“...Shit,” Glenn whispered, his eyes still closed. He grunted and rubbed the sleep off his eyes, sitting down on his camp bed. Opening them was a menial task, as he still felt completely exhausted. The restful slumber did its job, filling Glenn with energy, but it didn’t help much with the pain and aches from the previous day’s strenuous activities. And without counting the bad trip down memory lane, of course.
Glenn stood up and stretched, hearing a few cracks in his body. He shook off the last traces of sleep and turned back his attention to his surroundings. He was still in Howard Jefferson’s tent, the Seeker of new and old, whatever that meant.
Sadly, it meant that this whole terrifying, horrible adventure was no nightmare. It was reality. His reality, now.
“...And I even get some shitty dreams when I sleep. As if I didn’t want to go back home enough already…” Glenn muttered as he sat back on the camp bed with a blank face. He almost wanted to cry, but felt too thirsty too. His eyes widened.
Food? Water?
Damn it, he had none of that! Wait, no, the grilled vegetables—
Glenn looked at the pile of smoldering ash in the metal trash can and shook his head dejectedly.
“...Fuck me…I should have drank in that river,” he realized. Three days was the norm for the number of days someone could survive without water.
…It had already been more than a day since he was in this world, and he was already parched. Glenn’s head leaned back and he breathed in and out silently. After a short while, he came out of the tent, happy to find out that the torches he had lit up the previous day were still on. He brought the torch back into the tent and lit up the half-consumed candle.
“Time to pick that notebook back up,” he muttered, installing himself in the chair comfortably and finally reading Howard Jefferson’s last words. He supposed these were the last words since he hadn’t met any individual ever since he came down here. If Jefferson was still alive, he would have known by now, right?
Yeah, that guy’s probably dead.
Glenn sank into the notebook, reading as fast as he possibly could. His reading speed had increased exponentially after a good night of sleep. Perhaps the… magic worked better once he was asleep, or perhaps he needed to rest and digest the language…Whatever it was, it meant he could read the notebook as if it were his native language.
The notebook was, in fact, a journal. The journal of Howard Jefferson, self-described as a Seeker. What it meant, Glenn had no idea, and the best he managed to find out was that they were some kind of society. Interested in what? Maybe they were the equivalent of Earth’s archaeologists?
He had no clue.
“Heh, could I be described as a Seeker, then?” Glenn pondered aloud with a short laugh.
Howard Jefferson explained in his notes that he had come here from a place called King’s Rise, on the traces of a cult that celebrated the “Moon Rift”. Glenn didn’t take long to understand that the Moon Rift in question was last night’s Blood Moon, as confirmed by the author’s later statement.
“Moon Rift…It is a fitting name,” Glenn remarked, slightly amused. He continued to read the journal, pressing his finger on the lines to follow them.
The Moon Rift is a specific event that happens during a Blood Moon, a phenomenon that existed ever since records were created. There was nothing that prepared the inhabitants of this world for a Blood Moon, for it would happen sporadically, without following any schedule, or without giving away clues that it was coming.
The only sign that the Blood Moon had begun was that the largest Moon became crimson red. The author didn’t give a specific name to the moon, literally calling it “The Big Moon”, and its smaller counterpart “The Small Moon”.
“...That guy sure had an incredible naming sense,” Glenn muttered sarcastically.
The Moon Rift would last for three days, during which the world would be submerged in red darkness. The sun would remain hidden until the end of the phenomenon, denying the people from its light. This event was both feared and revered, depending on who you asked. Howard Jefferson was on the side of those who were extremely interested in the event. He was convinced that finding out what the Moon Rift was would be the opportunity to allow him to raise his family’s standing back up.
“Oh, so he was indeed a noble. But a lower rank one, then. Or maybe it was just a rank too low for Jefferson? Who knows…” Glenn mused, quite interested in the small notebook. He was finding plenty of information there.
What made the Blood Moon so terrifying, in the words of the notebook’s author, were the Fallen Pieces; items spat out by the Rift, who all had the potential to destroy whole cities. Still, some considered this to be a rewarding ordeal the gods put them through. Most of these Fallen Pieces possessed world-changing attributes and could create heroes and villains with their sheer existence. Relics, technology, artifacts, and other mysterious items…the list was long. But what ticked Glenn off was that both monsters AND people could fall from the Rift. Everything and nothing could come out of there.
