The glow from the eye on the book's cover faded. The energy receded. But what had been done… remained.
Aezur felt the change. He was no longer just a drifting consciousness. He was flesh. Bone. Nerves. A form pulsing with new and terrifying vitality.
His fingers, now firm, still hovered over the book's leather. The smell of mold and blood was stronger. The air, dense. Heavy like wet cloth over his face. He breathed. A simple act. But it carried the taste of dust, iron, and something older. Decay. Centuries forgotten within the stone.
His muscles were stiff. Every movement, an effort. His joints cracked as he moved. His skin tingled as if touched by invisible insects. The body was a burden. A prison.
The voice. Still echoed in his mind. "The world outside is rotten, Aezur." The rot. He felt it. Not just in the air. But in the walls. The floor. The runes. A subtle corruption, infiltrating everything. Like a silent disease. Like mold crawling under the skin.
He looked at the altar again. The runic symbols. Not mere drawings. They pulsed. A faint, sickly light. Greenish. Unnatural. Breathing. Watching.
He reached out. Touched one. Cold. Damp. It vibrated under his skin. A flash of images exploded in his mind. Screaming faces. Burning cities. A tower… broken at the top.
He pulled his hand back.
A sound.
A dragging noise. Distant. Beyond the stone walls. Not the wind. Something alive. Moving. Wet. Heavy.
Aezur turned his head. His pale, colorless eyes tried to pierce the gloom. Only shadows. Dancing. Flickering with the crystals' weak light. But something… moved among them.
His heart, slow as it was, gave a reluctant beat.
He forced himself to stand. His knees wobbled. His body protested. Every joint, a lament. Like a machine waking after centuries. Weak. But moving.
The voice again. Whispered. Like breath against his neck. "You are the key… You are the curse..."
The book. Still there. Waiting. Calling.
He took it. The cold, rough leather against his palm. The eye on the cover… twitched. Just a spasm. Or a trick of his mind.
He opened it.
Brittle, yellowed pages. Written in a language he didn't know. Yet… understood. The letters twisted. Warped. Changed as he read. Symbols that made no sense… but told stories his mind could barely grasp.
Diagrams. Circles. Sacrifices.
An image.
A map.
Distorted. Broken. Lines like veins through torn flesh. Places marked with names that whispered agony.
He touched the page. His vision blurred. His head burned. Knowledge flooded in. Forcing its way inside. Without permission. Without warning.
He gasped. Closed the book. The pain eased. But the map… burned behind his eyes. A path. Leading out. To the world beyond. To the rot. Toward a truth that cracked sanity like dry bone.
Another sound.
Closer this time.
A moan. Wet. Hoarse. Not entirely human. Something dragged itself nearer. From the corridor outside. Slow. Deliberate. Hungry.
Aezur turned.
Toward the darkness.
Toward the beginning of the game.