The mournful sound that reverberated through the corridor grew more intense and oppressive, not because of it's volume but because of a subtle tension that pervaded the atmosphere.
The very air seemed to grow heavier, imbued with the anguish and despair of those who had gone before, as if vibrating with unsaid words that were trapped within the confines of this place.
A voice within him cried out to stop, worrying him not to proceed. He no longer felt like a hero but rather a pawn in someone else's plan, a vessel destined to be consumed by the ashes of history and forgotten in the inevitable oblivion of time.
The corridor walls were adorned with symbols - dark, alluring writings, as if they were alive and dead at the same time. With each step, their glow seemed to echo the frantic beat of my own heart.
These were signs, reminders of those who came before, those who never managed to escape.
"They all left the doors open. Or perhaps they forgot to close them, or someone let them in..."
The sandy landscape behind me seemed so distant and unreachable, like an illusionary echo from a distant memory, almost forgotten.
Instead of the gentle warmth of the sand, this place was filled with an icy chill and a weight that seemed to press down, urging me to sink deeper, into something unknown and hidden beyond the surface.
And suddenly, out of nowhere, his attention was drawn by a movement – a shadow appeared before him.
It was the silhouetted form of a woman, wrapped in bandages, strangely familiar and recognizable, as if she had come straight from his own troubled visions. Her presence was both frightening and alluring, like a silent mystery.
Her voice came unexpectedly, soft yet commanding, like an echo piercing the void. It did not sound around him – it lived within his head.
"You found me."
She said. There was not only a statement of fact in these words, but also a hint of expectation.
"You are a vessel, but you are not yet the master of your destiny."
Ikai felt a sudden internal tension that ran through his entire body. The star hidden deep within his chest responded to her words.
It clenched with such force as if it were trying to break free from the invisible cage of emotions, fears, and internal struggles.
With great effort, Ikai forced himself to focus on the question instead of panicking. His voice was hoarse and filled with exhaustion, a result of long-suppressed emotions and the looming fear.
"Why am I here? What do you want from me?"
"You're walking the path of those who forget their faces."
She said, as if she was no longer speaking to him, but to the shadow that followed him.
"Every step leaves a void, every breath calls out. Do you hear it? It's their voices, the sobs of those trapped in the cracks of time."
He took a deep breath, barely able to cope with the cold that gradually crept into his chest like sharp needles.
"I don't want to be like them."
He breathed out, the words barely escaping his lips.
"I do not wish to become a new link in the chain."
She raised her hand, and the walls behind her began to slowly melt away like worn-out fabric, revealing a narrow passage into the dilapidated halls of the temple.
"Then listen and learn to see. Nothing in this world happens by chance. An open door is never accidental."
Ikai gazed into the darkness of the corridor, and a chilling sensation ran down his spine. However, he still moved forward, taking a step into the unknown, a step into the depths of the night, where even the stars seemed hidden in silence.
Ikai stopped at an ancient wall that stretched along the corridor, as if it held the secrets of many generations.
It's surface was covered with mysterious writings, whose lines and curves not only conveyed information, but seemed to have a life of their own, shimmering and flickering in the dim light.
It seemed that every symbol was imbued with the breath of bygone eras, and their invisible presence filled the air with a peculiar magical vibration.
With a sense of hidden curiosity, he reached out and gently touched the cold stone. A subtle dusting of dust crumbled from his fingers, illuminated by the flowing light, as if the very nature of the corridor was coming to life through such a simple act.
But something about this moment felt different, as if the symbols on the wall had a consciousness of their own, capable of perceiving and responding, whispering their secrets or shouting their pleas.
"Why do I feel them so acutely?... It's as if they're watching me, surrounding me with a gaze that I can't see but can't ignore."
The thought flashed through his mind. At the same moment, deep within him, the star came to life with renewed vigor, and its rhythm became insistent, a dull bell of the unknown, beckoning him to uncover the mystery.
The writing was different from one another: some were sharp, as if carved with claws, while others were smooth, resembling loops and curved swirls.
Among them, there were faint traces, like specks of dried blood or accidental drips of ink.
He clenched his teeth tightly as he pulled out a piece of yellowed paper from his pocket, the first of a series of diaries he had found in the Gretal Desert.
The title on the page was barely legible, written in a scratchy hand:
"Hatami's Diary - The Last Entries."
As he flipped through the pages of the diary, he felt the words seem to come to life, resonating in his mind with snowy voices.
"Day 14.
The dust has gradually settled, but the shadows are growing rapidly, stretching out and covering everything around…
Crying sounds through the walls, calling to follow him.… But behind them there is only the silence of emptiness. People are whispering about the cursed essence of the temple, and I refuse to believe them.…
People whisper about the temple's cursed essence, and I refuse to believe them... But a strange, obscure feeling begins to fill me, like the weight of a bubbling star, burning hot somewhere deep within my chest..."
"Day 17.
New runes are discovered. They are full of mysteries – the essence of them escapes, but does not let go.…
Their presence is strange – they have penetrated to the very depths of my consciousness, absorbing memories like a sponge…
I'm starting to forget simple things: myself, my thoughts. If this goes on, I'm afraid there won't be anything left of me..."
