Eyes that slept

Derion slowly raised his weapon. His gaze swept across the room as a soft cracking sound echoed from one of the statues.

"Be ready," he whispered.

Alaric tightened his grip on his sword. His breath caught as the statue to their left began to move. The stone covering its face cracked open, revealing a hollow cavity within. But from that void, a faint blue light began to glow—like an eye awakening from a long slumber.

"It sees us," Lir murmured.

Suddenly, the statue took a step forward. Its movement was heavy, but not stiff. The grinding of stone echoed through the chamber, and the other statues began to move as well.

Alaric stepped forward, but Derion held him back.

"Not yet," he said. "They're not attacking."

It was true. The statues merely stood, staring. As if evaluating them. Waiting.

Lir floated a little higher, peering directly into the eye of the first statue. "They're guardians. But they'll only react if we do something wrong…"

Alaric slowly opened his palm. The crystal they had found earlier was still there, glowing softly.

He walked toward the central pillar, where an ancient symbol was faintly etched into the stone. As he approached, the first statue's eye glowed brighter. The figure lowered its head slightly, as if recognizing the object Alaric carried.

"That symbol…" Derion murmured. "...maybe they know it."

Alaric raised the crystal higher, letting its light shine across the chamber. At once, the eyes of every statue lit up in unison—blinding, yet not painful. A voice, deep and resonant, as if born from the stone itself, filled the silence:

"Lightbearer. The legacy continues. Truth will be unveiled only to those who do not fear."

Lir turned sharply. "That's Old Tongue… I can translate part of it. They're testing us."

The pillar beneath Alaric began to tremble. The floor shifted, forming a spiral pattern that radiated outward from the base. Ancient sigils lit up one by one, glowing in response to the crystal's presence.

Derion exhaled slowly. "If this is a trap, we just triggered it."

One of the statues suddenly stepped forward. Its hand extended, palm open. There was no hint of aggression—only a silent request.

"Maybe… it's asking for the crystal," Alaric said hesitantly.

"If we give it and it's wrong…" Derion didn't finish the sentence. But they all knew what could happen.

Alaric looked into the statue's glowing eye. There was no malice—only a sorrowful weight, as if it had watched too much for too long. Slowly, he approached and placed the crystal in the statue's outstretched hand.

Nothing happened at first.

Then, the light of the crystal spread through the statue's hand and into its body. One by one, the other statues began to glow as well—but this time, their eyes closed.

They returned to sleep.

The chamber grew silent once more. The floor beneath the pillar shifted again, revealing a hidden passage descending into darkness.

Alaric turned to Derion. "We passed."

Derion nodded, still alert. "For now."

Lir hovered closer, eyes fixed on the passage. "That place… it's not just an exit. It leads to something long forgotten."

Alaric stepped forward into the dark corridor, followed closely by Derion and the softly glowing Lir behind them. Somewhere in that darkness, a pale blue light pulsed faintly—like another eye, not yet fully asleep.

---

The descent was quiet, save for the faint hum that seemed to rise from the walls themselves. The air grew colder with every step, and a thin mist clung low to the floor, curling around their boots like curious fingers.

Alaric held his sword low but ready, its metal gleaming dimly in the blue light from Lir's wings. The corridor narrowed, then opened into a small chamber carved with delicate reliefs—depictions of celestial bodies, trees with eyes, and figures kneeling before a towering presence cloaked in stars.

Derion stepped closer to the carvings, brushing away centuries of dust. "This isn't just history," he muttered. "It's memory. Like a dream caught in stone."

At the center of the room stood a pedestal, plain and unadorned. But above it hovered a fragment of crystal—not unlike the one they had just offered to the guardian. It turned slowly in the air, shedding a gentle glow.

Alaric approached, but stopped when Lir floated in front of him, her tone cautious. "Wait. This one's different."

The crystal flickered. A ripple of warmth passed through the room, brushing against their minds like a whisper.

Alaric blinked. Suddenly, he was no longer in the chamber.

He stood in a vast expanse of twilight, where a forest of stone trees reached into the sky, their leaves glowing with soft fire. A figure waited at the edge of the grove—tall, faceless, cloaked in layers of shifting starlight. Its hand reached out toward him.

"Who… are you?" Alaric asked, but his voice felt distant.

The figure did not speak. Instead, it pointed to Alaric's chest—right where his heart beat. A brief, blinding light flared... and the vision collapsed.

He gasped, staggering back. Derion caught him.

"What happened?"

"I saw… something," Alaric said breathlessly. "Or someone. It didn't speak, but I think… it showed me a memory. Or a message."

