Into the Mists

The day seemed endless, a heavy silence stretching between Ashura and Lyra as they pressed on through the dense fog that swallowed the landscape. The ruined village was far behind them now, its grim memories lingering like the smoke that clung to their clothes. Despite the quiet, Ashura's mind was anything but still. Every moment spent in Lyra's company unearthed new questions about her origins, her connection to the curse—and to him.

He glanced down at the girl walking beside him. Lyra's small frame seemed almost fragile, yet there was a quiet resilience in the way she carried herself. She hadn't spoken much since they left, but every now and then, Ashura caught her watching him with those deep, curious eyes. As if she knew something she wasn't saying.

"What's up ahead?" Ashura asked, breaking the silence at last.

Lyra tilted her head slightly, her gaze fixed forward. "A temple."

"A temple?" Ashura frowned. "You never mentioned that before."

It's a place where they used to worship the gods," Lyra replied, her voice soft but unwavering. "Before the curse. Before everything fell apart."

Ashura clenched his jaw. The gods. That word left a bitter taste in his mouth. He could barely remember the myths and stories he had heard as a child, but whatever remnants of those tales remained, they were laced with contempt. The gods had abandoned them, if they had ever been there at all.

"And you think we'll find answers there?" Ashura asked.

Lyra didn't respond immediately. Her silence made him uneasy. She finally spoke, her voice quiet, almost as if she was afraid of the answer. "Yes. But you might not like what you find."

They walked on, the fog growing thicker with each step. The air grew colder, a damp chill sinking into Ashura's bones. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched, the weight of unseen eyes pressing down on them as they moved through the cursed land.

After what felt like hours, the fog began to thin, revealing the jagged silhouette of a massive structure in the distance. The temple loomed before them, its ancient stone walls cracked and crumbling with age. Vines crawled over the ruins, their blackened tendrils twisting and curling like the hands of the dead, as if the earth itself was trying to reclaim what had been lost.

Ashura slowed his pace as they approached the temple, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. "This place… feels wrong."

Lyra's voice was barely a whisper. "The curse started here."

Ashura's pulse quickened. He looked at Lyra, confusion and concern warring within him. "What do you mean?"

Lyra's eyes flickered with a strange light. "This is where it all began. The gods were betrayed. The curse spread from here, infecting everything it touched."

Ashura's grip tightened on his sword. "And how do you know that?"

For a moment, Lyra's face darkened, her expression unreadable. Then, she spoke again, her tone colder. "I just… know."

Before Ashura could press further, a sudden gust of wind swept through the clearing, carrying with it the scent of decay. The doors of the temple creaked open with an eerie groan, revealing a vast, shadowed chamber beyond. The air seemed to thrum with an unnatural energy, like the heartbeat of something ancient and terrible.

"Stay close," Ashura muttered, stepping cautiously into the temple, Lyra following just behind him.

The inside was worse than he had expected. Statues of forgotten gods lined the walls, their faces chipped and worn, their eyes hollow and accusing. Dark stains marred the floor, remnants of blood sacrifices long past, and the air was thick with the oppressive weight of centuries-old death.

As they moved deeper into the temple, the whispers began again—soft, insidious, like the murmurs of the dead. They seemed to echo from the very walls, growing louder with every step.

Ashura's heart pounded in his chest. He could feel something pulling at him, dragging him toward the center of the chamber where an altar stood, draped in tattered cloth and slick with dried blood.

Lyra stopped suddenly, her eyes fixed on the altar. "This is it."

Ashura's skin prickled. "What is this place?"

"It's where they tried to stop the curse," Lyra whispered, her voice trembling. "But instead, they only made it stronger."

Ashura stared at the altar, a sickening sense of dread washing over him. Something was wrong here, something far worse than he had imagined. He could feel it, the weight of the curse pressing down on him, suffocating him.

"This isn't just a temple," Ashura muttered, his voice low. "It's a tomb."

Lyra nodded, her face pale. "And we're not alone."

Before Ashura could react, the shadows in the corners of the chamber began to move. Shapes twisted and writhed, forming into figures that stepped out of the darkness with slow, deliberate movements. Their faces were hidden behind ancient masks, their bodies clad in tattered robes soaked with blood.

Ashura drew his sword, his muscles tensing. "What are they?"

"The keepers," Lyra said softly, her voice tight with fear. "They guard the secrets of the curse."

The figures began to circle them, their footsteps silent on the stone floor. Ashura's eyes darted between them, calculating his next move. There were too many of them, and something about the way they moved, the way the air felt heavy around them, made him hesitate.

One of the keepers stepped forward, raising a skeletal hand toward Ashura. Its voice, when it spoke, was a hollow rasp. "You have returned, child of the cursed bloodline."

Ashura's breath caught in his throat. "What are you talking about?"

The keeper's masked face tilted slightly, as if studying him. "You carry the blood of those who defied the gods. The curse flows through you."

Ashura gripped his sword tighter, his mind racing. His bloodline… the curse… could this be the key to everything he had forgotten? To everything that had been stolen from him?

"What do you want?" Ashura demanded, his voice hard.

The keeper's hand slowly lowered. "We want nothing. But the curse will take everything."

Without warning, the keepers lunged, their movements sudden and violent. Ashura barely had time to raise his sword before they were upon him. He slashed through the first one, its body crumbling into dust before it hit the ground, but more kept coming, their hands reaching for him with cold, skeletal fingers.

"Stay back!" Ashura yelled, pushing Lyra behind him as he fought off the onslaught of keepers. His sword moved in a blur, cutting down each one that came too close, but for every keeper he felled, two more took its place.

The chamber seemed to warp around them, the walls closing in as the shadows grew darker, thicker. Ashura could feel the weight of the curse pressing down on him, draining his strength with every swing of his sword.

"We have to get out of here!" Lyra's voice rang out over the chaos, her small figure darting between the keepers as she tried to reach the far side of the chamber.

Ashura followed her, slashing his way through the horde of keepers that stood between them and the exit. His breath came in ragged gasps, his muscles screaming in protest, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.

Finally, they burst through the doors of the temple, stumbling out into the fog once more. Ashura spun around, ready to face another wave of keepers, but the temple's entrance was still. The keepers hadn't followed them.

For now.