“...Does that mean I might be a Fallen Piece? Ah, no, they are called Fallen Ones.” Glenn rubbed the back of his head, confused. It couldn’t be that since he woke up on that battlefield before the Rift opened up. The subject was quite puzzling, and Glenn could only rub his temples to try and force himself to understand better. There was one certainty; each time the Blood Moon appeared, monsters and “Corrupted Ones” would appear at ten times the normal rate, and would try to destroy the world, motivated by some unknown, maddening factor. And if the creatures survived the three nights of madness, they would become monsters endowed with intelligence, making them stronger than ever.
The journal refused to elaborate on what the “Corrupted Ones” were, so Glenn chose to gloss over it. It probably was some rare kind of monster anyway, not that it mattered much. Anything and everything was stronger than him anyway.
There also was a slight description of the author, who left his Barony—ah! He was a Baron, then. Good to know. Barons should be on the lowest level of a noble society, right? Or was it Baronnet? Glenn couldn’t remember. So, Jefferson left his Barony to explore the world and make a name for himself, for his family’s situations were complicated, mostly with his father.
“...It does kind of feel like he has some kind of daddy issues,” Glenn laughed softly, invested in the notebook. The author then went off on a thirty-page long rant about himself, as to what responsibilities he held, how he was the only hope of the family to save them from the “curse”, how great he was, and how he was going to restore his family’s honor, and…
“Sigh…” Glenn skipped over that part, bored. He quickly arrived at a more interesting part, which was the last entries of the journal.
The reason Jefferson came to the Still Peak, which was the name of the mountain he was currently imprisoned in, was to research the Moon Cult. Jefferson took a quick tangent to remind any potential reader that the whole Still Peak was actually a Fallen Piece. A whole mountain!
Glenn rubbed the corner of his eyes.
“Does gravity not work the same here? I’m pretty sure a meteorite the size of this mountain would have devastated the whole region and more. Maybe the whole planet…?” He uttered in disbelief. This was a little hard to imagine.
With that knowledge, the Seeker explained that many villages surrounding the Peak had ancient legends and myths about the place, each with different kinds of folklore stories. But strangely, they all shared the same denominator: the Blood Moon. Pushed by these myths, Jefferson braved the harshest climb of his life, fighting against lightning storms, thunderous rain, and freezing blizzards, to finally arrive at the top of the Still Peak.
Glenn lifted an eyebrow at the “difficult” ascension. It had been pretty much a walk in the park for him, after all. Was he just very lucky, or was something weird pulling the strings behind the scenes?
…It probably was the second option, right? Well, no use worrying about that now, was there?
Jefferson was overjoyed when he found the engravings and managed to find a hidden mechanism, probably built by the Moon Cult, who were the villagers who worshiped the Blood Moon. Why would they do that? Glenn had no idea, and Jefferson had neither apparently. But he did seem hellbent on trying to find that out, alongside many other things.
After successfully entering the sacred ritual place, that had no name for now, (but Jefferson had planned to find one), the Seeker established camp. He had food and water for a while, so he wasn’t worried about dying from lack of those if he didn’t find the exit quickly. Glenn pressed his lips together and threw a suspicious gaze into the tent.
…Nope, no food or water in sight. Maybe Jefferson did die from thirst and hunger.
“Anyway, that guy knew what he was doing,” Glenn remarked, admirative. He had fallen here against his will, while it was Jefferson’s mission to find this place.
The Seeker then went back to explaining how finding the secret of the Moon Rift will finally allow him to throw down his “monstrous” father, get rid of his hateful mother, and finally make the Howard noble family relevant again in the Bourgeoisie. What was the Bourgeoisie?
Another question without an answer.
“Jefferson hated his family, huh…Well, I can kind of understand where he’s coming from…” Glenn whispered, before shivering as bad memories ran through his mind.
He turned the page and found the last entry, explaining that the last ritual that had been carried in this place had been at the very least decades away, if not older. The place was dusty and completely abandoned when he arrived there, forcing him to refill the torch holders in torches, for there were none at all left;
A few of the engravings he did manage to decrypt explained the beginning of the cult, which started when a village nearby witnessed the fall of the mountain AND survived.