Lir circled the hovering shard, frowning. "That crystal holds a fragment of a sentient record. Ancient magic—alive in its own way. It chose to show you something."

Derion eyed the pedestal. "Then we should be careful what else it decides to share."

A distant sound echoed through the corridor behind them. Like stone scraping stone.

The guardians were moving again.

Alaric tightened his grip. "We need to keep going."

Lir nodded, her voice now low. "Ahead. There's more. Something deeper… something asleep, but not for much longer."

The passage beyond the chamber yawned open like a mouth in the mountain. Without another word, the three stepped forward—into a silence that pulsed, breathed, and watched.

Their footsteps echoed softly along the descending stone corridor. The light from Lir's wings danced across damp walls, revealing faint carvings that grew stranger the deeper they went—as if not carved by human hands at all.

In the distance, they heard water dripping. Yet no stream flowed. Time itself seemed to slow in that place.

"This place... it's too quiet," Derion whispered.

"Not quiet," Lir murmured. "It's a silence that… holds its breath."

Alaric slowed his steps. Something felt different. The air grew heavier, and a faint metallic scent lingered—like dried, ancient blood.

Suddenly, the corridor opened into a vast, circular chamber with a high ceiling lost in shadow. At its center stood a stone tree—hardened by time, its roots sprawling in every direction, as if gripping the heart of the earth.

"A tree?" Alaric muttered.

But it was no ordinary tree.

Hanging from its petrified branches were shards of crystal. They pulsed slowly, like heartbeats. As if… something lived within them.

Lir's eyes sharpened. "Those aren't just crystals. They're… remnants of souls."

Derion stepped cautiously, eyes scanning the chamber. "This place is a tomb."

Alaric approached the stone tree. As he touched one of the sprawling roots on the floor, his eyes widened.

In an instant, voices flooded his mind—screams, prayers, whispers in languages he didn't know. Faces flashed before his eyes in bursts of light. Then all fell silent.

He stumbled back, his body trembling.

"Whatever's buried here," he said quietly, "does not wish to be forgotten."

"What did you see?" Derion asked, stepping closer.

Alaric wiped his face, still breathless. "Faces… some crying, some staring at me. But they didn't feel like lost spirits. They were… waiting."

"Waiting for what?" Lir's voice was barely a whisper.

Alaric looked back at the tree, his breathing steadying. "Maybe… to be awakened."

Suddenly, one of the crystals hanging above began to tremble. A pale blue light flickered within it, and the root beneath it slowly crept outward, as if searching for something.

The crystal fell.

But before it could touch the ground, it floated gently—stopping just in front of Alaric. It spun, pulsed, and then… spoke.

Not in words.

But straight into his mind.

You carry a shard of light. Your name is bound to the forgotten. If you proceed, the sleeping will see you.

Alaric shivered. "It… spoke to me."

"They know who you are," Derion murmured. "Or who you used to be."

Lir circled the crystal, careful not to touch it. "The soul fragment recognizes something inside you. But it's more than that. They want you to see."

The crystal glowed again, and its light wrapped around all three of them. The floor beneath their feet faded, and the world around them shifted.

A gray sky. Air thick with dust. They stood among ruins, and before them, thousands of figures stood silently—gazing skyward, as if waiting for something that never came.

Alaric knew this place.

But he didn't know how.

Silent footsteps echoed around them, though none of the figures moved. Thousands of bodies stood still—neither alive nor fully dead. Some wore tattered robes, others held weapons, scrolls, or staffs. Their faces… blank, yet brimming with meaning.

"They're all… waiting for something," Derion whispered.

Lir hovered low, nearly brushing the ground. "This isn't just a memory. It's a living imprint. A fragment of time imprisoned here."

Alaric walked slowly, weaving between the frozen figures. Some bowed in prayer, others stared at the sky as if begging for an answer. But none of them moved. None breathed.

Until…

One of them turned.

Alaric froze. The figure—an old man with a white beard and gray eyes—was looking directly at him.

"He sees me," Alaric muttered.

The figure slowly raised his hand, pointing at Alaric's chest. His lips moved, but the voice that followed felt like it came from somewhere distant.

You… returned too early.

And in a flash, the vision shattered like glass.

Alaric collapsed onto the stone floor, gasping. The illusionary world vanished. Derion caught him as Lir tried to calm the light still flickering in the air.

"Who was that?" Derion asked.

Alaric shook his head. "I don't know. But he knew me. Or… something inside me."

Lir looked toward the now-silent stone tree. "That tree holds more than memory. It holds judgment."

The ground beneath their feet trembled softly.

It came like a heartbeat—rhythmic, deep, ancient.

Lir spun around quickly, eyes wide. "Something's waking… not from the crystals, but beneath us."

