Act-4.1 The Unanswered Cave

The cave lay hidden deep within the ancient forest, veiled by thick trees and overgrowth. Twisted roots and centuries-old branches curled around the entrance like the claws of a beast guarding its den.

Few dared to enter such a place. Legends whispered that the cave was cursed, a portal to the underworld. Those who stepped too close vanished without a trace.

Inside, the air was heavy with an unnatural silence—not simply quiet, but hollow, like sound itself had been swallowed whole. The cave's heart pulsed with eerie darkness, and in its center stood an ancient sacred tree.

Its roots slithered across the stone floor like petrified serpents, climbing the walls and coiling around the jagged rock. The branches, twisted and dry, formed a ceiling above, enclosing the cave like a tomb.

Layra hung limp against the tree, bound by the very roots that lived beneath it. Her body bore the marks of violence—bruises, dried blood, and a face drained of color. Her breathing was shallow, ragged.

She seemed barely alive. The trunk of the sacred tree pulsed faintly, as if reacting to her suffering.

In front of her, seated calmly on a moss-covered boulder, was the one known only as the Hermit.

Draped entirely in black, the man was motionless. His pale skin contrasted starkly with his midnight garb. His long black hair was tied loosely behind his head. Sharp strands fell over his eyes, which remained closed.

He didn't move, didn't speak. Even his breath was so calm it might have been mistaken for the dead.

Beside him, stabbed deep into the stone, stood an ancient sword. Its blade shimmered faintly in the dim light—a gleam of something not of this world.

Circling both man and weapon was the black butterfly, its wings trailing faint pulses of dark light as it danced through the still air.

The butterfly fluttered toward Layra, its delicate wings brushing past her cheek. It landed softly on her nose.

She stirred.

A weak cough escaped her lips. Her head jerked, and a sharp gasp escaped her throat. Her cracked lips parted.

"W-where... am I...?"

The butterfly leapt into the air as though startled. It hovered for a moment, then vanished upward into the shadows of the cave.

Layra groaned, her head rolling to the side. Her eyes barely opened, blurred by crusted blood and tears. She could feel her body, but it was distant, like it belonged to someone else.

A sound broke through the silence.

Footsteps.

Deliberate. Calm. Rhythmic.

The cave seemed to echo in time with them. Faintly, like a memory, bells began to chime—not in alarm, but in ritual. A haunting, ceremonial tone that resonated with the very bones of the cave.

Aren was walking toward her.

She couldn't move, but she felt him—like a shadow crawling across her skin. Her mind screamed. Run. But her body was limp.

He stopped just in front of her. Slowly, he crouched.

His hand moved to the ropes binding her wrist.

Layra flinched. "W-who are you?" she whispered, her voice more breath than sound. "Why... am I here?"

The man said nothing. His gaze locked onto her—cold, yet not cruel. Observant. As if he were trying to read the truth beneath her skin.

At last, his lips parted. His voice was low, echoing in the cave like wind across a grave.

"The world... hasn't changed at all."

Layra blinked. Her breath caught. "What...?"

He didn't explain. Instead, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a worn flask. It was oddly shaped, unlike anything used in their kingdom.

She eyed it suspiciously. "What is that?"

"Water," he said flatly. "Drink."

He tilted the flask to her lips. She tried to resist, but a few drops slipped through, running down her throat. Her body convulsed as she coughed. Then—a strange warmth.

She gasped.

Her wounds began to close. Bruises faded. The burning in her lungs eased. Strength trickled back into her limbs.

She stared at the man, stunned. "You're a Meda?"

He didn't answer. He turned and walked back to the boulder, leaping onto it with ease.

"Where did you get that water?" she asked.

"Rest now, Layra." He replied, calm and unmoved.

"How do you know my name?" Her voice is rising now.

"The eclipse is still in the sky. We must act before it consumes everything."

"Stop avoiding me!" she cried. "I said—who are you?! A Meda? A brawn? Ayirsh? Or a Tula?!"

Aren looked at her. His gaze, even from that distance, was suffocating.

He stood and drew his sword from the stone.

"The wolves are coming. The kingdom knows. They'll hunt you down."

She stared at him, furious and confused. "You think you can just save me and command me like some puppet?! I never asked for your help!"

He walked to the edge of the cave's mouth, the sword humming faintly in the dark. Then he turned back.

"Layra..." he said her name like it was a secret only he knew. "Before you ask who I am, ask who you are."

Her breath stopped.

"How did you read the scroll? How did you understand a language lost to time? How did you break the seal of a room guarded by divine blood and forgotten spells?"

Layra trembled.

"I... I don't know," she said. "I always understood them. Since I was a child. It was like... they were written for me."

"Then that is your path," he said. "Find your answers. The truth you're seeking lies buried in what you already are."

He turned his eyes to the distant sky visible through the cave mouth.

"The fifth eclipse is not just a warning this time... It's a declaration of war... I must end it... Even if it takes everything... This one will be the last one..."

He stepped forward, readying himself to leave.

"Wait!" Layra shouted. "Don't leave me here! At least untie me!"

He paused.

His voice, colder now:

"If you want to survive, stay bound. If you want to live with meaning... then free yourself."

The black butterfly returned, settling gently on Layra's forehead.

"No! You damn ghost—get back here!" she cried.

But Aren was already gone. A shadow vanishing into deeper darkness.

The only sound that remained was the soft fluttering of wings and the faint chiming of distant bells.

Layra slumped. Her hands still bound. Her body still weak.

But now, her mind... her soul... had begun to wake.

– – –

Outside the cave, above the forest, clouds curled unnaturally. The eclipse bled deeper.

Shadows lengthened.

Wolves howled in the distance—but not like animals. It was a cry of something ancient, something called back to the earth.

The hunt had begun.