That…Glenn wanted to call Jefferson, or the engravings, whoever was responsible for his bullshit. This wasn’t possible. They couldn’t witness it from nearby like a falling star dying out; this was the equivalent of an asteroid!
“...Let’s stop doubting the writings for now, and keep my suspicions for now. I have to think with an open mind. An open mind, Glenn…” He breathed slowly and shook his head. He read the last few lines, which explained that one villager had managed to find a Fallen Piece artifact that protected the village from the beasts and gave them a bountiful harvest. That was the start of the cult to the Blood Moon.
“...So treasure means Cult. Good to know if I want to start one in the future,” Glenn cackled, laughing at the ridiculous idea. Finally, Jefferson wrote that he had finished translating all of the writings on the wall, and was ready to explore the last part of the structure. He chose to leave his notebook behind, “just in case”.
…Well, thank you, Jefferson! Your knowledge did serve someone, even though it probably wasn’t the way you intended it to be used, huh? Glenn laughed a bit more and flipped the pages to the side. The notebook was filled with a runic alphabet he couldn’t understand, even by concentrating the best he could on it. There was also a pretty well-done drawing of the engraving he had found on the flat peak back outside. Jefferson, on top of being a very dutiful Seeker, was also an excellent artist!
What could he not do?
Ah, being modest. Yeah, that was one thing Jefferson kept on failing. But Glenn could understand that. With so many qualities, there had to be something balancing it, right?
Glenn closed the notebook and stretched, mentally exhausted. It had been quite taxing to read this whole thing, but still extremely useful.
“I’ll keep this here, nice and warm,” Glenn muttered as he slipped the notebook into the inside pocket of his trench coat. The notebook will probably have its use in the future.
Glenn stood up and picked the torch up. He then left the tent and looked around the chamber a little more. As he had previously found out, there was only one way out, and it was the way Jefferson went before probably dying.
Glenn winced and hesitated when he heard his stomach grumbling. He was hungry, but he was even more thirsty. His throat was dry, and he was starting to consider the worst. Drinking his piss was a solution he was most reluctant to, but if things came to that…
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Things wouldn’t come to that. Glenn steeled himself and entered the passage, his sword safely secured to his waist. He had chosen to use it normally instead of putting it in his back. Less cool, but much more practical.
Using the torch to light his way, Glenn silently proceeded, squinting for any deadly traps, hidden pressure plates, or other things that would kill him. But even after searching for a long time, the only thing Glenn found that might kill him was boredom.
“This hallway is never ending, damn it…” Glenn complained, before looking back. He could only see darkness, his torch not powerful enough to reach back. Darkness in the back, and darkness in front.
“...Super reassuring.”
‘I really have some wise ideas sometimes, I swear…’ Glenn thought sarcastically as he continued to walk. More writings on the wall, more old cobwebs void of any spiders, more and more nothing…
Ah! Glenn could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel! Literally!
A faint, white glow was coming off the end of the corridor. Glenn’s heart filled with excitement and he quickened his pace, his torch held high above him. Eager to unveil the source of the light, Glenn stepped inside the new room, and he wasn’t disappointed.
His gaze was immediately drawn to a massive crystal, a few houses tall, shining with a moonlight glow above a pristine water pool. The shimmering reflection glimmered across the pool’s surface, casting strange but relaxing shapes on the walls. This spectacle was surreal.
He dropped his torch, in awe. It rolled and fell in the water, but he didn’t even notice it, for the torch’s light was nothing compared to the crystal’s.
There was a pulse coming off it, pumping through the ground and his skin, quite similar to how a bass would feel at a concert.
‘That’s where the crystal shard from yesterday came from,’ Glenn realized, his eyes shining brightly.
“Did the smaller piece get attracted to the larger one, like a magnet?” He questioned aloud, his voice echoing through the room. He approached the crystal carefully, all while his eyes were observing the room’s layout. There were two more hallways, left and right, but both of them had completely collapsed long ago. Glenn glanced at the crystal, his curiosity gnawing at him. He shook his head and went to see the hallways, to find out whether digging out was possible or not. He couldn’t feel any wind passing through, nor hear a hissing breeze, so it was highly unlikely he’d be able to find an exit through here. He checked the other passageway, but it was in the same condition. Glenn rubbed the back of his head, frowning.
