Feeling a faint dizziness echoing through his temples, Alphard lay against the cold stone for a couple of minutes before pulling himself upright.
Standing, he felt the tear in his stomach finish sealing itself shut completely, flooding him with a deep sense of relief. Still, he was coated in dust and soot; his tousled hair and the state of his clothes gave away exactly how far he'd dragged himself.
He shook off his clothing quickly and straightened his collar, careful not to raise any suspicion.
Opening his right hand, he confirmed the key was gone, proof that it remained safely stored in that dimensional circus.
Fixing his hair, he walked at an easy pace in search of his companions. It didn't take long to spot Antonie, absorbed in studying some inscriptions carved into the stonework.
Didier's absence confirmed the two of them had agreed to split up.
"Mr. Antonie, I just checked a few sections and didn't find anything," Alphard announced as he approached.
"Not every corner holds something valuable," Antonie answered, still trying to decipher the symbols. "Still... how could we even carry this record out of here?"
"Maybe the Mirror of the Reverse River could store these pieces for us."
"But the mirror's still locked in the vault," Antonie replied, shaking his head. "Besides, it'd be reckless to bring it out here — the gem's already installed inside it, and any attempt to move it carries serious risk."
Alphard weighed the situation as a question took root in his mind.
Could I actually transport physical objects into the dimensional circus myself?
If he could master that ability, he'd have a storage method identical to the mirror's, without drawing anyone's attention.
"We need to find something useful, or boss is going to chew us out, and that's the last thing any of us want," Alphard remarked.
"You're right," Antonie nodded.
They resumed their descent toward a lower level, where a long corridor opened onto a door of wood and iron.
"By the way, where's Didier?" Alphard asked.
"Exploring the surrounding area. Don't worry about him. I like Didier plenty, but he's the type who's never had much taste for this kind of theoretical work — not that it means he's lacking in skill."
Alphard understood Antonie's remark immediately. He recalled the fight against that old woman, where Didier had poured out every last ounce of his strength to secure their victory. Without his resolve, none of them would have made it out alive.
They pressed forward down the long hallway. Despite the darkness, tiny skylights set into the corners of the ceiling let in thin beams of light, just enough to guide their steps. Reaching the end of the corridor, Antonie pushed open the heavy doors. At the center of the chamber, lit by the faint glow, lay an unexpected structure.
"What is this...?" Antonie murmured, stunned.
Before them stood a sarcophagus of weathered stone, sealed tight. Carved into the lower corner of its lid, in dry, deliberate strokes, they read a single name: Azrael.
Across the slab of the tomb stood an unsettling engraving: the silhouette of an eye, unlike anything within normal bounds. At its center sat the pupil, ringed by an intricate design of vertical and horizontal symmetry, from which sprang thin, winding lines arranged in a perfect radial pattern.
What a strange emblem, Alphard thought. It has to carry some deep meaning. Could this belong to some forgotten faith, or a sect?
Antonie examined the sarcophagus with cautious fascination. Despite the obvious wear of time, the structure's seals remained intact: this tomb had never once been disturbed, a detail that made the discovery all the more staggering.
"There's something written here," Antonie murmured, brushing his fingertips over the carvings.
Bringing the light closer, he read the solemn words etched into the stone aloud:
"The earth shall be brought to heel; the cosmos's error shall be tamed. Behold the proof that all things carry a price, unlike the one the multitude believes it knows. If the sun is the light that illuminates the earth, then the sun shall cease to be so; for the true light lies below, beneath our very feet."
Suddenly, the tomb erupted in a blinding flash. It wasn't a simple light: it was a white, incandescent tide that seared both their eyes, wiping out any trace of shadow in the room.
A sharp ringing filled their ears as the weight of gravity vanished for a second, leaving Alphard trapped in absolute vertigo.
What... what's happening? was all Alphard managed to think, feeling the air disappear from his lungs.
The blindness didn't last. The flash cleared, not into the temple's darkness, but into an endless meadow.
Overhead, a sun tinged crimson and gold sank slowly into a sunset of melancholic beauty. Yet the air smelled of ozone and blood; a grim foreboding pressed down on both their chests.
Behind them, the ground began to rumble. A colossal army raised spears and banners; hundreds of soldiers in gleaming armor charged forward on runaway horses, while battalions of mages soared through the sky, wrapped in mystic auras.
