A Wierd Meeting

The door yawned open with a sound that didn't belong.

Not the creak of wood, nor the grind of stone. It was deeper than that. Like the shifting of something vast, something unseen. The kind of sound that didn't come from a door at all, but from the throat of something waking up.

Xyro's fingers twitched against the hilt of his dagger as he stared into the darkness beyond.

The child—or whatever it was—had stopped watching him. It stood there, motionless, that same unreadable, too-wide smile still etched onto its face. As if it had already seen what would happen next.

The space beyond the door was… wrong.

Xyro couldn't describe it, not exactly. It looked like a hallway, but it felt like a mouth. The walls were smooth, pulsing faintly, the air thick and humid, carrying the faintest hint of something metallic. Not blood. Not rust. Something older.

His instincts screamed at him not to step forward.

But what choice did he have?

There was nothing behind him but the shifting, consuming desert. Staying here meant waiting to be swallowed whole.

So he took a step.

And another.

The moment his foot crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind him.

The silence was suffocating.

Xyro stood still, his heartbeat loud in his ears. The space ahead stretched into darkness, the floor unnaturally smooth beneath his boots.

He forced himself to move. One step. Then another. His breathing was steady, but there was a weight pressing against his ribs, a deep, nagging pull in his mind.

Something was waiting.

Then—

A voice.

Low. Smooth. Amused.

"You don't look like you belong here."

Xyro whirled around, dagger drawn, stance tight and controlled.

It was not the first time he was hearing these words.

He hadn't heard anyone approach. Hadn't felt another presence. But he wasn't alone.

A man stood a few feet ahead, leaning lazily against the wall.

No—not leaning.

His back wasn't touching anything at all.

Xyro's grip on his weapon tightened.

The man looked at him with sharp, dark eyes (one was voilet and other was deep black), a smirk curling at the edges of his lips. His face was sharp, almost too sharp, too defined, like someone had carved him from a story rather than flesh. His clothes were dark, elegant but worn, like something once expensive that had survived too many bad nights.

And he was watching Xyro like a man who had already figured out the ending of a joke no one else knew.

"That's a nasty way to greet someone," the man said, nodding at the dagger. "What, you think I'm a monster?"

Xyro didn't move. Didn't answer.

Because the answer was simple.

Yes.

There was something off about him. Xyro's instincts, the same instincts that had kept him alive before, screamed that this man wasn't normal.

But there was no hostility in his stance. Just amusement. Like Xyro was entertainment.

The man sighed, stepping forward at a casual, almost lazy pace.

"You're not much of a talker, are you?"

He walked like someone who had never needed to be afraid.

Xyro's voice came out low, wary. "Who are you?"

The man's smirk widened. "Now that is an interesting question." He tilted his head. "I could give you a hundred different answers. But you can call me Zkarn."

Xyro said nothing, watching him carefully. Zkarn. The name felt unfamiliar. And yet…

Something about it itched. Like hearing a song you'd forgotten but still knowing the tune.

Zkarn waved a hand in the air as if swatting away the tension. "I know what you're thinking."

Xyro doubted that.

"You're wondering if I can be trusted."

Zkarn's smirk turned sharper, like a blade catching light. "Good. You shouldn't trust me."

Xyro tensed.

Zkarn grinned, as if deeply satisfied by the reaction.

Then, in a blur of motion, he vanished.

Xyro moved instantly, dagger raised, body shifting into a defensive stance—but there was nothing. No sound, no weight in the air.

Then—

A voice at his ear.

"Fast reflexes. I like that."

Xyro spun, slashing outward—but the blade met nothing.

Zkarn wasn't there.

He was standing a few feet away, watching with unmistakable amusement.

Xyro's pulse pounded. His body hadn't missed a step. He should have hit something.

Zkarn winked. "You really think I'd make it that easy?"

Xyro lowered his dagger just slightly. Not out of comfort. Out of understanding.

Zkarn wasn't normal.

He wasn't human.

Or if he was—he wasn't bound by the same rules.

Silence stretched between them.

Then Zkarn's gaze drifted toward the door at the end of the hall.

The door was waiting.

Zkarn exhaled through his nose, glancing back at Xyro.

"I'll make you a deal."

Xyro's eyes narrowed.

Zkarn's smirk didn't fade. "I don't like repeating myself, so I'll keep it simple. You and me—we get out of here together."

Xyro didn't answer.

Zkarn sighed. "Oh, come on. What other option do you have?" He gestured around at the endless, pulsing walls. "You want to walk in blind? You won't last five steps."

Xyro studied him.

Zkarn wasn't lying.

But that didn't mean he was telling the truth either.

"And what do you get out of this?" Xyro asked.

Zkarn's grin sharpened.

"Entertainment."

Xyro's stomach twisted.

Before he could respond, something changed.

The walls around them began to ripple.

Zkarn rolled his shoulders. "Ah. That's our cue."

Xyro turned his head just slightly.

The hallway behind him was gone.

The space beyond the door had stretched.

And something was moving in the dark.

Something that hadn't been there before.

Zkarn sighed dramatically.

"You should probably run."

Then—

The lights went out.

And the world erupted.