“...How the hell am I supposed to get out of here, then?” He questioned, a tinge of nascent worry poisoning his mind.
Glenn shook his head and headed for the massive crystal. There was a stone passageway that crossed through the pool, leading to it. At the end of it, there was a stone pedestal without anything placed on it.
There didn’t seem to be anything threatening in the room, besides the unknown crystal, so Glenn chose to finally give attention to the pool. He was still terribly thirsty, after all, and he had to admit he kind of wanted to drink it whole.
“...A suspiciously clear pool with a suspicious white crystal floating above it…” Glenn bit down on his lower lip. There wasn’t even a hint of moss growing on the side of the pool, nor a bit of dirt. It was the cleanest water he had ever seen. He hesitantly kneeled and reached with his hand, feeling the cold touch of the water.
Glenn instinctively drew some of it with both of his hands, bringing the water to his mouth, when he suddenly shook his head and opened his hands. The water fell back into the pool with a splashing sound, disturbing the peaceful surface.
“...Let’s see if there is no way out of here, first.” Glenn decided. It was way too risky for him to drink this thing; who knew if it wasn’t another weird-fuckery from this world? Monsters were real, and things falling out from the sky were too, who was he to tell if this water wouldn’t transform into something strange? Or horrible? Or straight-up kill him?
Glenn wasn't usually paranoid, but he felt the need to be at the moment. He went back to the corridor on the left, his hands on his waist as he stared at the rubble blocking the way.
Maybe he’d be able to dig his way through? Glenn took off his coat and threw it to the side. He rubbed his hands together, before drawing a deep breath. That certainly was going to take some time, and a lot of energy, but he didn’t have much else of a choice, did he?
He worked for an hour, maybe two, perhaps more, he couldn’t tell. There was no metric to tell the time down there, and so even minutes felt like days to him. The rubble began to pile down next to the tunnel, but the way out still seemed far away. Still no wind or fresh air coming through, though.
“...There has to be some kind of ventilation system, or I’d feel the difference,” Glenn muttered as he looked at the ceiling. It was very, very far, reaching much higher than the chamber he landed in the previous day. Perhaps there were hidden conduits there, there was no way to tell.
At some point, Glenn felt weird and was forced to take a break. He wiped the sweat off his forehead, his throat the driest it had ever been, his vision blurry. He was starting to see things that probably didn’t exist or maybe did. Thirst seemed to do some weird things on his mind, and that was without taking into account the hunger. Glenn shook his head and forced himself next to the pool. He looked at the water for long minutes, pondering.
“...Die from thirst, or die from drinking something dangerous. At least I have a choice,” Glenn chuckled weakly, his dry lips yearning for that sweet water. After a few more minutes of consideration, Glenn steeled himself and reached for the water, drawing out a handful.
“Here goes nothing…” He gulped and closed his eyes, pressing his lips against the cold water. He drank it all, sighing. It was revitalizing, as he had just eaten an ice cream on the hottest day of summer.
That feeling was so purifying, it made him feel like all the aches and pains he was suffering from were washed away, freeing him. Glenn didn’t move for a few seconds, wondering, before drawing more water out.
He drank another handful, and found out that anything plaguing his body with pain had disappeared; that uncomfortable pain in his lower back? Gone.
“...DId I stumble upon the Fountain of Youth?” Glenn seriously asked, bewildered. He stared at the crystal clear water pool, before shaking his head. He stood up and went back to work, lifting stones one after the other.
With the help of this magical water, digging a way out of this place wasn’t an uncertainty anymore. He just had to persist to get out and escape to the light of the day. If it was the day outside. He was fine with a bit of moonlight too. As long as it wasn’t a crimson one…
The rubble seemed never-ending, but Glenn continued, undeterred. The small rubble pile he created next to the corridor’s entry was growing steadily as time passed.