Instinctively, Alphard covered his face, but the military charge passed straight through them, as though they were nothing more than ghosts. They were trapped within someone else's memory, the residual vision of whoever lay in the tomb.
"Everyone! Let's kill it!" the commander roared at the head of the troops.
Out of nowhere, a gigantic silhouette rose before the wave of soldiers. The entity advanced, trampling and crushing bodies beneath its monumental weight.
Moments later, an amorphous, intangible wall rose between the creature and the troops.
That barrier warped the very structure of reality: the lightning bolts hurled by the sorcerers turned into a rain of flowers the instant they brushed against the wall, only to hit the ground transformed into simple pebbles.
Every ounce of military logic collapsed. Soldiers dropped where they stood, without a single wound; horses lay down on the grass to sleep in the middle of the charge; commanders wandered in confusion, forgetting the very purpose of the battle.
Without warning, the earth's crust split apart with a deafening crack. From the depths of the ground rose a monumental tree, its crown brushing the clouds. From its branches, instead of leaves or fruit, hung twenty-five doors made of wood and metal.
Watching the scene unfold, Antonie dropped to his knees on the grass. He stretched his trembling hands toward the creature and the tree in a gesture of pure veneration, like a deer paying homage to its own god.
"Oh... Master..." he whispered, his face bathed in tears.
Alphard watched him in silence, feeling the wind stir through his hair. He couldn't grasp the fanatical devotion overtaking Antonie.
He observed the spectacle as nothing more than an outside witness, aware that his own presence within that memory stood as living proof of an existence that defied all logic.
Like dust scattered by the wind, an icy mist dissolved the vision and dropped them abruptly back into the darkness of the tomb. There, Antonie lay collapsed against the sarcophagus's cold stone, drowning in wrenching sobs.
"What's wrong, Mr. Antonie?" Alphard asked, stepping forward.
"No... don't touch me," he pleaded, pulling away, his eyes flooded with tears, his face twisted with anguish.
Not long after, Didier's hurried footsteps echoed through the underground corridor. Bursting into the room and taking in the scene, he fixed Alphard with a look loaded with confusion and alarm.
"What the hell happened here?"
"I... I don't know."
A grave silence swallowed the chamber. Several minutes of oppressive quiet passed before the atmosphere settled enough to allow them to leave the ruins. Back on the surface, they climbed into a carriage bound for a nearby inn. During the ride, the rumble of wheels against the road only deepened the travelers' silence. Antonie kept his eyes fixed on nothing, his eyes swollen from crying and his cheeks flushed red, stirring a quiet unease in his companions.
"I think it's best we stay here for tonight. I'll cover the lodging while things settle down," Alphard proposed.
"I owe you one," Didier answered, turning his face toward the window.
Arriving at the establishment, an unexpected wave of nostalgia settled gently over Alphard's chest. The hotel's façade rose above a base of rough-hewn stone, combined with a framework of thick, dark wooden beams and a sloped roof of shingles weathered by the elements.
Above the main door, a wrought-iron lantern swayed with its flame, bathing the wooden sign in a warm glow.
Crossing the threshold, the atmosphere wrapped around the group with the creak of oak floors, the scent of sun-dried firewood, spiced stew, and the rustic warmth of a large stone fireplace crackling in the corner.
The décor — exposed beams, tables worn smooth by time, and embedded oil lamps — seemed pulled straight from one of those old medieval fantasy tales, the kind where weary travelers found shelter after long days on the road.
Could the owners be from some other nation? Alphard wondered, studying the building's exotic, cozy design closely.
From behind the polished oak counter emerged a young woman who looked to be around twenty-two, dressed in rustic, exotic-cut garments. Alphard approached and addressed her in a friendly, measured tone:
"Good evening. We need a room — could you give us one, please?"
The girl stared at him, eyes wide, clearly overwhelmed by the words.
"C-could you... repeat that?" she stammered, mangling the pronunciation almost past recognition.
Alphard repeated the request, sounding out each syllable carefully. Hearing it again, a nervous, hurried smile crossed the receptionist's face.
"Room..." she murmured under her breath, nodding several times with emphatic force, as if mentally rehearsing the word to convince herself she'd truly understood the request.