Chapter 3: The First Truth
In her hand, the key pulsed faintly, its runes glowing like embers. It tugged gently in a specific direction, almost like it was alive. She stared at it, her stomach churning with unease. This wasn't how she'd imagined any of this—not that she'd had time to imagine much at all.
"Okay," she muttered, her voice hoarse in the dry air. "Let's see where this leads."
She began walking, the cracked ground crunching beneath her boots. Each step echoed unnaturally loud in the stillness, as though the world itself was listening. The key's pull grew stronger with each stride, guiding her toward a distant shape on the horizon. At first, it was nothing more than a smudge, but as she drew closer, its features sharpened.
It was a structure, ancient and crumbling. The remnants of a massive stone tower jutted out of the ground, its top long since collapsed. Vines, blackened and brittle, clung to its surface like skeletal fingers. Around its base lay scattered debris—broken pillars, chunks of carved stone, and weathered statues whose faces had been eroded by time.
The key pulsed brighter as she approached the entrance, a yawning archway that seemed to swallow all light. Eira hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to turn back. But the key burned hotter in her grip, its warmth oddly reassuring.
"This is insane," she said aloud, though there was no one to hear her. "But I guess there's no turning back now."
She stepped through the archway, her breath catching as the temperature dropped abruptly. Inside, the air was cool and damp, carrying the faint scent of decay. The corridor was narrow, the walls lined with faded carvings that depicted scenes of battles, celebrations, and mourning. They felt familiar in a way she couldn't quite place.
The key's light illuminated the path ahead, casting long, flickering shadows on the walls. As she moved deeper into the tower, a sound began to emerge—a low, rhythmic thrum, like the beating of a distant heart. It grew louder with every step, resonating in her chest.
Finally, she reached a chamber at the center of the tower. The space was vast and circular, its ceiling lost to darkness. In the middle of the room stood a pedestal, and on it rested a book. Unlike the books in The Archive, this one looked pristine, its leather-bound cover unmarked by time. Golden light seeped from between its pages, spilling onto the floor like liquid.
Eira approached cautiously. The key's pull was nearly unbearable now, vibrating in her hand as if urging her forward. She stopped a few feet from the pedestal, her eyes fixed on the book.
"This must be it," she whispered.
The first truth.
As she reached out, the golden light flared, blinding her momentarily. When her vision cleared, she gasped. The chamber was no longer empty. Figures stood around the edges of the room, their forms translucent and flickering like projections. They were dressed in elaborate robes and armor, their faces solemn. Each held a weapon or a tool—a sword, a quill, a staff—and their eyes glowed faintly, fixed on her.
"Reclaimer," one of them said, their voice echoing with a strange duality. "You stand before the first truth. Do you understand the burden of what you seek?"
Eira's mouth went dry. "I don't think I do," she admitted. "But I… I'm willing to try."
The figures exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. The one who had spoken stepped forward, their translucent form solidifying slightly. They raised their hand, and the book floated off the pedestal, hovering between them and Eira.
"The first truth is a fragment of what was lost," they said. "It will show you what was, what could have been, and what might yet be. But know this: truths are not merely reclaimed. They must be earned."
"How?" Eira asked, her voice trembling.
The figure's eyes glowed brighter. "By facing what lies within."
Before Eira could respond, the book opened, its pages turning rapidly as light poured from them. The chamber dissolved around her, and she was pulled into a vortex of images and sounds. Her heart pounded as fragments of memories—none of them her own—flashed before her eyes.
She saw a city engulfed in flames, its people fleeing in terror as shadowy figures descended from the skies. She saw a council of robed individuals arguing in a grand hall, their voices drowned by the roar of a storm outside. She saw a child standing alone in a field of ash, clutching a broken pendant.
The images slowed, and she found herself standing in the middle of a ruined battlefield. The air was thick with smoke, and the ground was littered with bodies. In the distance, a lone figure knelt beside a fallen soldier, their shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
Eira's heart ached at the sight. She stepped forward, but the figure turned sharply, their face hidden by a hood. They rose to their feet, drawing a blade that shimmered with unnatural light.
"You should not be here," they said, their voice cold and distant.
"I don't want to fight you," Eira said, holding up her hands. "I just… I'm here to restore the truth."
The figure tilted their head, their grip on the blade tightening. "Truth is not yours to claim. It is mine to protect."
They lunged, and Eira barely had time to react. The key in her hand flared, forming a barrier of light that absorbed the impact. She stumbled back, her mind racing. She had no idea how to fight, let alone with a weapon she didn't understand.
"Prove yourself, Reclaimer," the figure said, their blade raised. "Or be consumed by the past."
The battlefield shimmered, the world around her becoming more unstable with each passing second. Eira gripped the key tighter, feeling its warmth spread through her fingers.
"I'm not giving up," she said through gritted teeth.
And as the figure charged again, the key began to change, its light growing brighter until it was all she could see.