From the roots of the stone tree, light began to spread, flowing into the chamber walls like veins of molten gold. Ancient symbols, once faded, now glowed pale gold, forming a circular pattern.

Derion drew his sword, his breath caught. "What are we waking up?"

At the center of the glowing circle, the floor cracked. A thin mist hissed upward, carrying whispers—like voices of unseen things.

Then, from the crack, a spiraling stone staircase emerged, descending into a darkness with no end in sight.

"They want us to go down," Alaric said softly.

"Or… they don't want us to come back," Lir whispered.

Derion glanced at them both. "We can't turn back now."

Carefully, they began their descent, one step at a time, the light from Lir's wings their only guide. The air grew colder, sharp against their skin.

And down below… something was waiting.

Breathing.

Slowly.

Deeply.

And very, very old.

Their footsteps echoed quietly as they descended the spiral stone stairs into the unknown. The walls around them felt almost alive—like thousands of hidden eyes watching every movement. The glow from Lir's wings shimmered faintly across the damp surfaces, casting shadows that danced independently, like silhouettes of things that shouldn't exist.

Derion led the way, sword unsheathed, glinting dimly each time it passed over a carved surface.

"I don't like this," he muttered. "The silence here… not even bats."

"Not silence," whispered Lir behind him. "This is... a chamber of stillness. Designed that way. So no sound can ever leave."

Alaric swallowed, eyes scanning the walls etched with unknown markings—concentric rings and shifting runes that seemed to change when stared at too long.

"Are these… spells?" he asked.

Lir gave a small nod. "Seals. But not meant to imprison… they're hiding something."

The stairway ended in a narrow hallway. The ceiling arched high overhead, lined with carvings so ancient that even Lir could not place their origin. The scent of damp earth and old metal filled the air, and far ahead came a low hum… a pulse. Like the breath of something immense, sleeping deep beneath the stone.

"You hear that?" Derion whispered.

Alaric listened closely. "It's… a sound, yes. But not breathing. It's more like…"

"Drums," Derion finished for him.

"Drums?" Lir turned sharply.

Derion nodded. "In the north, old tomb guardians would sound the death drums in their sleep. If the rhythm starts echoing… it means the sentinels are stirring."

They exchanged tense looks.

"We keep moving," Alaric said. "We need to know what they were guarding."

The corridor led into a wide chamber. As they stepped through, the air thickened—heavier, older. As if they were entering the lungs of the earth itself.

The chamber was circular, like a broken amphitheater carved from obsidian. In the center, a platform held floating crystal fragments, rotating slowly in midair. A dim, violet-blue light pulsed from within them, like a dying star refusing to fade.

Lir halted, hovering in awe.

"This… is the Core of Remembrance."

"Remembrance of what?" Derion asked sharply.

Lir turned to Alaric.

"Your past."

The crystal swirl responded instantly. Light flared bright, and shapes began to emerge from the shadows—figures, battles, memories, and… Alaric himself, standing atop a crumbling tower, his silver eyes glowing like moonlit steel.

"What—" Alaric staggered. "That's me?"

"Not you now," Lir answered quickly. "A reflection of your soul. From another time."

A deep voice resonated through the chamber.

> "Lightbearer, you return too soon… but time waits for no one forgotten."

A shape formed from the glow: robed in shadow, faceless, with a crown of flickering light upon its head.

"Who are you?" Alaric asked, his voice shaking but firm.

> "I am the Last Gatekeeper. I hold the memories the world chose to forget. You are but a shard… of the one who betrayed time."

Derion's brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"

Lir whispered, "Alaric isn't just someone from the past. He's part of what changed this world."

The Gatekeeper raised a hand. The spinning crystals condensed, flashing with another vision—Alaric, leading a force, opening a forbidden gate. Then fire. Then war. And winged shadows falling from the sky.

"I… did that?" Alaric's voice broke.

> "Not you. But the part of you that was lost. The part that is beginning… to wake."

The walls trembled. Cracks split the stone. Derion braced himself, shielding Alaric.

"Lir, we have to get out!" he shouted.

But Lir held them back. "No. Not yet. This is the moment he must choose… to remember, or remain in shadow."

Alaric closed his eyes.

The hum of the crystals swelled, and memories not his own tore through him like a storm—laughter, blood, promises, and loss. Yet within the chaos… a single voice.

Soft.

"Find me."

Alaric opened his eyes.

"I… remember her name."

Lir's wings stopped fluttering. "Who?"

Alaric looked into the light. "Vaeloria."

And the light welcomed him, like a door opening—one filled with sorrow, strength, and a fate now reawakening.