The moment Eryx stepped beyond the dissolving white, the world snapped into a jarring contrast. The ground beneath him was uneven stone, slick with a damp sheen that reflected the dim violet sky above. The towers of the city rose jagged and angular, their silhouettes puncturing the mist like silent sentinels. Streets twisted in impossible patterns, and every corner seemed to hide eyes.
Eryx froze, every sense stretched taut. The pulse of mana in his veins responded to the city's rhythm, a quiet, insistent hum that made the hairs on his arms stand on end. He could feel it—threads of energy weaving through the streets, whispering of movement, life, and something darker lurking beneath.
He took a cautious step forward. Each footfall echoed oddly, swallowed by the fog. Shadows clung to the walls and under arches, elongated and twitching as if alive, yet always just beyond clear view. His hand brushed against the glowing fissure still faintly etched in his palm, a tether to the power he barely understood.
Something moved in the alley to his left. Just a flicker of motion, a ripple against the corner of his vision. Eryx's chest tightened. The pulse of mana surged sharply, warning him. He froze. Breath shallow.
A low, almost inaudible hiss whispered from the darkness. Not a sound of speech, but of intent. He couldn't tell if it was threat or caution, only that eyes watched.
Eryx's fingers tingled. The blue glow at his palm pulsed again, syncing with the city's heartbeat. Every shadow, every alleyway, felt charged. Alive. Watching. Waiting.
He moved again, slower this time, weaving through narrow streets where lanterns barely cut through the violet haze. Figures flitted at the edge of vision, just glimpses—a hooded passerby, a silhouette dissolving into the fog, shapes that never fully revealed themselves. The city itself seemed to breathe around him, whispering secrets he could not yet understand.
The sense of being observed grew unbearable. Every instinct screamed: they know you're here.
Yet, among the tension, there was something else—a flicker of protection, faint and fleeting, like a shadow shifting just behind his steps, present only when danger neared. Eryx didn't yet understand it, but the sensation was undeniable.
He stopped at a square that opened wider than the twisting streets, the buildings forming jagged frames against the violet sky. Symbols etched into stone walls glimmered faintly, unfamiliar runes that seemed to shift when he looked directly at them. One in particular pulsed stronger, almost as if responding to him, though he didn't know why.
Eryx whispered to himself, "Where… am I?"
No one answered. Only the city exhaled its quiet tension, shadows stretching toward him, then retreating. He realized: he didn't know the city's name. Not yet. Names were for those who understood, he thought, and he understood nothing.
The mist thickened. Shapes emerged, solidifying briefly before fading—figures cloaked in dark cloth, their presence commanding, threatening. They didn't attack. Not yet. They circled. Watched. Each time Eryx caught a glimpse, their eyes—glimmering faintly in the violet light—seemed to pierce straight into his soul.
A sudden pulse of mana shot through him. He stumbled, his hand glowing brighter. The figures paused, unspoken acknowledgment in their stance. They weren't hostile… not exactly. But they weren't allies either. Not yet.
Eryx pressed on, weaving through the streets, following a faint trail of energy he could feel more than see. The city unfolded like a maze designed to test, trap, or guide him. Every alley, every square, every tower hinted at secrets just out of reach.
He paused before an archway carved with intricate, shifting runes. As he touched it lightly, the mana in him responded, thrumming like a heartbeat in sync with the symbols. A memory—or something like it—flickered at the edge of his mind: voices calling, warnings whispered, a presence moving with him, yet separate. He pulled back, chest heaving, unsure what was real.
The hooded figures reappeared in the distance, moving deliberately but silently. They made no sound, left no trace, yet Eryx could feel their gaze pressing on him. It was as if the city itself had eyes, and through them, they were tracking him.
He whispered Elizabeth's name under his breath, almost involuntarily, feeling the surge of longing and fear tighten in his chest. The mana responded, hot and uncontainable. Shadows twisted. The pulse in his veins raced. He realized, with cold clarity, that survival here would not come from strength alone—but from learning, from understanding, from choices he had yet to make.
A breeze, sharp and cold, swept through the square, carrying the scent of rain and stone, of ash and something older, darker. The figures paused, their forms flickering like candlelight. Then, without warning, they melted into the fog, leaving him alone.
Eryx swallowed hard, feeling both relief and unease. He didn't know who—or what—was protecting or observing him. But he understood the first law of this city: every step was a test, every shadow a possible threat, every heartbeat a choice.
He glanced up at the jagged towers, violet skies swirling above, mist curling like fingers around the stones. Somewhere beyond, answers waited. Perhaps Elizabeth. Perhaps danger. Perhaps both.
Eryx straightened, fists clenched, and took the next step. The pulse of mana followed him, hot and insistent, a reminder that he was no longer just a boy lost in a strange room. He was awake now, and the city knew it.
Every alley, every shadow, every flicker of light—each one a whisper of the unknown.
And Eryx had no choice but to follow.