Lost Histories and Forbidden Records

The ruins breathe with silence.

The deeper we go, the heavier the air becomes—not just with dust and time, but with something unspoken, something waiting to be found.

Edan walks ahead, his movements calculated, his gaze sweeping over the weathered stones and crumbling columns with the keen eye of a scholar searching for answers.

Elias and I follow, careful not to disturb anything that has remained untouched for centuries.

"This site," Edan begins, gesturing to the remnants around us, "was not just a temple or a fortress. It was something… more."

I frown. "More?"

Edan nods, stepping toward a half-buried stone relief carved into the walls.

"This was a place of records," he explains, "a repository of history, power, and prophecy."

He brushes his fingers along the etched figures—humanoid shapes standing in reverence before something far larger, far darker looming above them.

"Many of the ruins in this region belong to what we call the Ancient Civilization—a long-lost people whose influence can be found across the continent. They were advanced, powerful, and deeply intertwined with something… unnatural."

I study the carving, the shape of the towering entity above the figures, its form obscured, shifting, almost fluid.

Elias folds his arms. "And by 'unnatural,' you mean…?"

Edan exhales. "Black Spirits."

The words settle uneasily between us.

——

"As far as we know," Edan continues, "the Ancients ruled over vast territories long before our time. Their knowledge of energy manipulation, relic crafting, and even immortality was unmatched."

Elias raises an eyebrow. "Immortality?"

"Or something close to it," Edan muses. "There are accounts of their rulers, their kings, living for centuries. Some even believed they were divine."

I tilt my head. "Do we know who they were?"

Edan sighs. "That's the problem. The deeper we dig, the more we realize—someone deliberately erased their records."

I stiffen.

"Every text, every structure, every inscription related to their greatest rulers—altered, defaced, or outright destroyed."

Elias lets out a low whistle. "So someone went out of their way to erase history?"

Edan nods. "And whatever they were trying to hide, I intend to find it."

——

We move deeper into the ruins, stepping carefully over fallen stone and shattered pillars, until we reach what was once a grand staircase.

Its steps are worn, uneven, but something immediately feels different.

The carvings here are not like the others.

They are chaotic, overlapping, as if multiple hands—multiple minds—had tried to etch their thoughts into the stone, desperate to be heard.

I step closer, running my fingertips over the fractured symbols.

The writing is… wrong.

Unstable.

Elias crouches beside me, frowning. "This doesn't look like the others."

Edan stands beside us, his eyes sharp, calculating.

"This," he says slowly, "is not the work of the Ancients."

I glance up. "Then who made it?"

Edan's expression darkens. "Someone who saw what they weren't meant to see."

I feel a chill run through me.

Elias, ever curious, leans in closer, trying to make sense of the jagged symbols.

"What does it say?" he asks.

Edan exhales, carefully tracing one of the less damaged phrases.

"Most of it is incoherent," he admits. "A mixture of languages, jumbled thoughts, fragments of something much larger."

His eyes narrow, stopping at a partially intact section.

"But this… this part I can read."

A pause.

Then—softly—

"The world is not one.

It is shattered, mirrored, broken.

What was created is not what was meant to be."

Elias's breath hitches.

I stare.

Edan continues, his voice barely above a whisper.

"A system that has failed. A game without rules. A soul that is seen by none."

"A lonely spirit, wandering, swallowing, waiting to be whole."

A deep, unsettling quiet follows.

I feel my heartbeat pounding in my chest, the words sinking into my mind like hooks catching on something deep inside me.

And for the first time—

I see a flicker of something other in Elias's expression.

Recognition.

A thought he does not speak.

A memory he does not share.

And I realize—

He is not just listening.

He is remembering.

——

Edan steps back, rubbing his temple. "These writings are madness. Ramblings of someone long dead."

I nod, forcing myself to breathe normally. "But they're describing… something real."

Edan frowns. "Perhaps. Or perhaps they are simply the thoughts of a mind that broke under the weight of forbidden knowledge."

Elias scoffs, shaking off whatever had unsettled him. "Sounds like a fun guy."

Edan gives him a flat look. "You shouldn't joke about this."

Elias grins, but there's something forced about it. "That's how I cope."

——

We step away from the staircase, but the words do not leave us.

And in the quiet, in the echoes of the ruin, I find myself wondering—

Who wrote those words?

And more importantly—

Were they warning us?

Or were they telling us something that had already begun?