Chapter 2 : The prisoner of the tower

Domgis walked for a long time. A very long time. He didn't cross paths with anything or anyone. Finally, out of breath and out of hope, he turned back to return.

He had spent a lot of time moving forward, exploring these dark underground passages, only to finally find nothing.

The door he had discovered was sealed, impossible to open. Everywhere else, the cave was just a maze of paths that led to dead ends. The few places worthy of interest offered him no real advance.

Disappointment became his daily companion.

Certainly, there were moments of joy. When he made small discoveries, he felt a brief satisfaction. But these finds, in the end, had no use. They did not change anything about his existence.

By stopping his exploration, he found himself facing an even greater void: that of the absence of a goal.

Domgis was coming to think that he would never be happy. A new adventure, a discovery that would give him hope, now seemed unlikely.

He no longer wanted to wander through these endless caverns, only to reap disappointments again and again.

It was not so much the absence of great discoveries that despaired him. No, the problem was deeper: he no longer even had hope for the little things. And above all, he saw no meaning, no purpose, in all this.

"Is that really what I think?" He whispered before sinking into sleep, lying on his bed of leaves.

When he woke up, he went back to the great hall, where hundreds of galleries converged.

He had surprised me. A good sleep seemed to have done him good.

***

Without me realizing it, time passed. A lot of time.

Domgis had explored several galleries of the great hall.

He had discovered tons of precious stones, strange objects of all sizes and shapes, the usefulness of which often eluded him. Among all this, he kept only what he liked or seemed practical: containers, ornaments.

Gradually, his shelter became a real sanctuary.

Gold candlesticks illuminated his space, finely decorated plates piled up here and there. But the most fascinating object was undoubtedly a painting.

A painting that represented a simple field of flowers.

The sky was a brilliant blue, punctuated by wispy clouds. On the horizon, majestic mountains added a touch of mystery.

The artist had an undeniable talent: each brushstroke seemed to breathe life into this scene.

It seemed as if it was possible to enter this painting, to tread on the tender grass, to smell the fragrance of the flowers, to breathe the pure air.

Domgis spent hours, his eyes riveted on this canvas.

Perhaps he imagined himself living there, far from the dark and empty underground, in a world bathed in light and freedom.

***

Time passed. During an exploration, Domgis saw a gold coin abandoned on the ground. Intrigued, he picked it up.

A mysterious symbol was engraved on it, but before he could analyze it, the room suddenly transformed. Before his eyes, she took the form of an insect, similar to the one that had attacked him in the past.

Panicked, Domgis let go of the changing room. Before the creature understood what was happening, he crushed it violently against the cold floor of the cave.

He stood frozen, stunned.

These creatures... Could they really turn into objects? Or had they been transformed by some unknown power?

Curious, I observed the inert body of the insect. At first glance, it seemed to be composed of gold sheen, but this was only a deceptive appearance.

Its wings, eight in number, were thin and vibrant, producing a slight hum when activated. Long antennae, measuring about two centimeters each, adorned his head. It was an impressive size for such a small creature.

Thinking back to the first specimen that Domgis had crossed, I wondered what had triggered his transformation this time. Was it a coincidence, or did these creatures have the ability to metamorphose at will?

Only one certainty remained: they were undoubtedly linked to this place.

To make sure of his death, Domgis crushed the insect again. His remains now lay among other pieces scattered on the ground. With some hesitation, and under my attentive gaze, he grabs one. Nothing happened.

He frowned and tried his luck with another. Then another again. Finally, he combed through the entire small mountain of coins, but none revealed anything.

No creature manifested itself.

Was it just a coincidence last time?

No, it seemed unlikely. There had to be a connection.

"Maybe... maybe these insects only appear from rooms with this strange symbol," he muttered to himself.

He remembered the image he had seen on the first piece: a tree with drooping branches.

From then on, his days were devoted to the search for this mysterious symbol.

He surveyed ancient underground cities in ruins, once surely animated by extinct civilizations, today reduced to vast necropolises of stone and dust. The erased frescoes on the walls whispered legends that only the echoes dared to repeat.

He ventured into cursed temples, with cracked columns and altars defiled by ancient rituals. The air was filled with indistinct whispers, insidious promises and a metallic smell that evoked dried blood. Each step raised volutes of ashes and awakened engravings, lurking between the broken statues of ancient forgotten gods.

Further on, he walked along the shores of underground lakes with abyssally black waters, where no reflection dared to dance on the surface. The humidity clung to his skin, icy and oppressive, and every drop of water that fell sounded like the death knell of a fatal warning.

At last he found himself on the brink of mortal abyss. A wind from nowhere rushed in screaming, as if the abyss itself were sighing with hunger. Fragile stone bridges stretched over the void, threatening to collapse under the weight of a single hesitation.

His research led him to a discovery as strange as it was unexpected. As he advanced cautiously into the forgotten depths of the tunnels, his gaze was attracted by a faint flickering glow, almost imperceptible, hidden under a pile of stones. The spectacle was all the more disturbing because these rocks, as tall as he was, formed a real setting around this ghostly light, as if they were trying to imprison it.

Intrigued, Domgis approached carefully, feeling under his fingers the rough coldness of the stones accumulated by time. Each movement of rock was accompanied by a sinister creak, a squeak resonating in the enclosed space, as if the earth itself was protesting against its intrusion. After a considerable effort, he finally managed to clear the object that captured his attention: an old glass bottle, covered with dust and soot, abandoned there for centuries, maybe more.

But it was not a simple bottle. Inside, a moving glow stirred frantically, swirling like a tiny storm of light trapped in a jar. Sometimes bluish, sometimes golden, it pulsated to the rhythm of an invisible breathing, sometimes bumping against the walls of its strange prison. Was it a living creature? Condensed energy? An eternal flame stolen from the gods?

Domgis felt a shiver run down his spine. While wiping the soiled surface of the glass with the back of his sleeve, he tried to discern better what he was holding in his hands.

The boy tightened his fingers around the neck of the bottle and tried to turn it. Nothing moved. The cold, smooth glass slid slightly under his sweaty palm. He winced, tightened his grip and forced a little more. Still nothing.

"Seriously?" He mumbled, blowing a little dust from his face.

He knelt down, wedged the bottle between his knees and tried a new approach. He pulled, pushed, rotated. The cap did not move a millimeter. It was sealed with an almost insulting obstinacy.

"All right... Do you want to play this?"

Frowning, he used the panel of his tunic to improve his grip and pulled with all his might. His arms trembled under the effort, his knuckles turned white ... then, suddenly, a sucking sound was heard.

"Yes!"

But the moment of triumph was brief. Because if the cork gave way, it did so suddenly ... and Domgis tipped back. He lands heavily on the ground, the bottle still in hand, but now wide open.

A moment of silence followed, disturbed only by his own breath. Then, in a blinding burst of light, the little glow burst out of his old prison.

She fluttered around him, describing erratic circles as if she were regaining her bearings after an eternity of confinement. It crackled softly, leaving behind a luminous trail, vibrating with a mysterious energy.

Domgis, still lying down, followed her with his eyes, dazed. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came to him.

The light stopped abruptly in front of his face. She seemed to be watching him, suspended in the air.

He raised a hand, perhaps hoping to touch her, but she maliciously avoided him before disappearing into the distance.