"Day 20.
Last entry…
That star inside me is now burning brightest, devouring the remnants of my personality. I am no longer the same person I once was...
I have become a vessel, a tool of some external force. But who is the true master now?"
Ikai slammed the other man's diary shut with a muffled sigh, as if trying to dislodge the heavy burden of thoughts that had plagued him for the past few hours.
His heart was visibly constricted by the premonition that he was far from the only one to have thought along similar lines.
One thing was clear: he, too, could lose himself in this place, just like those whose traces had long since disappeared.
As he looked up, he noticed that the inscriptions, which had previously appeared dull and lifeless, were now glowing with increasing intensity.
It was as if their light was whispering words in a silent voice, hinting at the importance of continuing to read. A mysterious force was behind these inscriptions, something ancient and enigmatic.
Suddenly, Ikai's gaze was drawn to a tiny crack between the stones. She was so inconspicuous that it was difficult to recognize her at first glance.
With undisguised curiosity, he set the journal aside and began to explore this hidden compartment.
His finger felt the cold metal of the latch that concealed a small hiding place inside. When he managed to open it, he was presented with an ancient scroll, carefully rolled up and tied with a leather strap that had cracked with age.
Tearing the belt with a careful movement, Ikai slowly opened the scroll. For a moment, he stared at the incomprehensible symbols, feeling a slight headache from their mysterious structure.
These symbols seemed to deliberately conceal their secrets from the uninitiated.
However, the longer he stared at them, the more they began to make sense, as his mind adapted to the obscure rhythm of the words.
It was as if the very fabric of time began to unravel around him as he delved deeper into the meaning of the text.
"The words are not for the eyes, but for the soul. Here lies an oath, immortalized by the blood of a forgotten priest. He who reads it will forever become a part of the star's path. But remember, fear and faith are but two sides of the same coin. Beware not the darkness, but the oblivion itself."
Ikai carefully rolled up the scroll, feeling a chilling sensation run down his spine.
"In this world, writing is more than just a relic of the past. It's a challenge, a mystery, and a trap hidden within their intricate lines."
He realized that in order to survive, it was important not just to move forward, but to learn to see the invisible, to grasp the meaning between the lines. Between existence and its end.
Between the bright light of hope and the dense darkness of doubt.
Taking a new step, he began to absorb everything greedily – every word, every glimpse of the past, which gradually became part of his real life.
The sky above the GretalDesert hung low and dull, as if devoid of life, slowly decaying over the parched land.
Ikai huddled against a rough boulder that might once have been part of a temple or an ancient tombstone. He didn't care–he didn't want to know.
Fatigue weighed heavily on my body. Every muscle ached, as if protesting the movement.
He's feet burned with pain, leaving barely noticeable footprints in the sand, which were immediately erased by the merciless wind humming in the temple.
The star within his chest was still in almost complete silence, but it was an ominous silence. It felt wary, even tense, as if it were watching. Or waiting.
He was thinking, though his thoughts were dark:
"I shouldn't have survived that time. I shouldn't have awakened in this body, which now feels foreign to me."
A mistake... or an evil, mocking decision by an unknown force that allowed him to exist against all odds.
He ran his fingers over the dusty symbol carved into the stone: a circle surrounded by seven lines. It was a simple shape, but there was something wrong with it. It was too... meaningful.
There was a dark mark beneath the symbol, as if someone had sat there for a long time, not moving. Or dying.
Ikai crouched down, examining the worn surface, and suddenly noticed something hidden between the stones, beneath the layer of dust. A scroll. Tied with an old, cracked cord that smelled of death.
He untied it carefully, as if he were touching a wound.
The pages inside were made not of paper, but of finely tanned leather. The letter was scribbled, nervous, with burn-like stains. And, most frightening of all, some of the words… glowed. Faintly. But they glowed.
He began to read, and the words flared in his mind—as if someone had placed them directly in his head:
"If you are reading this, then you, too, have been chosen by a star. But it is not a gift. It is not hope. It is a mirror. It will show you everything you fear to see: your own reality, your own insignificance. And the pain of others that you must bear."
"Do not try to be a hero. There are no heroes here. Only vessels and dust."
"I am the Third. And I no longer write with my hand. I write with the voice that lives within me."
Ikai closed the scroll, and his fingers trembled.
"How many were there before me? One? Ten? A hundred? And if I am the Third, then who was the First? And why does it all seem so familiar?"
He held the scroll to his chest, and the wind grew stronger. The sand whispered.
It was as if the past, eaten away by time, was beginning to awaken – slowly, resentfully, greedily.
A scroll with leather pages, rolled tightly as if in fear of being read to the end, lay nearby.
Leaning against the stone, Ikai could not take his eyes off the wall, where the writing still burned, a faint, almost ashen glow.
These writings were not just carved – they had been pressed into reality by someone who had long since become dust. But someone's self hadn't died completely.
Ikai looked down. The stone beneath him was shaking... or was it him shaking?
"It's not just fear. It's... a transmission. A fragment of someone else's will, left as a mark on the space."
In the depths of his soul, there was a feeling that couldn't be described in words. It was something indefinable, but it was unsettling and oppressive.