Glenn was hopeful he’d be able to at least figure out whether this led to an exit if he got rid of enough rubble, but now that the debris pile was half his size, he began to doubt.
His stomach was rumbling now and then, yearning for food. Each time that happened, Glenn would grit his teeth and continue working, drinking some of the miraculous water from time.
Too bad it wasn’t miraculous enough to solve the sustenance issue.
The burn in his arms was starting to get unbearable, so Glenn chose to take a break. He walked on the stone pathway leading to the white crystal, choosing to spend his time studying it. The crystal was pulsing softly, as it did ever since he discovered it.
Glenn stopped in front of the stone pedestal, frowning when he saw that there was some sort of large rune engraved onto it. He slowly passed his finger on it, following the lines, when a thundering voice suddenly rang out.
“Only a Fallen One shall harness the power of the sky. To dust you shall go back if you’re not the promised one.”
Glenn jumped back in fright, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He looked around the room in fear, ready to draw the weapon and fight, but there was no one else with him.
“...Hello?” Glenn tried, his fingers tightly wrapped on the hilt of his sword. No one replied to him. He relaxed his hand and looked at the pedestal, wondering if that was the catalyst for the voice. Glenn went and did the same thing he just did, using his fingers to follow the lines carved in the stone, but nothing happened this time.
“A one-time event?” Glenn asked, uncertain. He scratched the back of his head, at a loss at what to do.
‘Did a…stone pedestal just talk to me?’ Just having this thought felt like Glenn’s world was flipped around.
“Did it say a “Fallen One "?" Glenn’s eyebrows creased as he rubbed his chin. He pulled out Jefferson's notebook for confirmation, and indeed, it was the same term the Seeker had used.
So you needed to fall from the Moon Rift to harness the “power of the sky”?
Strange story.
Both curious and scared of the crystal, Glenn stepped past the pedestal. He could reach for it with his hand if he wanted to, but he didn’t feel suicidal yet.
“There’s no guarantee I’m a Fallen One, even though some events do coincide…” Glenn pondered, balancing the pros and cons. Suddenly, his foot touched something soft, almost kicking it in the pool. Glenn looked down to find a pile of clothes and a belt pouch.
“...Hmm.” He moistened his lips and crouched, observing the pile closer. There were ashes in the clothes, sticking to his hands as he looked through them.
Ashes?
“To dust you shall go back…” Glenn repeated slowly, rubbing the ash between his fingers. He looked back and forth between the cloth pile and the pedestal and suddenly paled.
“Oh.”
His eyes widened and he jumped back, away from the white crystal.
“Oh, fucking shit!” He cursed, hurriedly wiping his hands on his clothes. So this was the reason for Jefferson's disappearance! The man actually went back to dust!
“This is twisted. Fuck!” Glenn spat, his heart racing. He shook his head, doing his best to ignore that some bits of Jefferson were spread unevenly on his hands. He slowly pushed himself up, before reaching for the clothes and the belt pouch. He swiftly pulled them toward him, before running away from the crystal. He disregarded the ashes he spread out and looked at the clothes. It was the same attire he was wearing, the same copy. Glenn grumbled.
“He sure didn’t know how to be original…”
He quickly peered into the pouch, finding it to be empty. He sighed and tied the pouch to his belt, hoping it might serve him better than it did Jefferson.
Glenn dusted his hands off completely, making sure not even the soot was left. He wanted to wash his hands in the pool, but then it would mean that was going to drink Jefferson, something he didn’t even want to consider.
He sighed and sat next to the pool. What should he do now?
…The answer was evident. He stood up, stretched, and went back to move the debris out of the hallway.
At some point, Glenn couldn’t simply continue, too affected by the lack of food. He thought about going back to the camp, but the hour-long walk made it torture. Glenn moistened his lips, before deciding to go back. He would have to walk in the dark for a while, but it should be fine.
He stumbled up and did exactly as planned, going back to the camp. Walking in the silent darkness was deeply unpleasant, but as long as he kept his hand on the wall, it would go fine. There was nothing else but him in this place, anyway.
