hear things. Henry used this as an indicator of when to search for a new sector of the ruins.
Within the maze like city, the only way to truly know your way around was through luck, and architecture. Early on, Henry realized there were different sectors of the city, each sector having their own identifiable ruins, similar to each other, but just slightly different enough to notice.
It was quite apparent which of the six cities he had been sent to, Rakh'el, the city of doors. He only partially understood what the name meant. In the ancient language it translated to "Lock, key", or "Leaving, Door" without the context of being in the city, no one could find out what the "city of doors" part meant, but Henry did.
In all of Rakh'el, through each ruin, each home rich or poor. There were no doors. Not even a crude cloth to block vision. It's not like there hadn't been doors at one point, the architecture was proof that the structures were built to have doors. Yet at one point all of them just vanished.
Henry supported his vanishing theory with the scratches left behind on walls, presumably from the past inhabitants.
Looking at the lower wall's of the ruins he was currently in, he found one of said scratches. Most of them said similar incoherent things, this one said, "My hallway is infinitely long, there is no door blocking my exit, yet I can never reach it."
Some dried blood lay close by, its color long gone; however, he could recognize that it had been there by the discoloration in the stone.
At one point these messages left him disturbed, yet they were so common that he had lost his care for it. Besides, there was only one thing that truly was terrifying, within Rakh'el, and it wasn't some scratches on stone. It was the solitude. For the near 16 hours he was awake, Henry was alone. On the off chance he fell asleep, it was normally dreamless, though a few times he had been blessed by a dream of his mother, reciting a bedtime story to him as a child.
Henry found that the best way to keep his mind sharp was reading, so he had made a habit out of reading inscriptions on the walls. When awake during the fog, he would hum to himself, and read the descriptions within the artifact.
It was mind numbing, but it gave desperately needed stimulation. In such a desolate situation.
'Oh shit.'
The crackling of the kelp meant it was beginning to burn. Quickly Henry kicked the fire out, and grabbed his food, crudely cutting it, and snacking on the torn bits.
'It never tastes better.'
Henry grabbed his waterskin, the rarest item in his collection, and possibly the most necessary one. Within the moist city, drinkable water was difficult to come by, at least in large amounts. With the waterskin, he never went thirsty. It also allowed him to track the time he'd been there, using the fog disappearing, as an indicator of a full day passing. He had found the waterskin, shortly, on the first day. He always assumed it was made by another fool who found himself trapped in the ancient city, secretly he hoped it was too.
What worried Henry the most, wasn't going insane, or the auditory hallucinations. But the very real, lack of signs, there was no indication that anyone had been there before him. He knew it wasn't true because of the identified chosen that go missing each year. But it still left him uneasy.
If this place was truly devoid of any chosen, where did they go?
Henry packed some cooled coals from the fire, and exited the house to the cold twilight streets of Rakh'el.
Reaching for the waterskin, he took his first sip of the day. The lukewarm water washing the back of his throat, from the vine's filthy slime.
The only way to complete the trial of the chosen, is to kill a monster that you are linked too, but in the case of Henry's predicament, there were no monsters in Rakh'el. Not even humans.
While contemplating, he barely noticed a silhouette far in the distance.
'Is that…'
He charged to the distant figure, screaming at the top of his lungs.
"Hello! Are you okay! I've been here so long…"
His voice and run, slowly, came to a halt as the figure became visible.
It was a door.
Inside the city with no doors, in the middle of the road say an ornate wooden door, smooth and beautiful, the same energy from the runes emanating slightly off its carved symbols. He had seen nothing like it.
Studying the door, it seemed to just be standing up perfectly on its own. Walking around, there were no indicators it had ever been there. Like It had just been placed to catch his attention.
"Hello! Is anyone there?"
As his echo dissipated, all he heard was the silent whistling of air.
Looking towards the base of the door, there was a small platform that it sat upon, just visible, something was etched into it. Getting low to read, he could make out half a sentence, "Regret, regret. I wish I had never-" the rest was unintelligible.
'Interesting.'
His instincts screamed at him to get away, to leave, to run, and never look back. But there was nothing else. Throughout fifty days he had seen nothing like it. Which meant it must at least have some sort of knowledge it could lend him.
Henry reached for the knob, he'd humor the lone door. Slowly turning the door open, he felt the wind stop, and as the door opened he saw something no words could explain.
It led to a room. Looking at the other side of the door there was still nothing, no room, no nothing, but when he checked the way he had opened. There it sat, a place entirely different from anywhere else he had ever seen, the familiar, stone floor, and walls were there, yet covering them were shelves, wooden furniture, and engraved images. He looked around, still holding tight to the door knob. Behind him were the vast roads he had been wandering for nearly two months, and in front of him was this whole new area, different from anything he had ever seen before.
Two paths lay in before him. He could stay and leave the door, searching for more within the place he had already wandered for hours, or he could enter the door, this liminal path which was impossible to comprehend, yet sitting in front of him.
'Screw it.'
Stepping into the room, he slowly closed the door, and watched as the door. Disappeared.