The watcher in the dark

Far from the sleepy town and its flickering streetlights, beyond the veil of what the living called "reality," there stood a tower.

It loomed against a starless sky, black stone twisting upward like it had been carved from nightmares themselves. Jagged spires pierced the heavens.

The air around it pulsed, sick with power. No doors. No windows. Just a single thrum of light burning at its center—an eerie orb of violet and silver that seemed to draw darkness inward, like gravity bending around it.

Inside, the chamber was vast.

Quiet.

Cold.

Every breath inside this place felt like inhaling dust from forgotten bones.

And in the heart of it all, suspended just above a pit of glimmering black obsidian, hovered the Orb.

It pulsed slowly. Alive. Each flicker cast warped reflections across the walls, like memories too distorted to trust. Shapes. Colors. Screams, maybe.

Then:

A girl's face.

Samantha.

Eyes wide. Lips moving. A look of disbelief etched into her features as she clutched a pendant close to her chest.

The image shifted to a boy beside her—Ron. Tense, joking. Protecting.

The orb swirled again, revealing Alaric. J. M. The forest clearing.

The figures.

The power.

Ramiel watched.

He stood at the edge of the platform, tall and silent, like a statue brought to life by some forgotten curse. He was dressed in black, but not cloaked—no need to hide anymore.

His features were angular, too perfect in a way that bordered on unsettling. Skin pale like marble left in the cold. Eyes glowing with a steady crimson glint. Not bright, but deep—like coals still burning in an old fire.

He did not blink.

He did not breathe.

He only watched.

"So," he said at last, voice deep and smooth. "The girl remembers.

He didn't sound surprised.

Behind him, something stirred. Shuffling footsteps echoed from the shadows. Shapes barely visible at the edge of the chamber—cloaked figures. Three. Maybe more. Heads bowed. Waiting.

Ramiel didn't turn.

He lifted one hand, and the orb expanded. Samantha's face flickered larger—her brows furrowed in fear, lips moving with quiet defiance.

Then the boy—Ron. Then the others. J. M. Alaric.

And the pendant.

Ramiel's lip curled slightly.

"So predictable," he murmured. "Even after all this time, they cling to hope like it can save them."

The hooded followers remained silent. Frozen.

"I want her," he said finally, his tone clipped. "The priestess's soul has awakened. And if it awakens fully…" He trailed off, letting the implication hang.

The temperature seemed to drop.

He turned his head slightly, not fully facing them—just enough for his presence to feel crushing.

"Find her," he said, his voice like ice cracking.

"Bring her to me."

The followers gave slight nods and retreated without a word, vanishing into the shadows like smoke curling out of reach.

And then the chamber was quiet again.

Ramiel's eyes returned to the orb.

He reached forward—gently, almost reverently—and rested his fingers against its surface.

The images inside rippled.

Samantha laughing.

Samantha crying.

Samantha clutching the pendant as if it could anchor her.

He smiled.

But it didn't reach his eyes.

"Soon," he whispered, voice dropping to a hiss.

"I'll get my hands on you… and finish this."

A pause.

"…Once and for all."