After he reached the camp, Glenn went into the tent and picked the camp bed up. It wasn’t as light as the modern, aluminum ones of Earth, but it could be folded a little, making it slightly easier to transport compared to a normal bed. Glenn lifted the bunk bed on his shoulders with a grunt, stabilized himself, and grabbed one of the remaining torches. They were almost all out, but Glenn didn’t need them at this point. It was more for his comfort than anything else that he took the torch. After being done, Glenn walked back to the crystal room, the bunk bed on his back.
After another painfully long walk, he arrived and set down the bunk bed. And without hesitating for another second, he collapsed on it, sleeping a dreamless night.
In the next days, he tirelessly worked to transport the stones, clearing the way out with the strength of a hopeful man. The hunger was getting worse and worse, and it was getting harder to move the rocks.
He drank when he was thirsty, and he fed himself with hopes, working, and working. On the fourth day, the hunger was so bad it felt like a beast was clawing its way out from his insides. Never in his whole life had he been feeling so darned hungry and tired at the same time. So kept on digging with growing despair.
On the fifth day, he sat in front of the hallway and looked at the rubble. The pile he had created was taller than him now, even though it was nowhere enough to reach the ceiling. His eyes were bland and devoid of light. He cracked open his lips, struggling to even talk.
“...So…That’s how I die…huh…” He looked back to the pond as hunger pained him once more, and almost retched at its sight. He had drunk so much of the crystalline water that he had begun to get disgusted by it. When he was thirsty he drank, when he was hungry too, even when he was tired. He was practically spending half of his days/nights drinking out from the damned pool.
Glenn slapped his cheeks weakly and practically rolled next to it. He sank his head in the water, enjoying the refreshing feeling. It felt like his mind was finally getting clear of the hunger devouring it.
Revitalized, he took his head out. As soon as he did so, the hunger came back, stronger than ever, transforming his face into one of pain.
Glenn grimaced, his teeth tightly clenched as he punched the ground with his remaining strength. He couldn’t even hurt himself, due to how weak he had gotten.
“Damn it!” He cried as all hopes died out.
“Am…Am I going to die here?!?” Glenn shouted at the ceiling, heaving with difficulty. No one replied to him.
“No…” Glenn pushed himself up, struggling to stand. There was one last chance, one last choice, the riskiest. He walked up to the white crystal, kicking the pile of ash as he did so. He took a deep breath, his eyes closed.
Glenn wasn’t a gambler. But today, he had to bet on the most important thing; his life.
He touched the crystal with his left hand, hopeless.
“All or nothing…” He muttered in a soft voice, his gaze resolute. If it didn’t work, he was dead anyway.
His fingers brushed against the surface of the crystal, sending an icy chill to course through his veins. The inexperience was inexplicable, indescribable; simply otherworldly. Somehow, it felt like he had been “purified”. Was that how it felt to die? “Pure”?
Pulses of energy surged through his body, leaving him simultaneously exhilarated and drained.
“Wow…” He gasped, unable to comprehend what he was feeling right now. His mouth felt like cotton, and his tongue was completely stiff. He suddenly felt his legs give up under him, his consciousness fading away to black. His strength waned away as he lost the fight and collapsed. With a desperate hope that he wouldn’t share the same fate as Howard Jefferson, the Seeker, he succumbed to the darkness, his senses spiraling into a blissful void. He felt comfortable as if he had just woken up from a really good night of sleep and only wanted to go back to it, in the perfect position in the bed to do so.
Glenn’s vision was hazy, the world before him a complete blur. A hand extended toward him, urging him to grasp it. Glenn tried to move to try and shake the hand, but he was impossibly slow, his body feeling ethereal, completely disconnected. The hand’s insistence grew more pronounced, its urgency palpable. Glenn managed to finally force his eyes open, glimpsing at the hand’s true appearance.
It was hanging off some flesh strips, each moving with their own volition like the tentacles of late Father Albenas.
‘Oh shit, I’m not shaking that!’ He suddenly woke up, horrified. His eyes widened madly as the hand retracted swiftly as if acknowledging his unspoken refusal. The palm opened and a mouth appeared, smiling wickedly. “It” moistened his red lips with a fleshy tongue, before smacking them.
“What the fuck?” Glenn blurted out, unable to think of anything else.
The wicked mouth opened, speaking mockingly with a dry tone.
“Huh. What are you?”