Chapter 30

There it stood before him, casting a shadow on a sunless day.

The enigmatic artifact drew Lord Carrack into the square, compelling him to ignore Dr. Mortier’s caution and his own instincts. It was the same artifact that had captivated the city with its miraculous event. The monolithic statue, sculpted from dark stone, bore intricate designs that spoke of ancient craftsmanship. Its form was humanoid yet abstract, with a featureless head and a body adorned with cryptic symbols and carvings in an unfamiliar language. Its surface was weathered, hinting at countless years enduring the elements.

The figure towered above, arms resting at its sides, head slightly tilted as if gazing upon anyone who dared approach its base. Undoubtedly, it commanded attention, standing as tall as two, perhaps three men, ensuring that all who gathered beneath it were dwarfed by its formidable stature. An omnipresent aura enveloped him, emanating from the statue, both engulfing and elusively distant. As Carrack’s gaze locked with the head of the statue, a maelstrom of familiarity and amnesia swirled within him, as if met with an otherworldly gaze.

Turning his gaze to the ground, Carrack noted the stark contrast—lifeless mud and scattered rocks where a fertile cornucopia once stood only moments before. Around the statue, the rain seemed to transform—lighter, less condensed, descending in a graceful dance. The air he breathed felt hollow, as even the deepest breath seemed to fall short of fulfillment.

Carrack lingered, pacing around the statue with slow, deliberate steps, tracing the abstract and probing the obscure. Rain droplets traced the smooth curves and accentuated the harsh edges. After several laps, Lord Carrack paused, his gaze drawn irresistibly back to the statue’s enigmatic face. Though its features were elegantly carved, there was an allure that transcended mere aesthetics. He felt an inexplicable connection, as if peering through the stone into something far deeper and more profound.

As Carrack’s eyes remained locked with the statue, an inky blackness began to seep into the edges of his vision. This darkness swirled mysteriously, yet it brought with it an unexpected, comforting warmth that coursed through his veins. Carried on a gentle breeze, a whisper emerged, speaking in hushed tones of an unknown language. While the words were foreign, they resonated within him, as if speaking directly to his soul. The tone grew more intimate, more intoxicating, weaving images into his mind—ethereal visions that danced around the objects in his periphery. Astonished, Carrack lifted his hand, watching in wonder as the spectral darkness defied gravity, rising in wisps around his fingers. The sight was mesmerizing, both eerie and beautiful.

Lord Carrack’s gaze was irresistibly drawn back to the statue, as the world around him morphed into an otherworldly, indistinct display. The ground beneath his feet remained unchanged, yet the air around him felt unfamiliar, charged with a foreign essence that made even the gentlest breeze feel surreal. He experienced an uncanny duality, as though existing simultaneously in two realms.

An unsettling sense of dread began to gnaw at his stomach, intensifying with each passing moment of stillness. Initially hesitant to move in this bizarre, ethereal reality, it was the growing unease that spurred him to action. His first step was tentative and faltering, nearly sending him tumbling to the ground. The stumble jolted him, and for a moment, he struggled to regain his balance. When he finally steadied himself, the sense of weariness momentarily dissipated, only to creep back in whenever he remained motionless.

“What was all of this?” Carrack thought, startled to hear his thoughts echo as if spoken aloud. The sound of his words strangely drifted through the air, then abruptly ceased, as if swallowed up. He tried speaking again, softly calling out, curious if the echo would respond. It did, but not in the way he expected. Instead of echoing everywhere, the sound seemed to pull towards the statue, then absorbed into it.

Whenever Carrack spoke or even thought, he felt as if parts of himself were leaving his body, drawn and absorbed by the statue. This enigmatic figure seemed to pull light toward itself, leaving the surrounding world a mere hollow silhouette, cast in a strange, unsettling glow. The source of this glow was a mystery to Carrack until an invisible force pulled his gaze upward to the sky, where four orbs of light hovered. These ethereal spheres radiated an otherworldly light, shifting slowly through colors unknown and indescribable to him. It felt like each color he saw was just one of many hidden shades and he felt them call for him.

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The orb’s ghostly dance was unaffected by the passing clouds. Though static, there was an energy emanating from them, casting an eerie spell over the entire city. Each breath Carrack took was cold and sharp, a sting that trailed from his throat down to his chest. It felt as if his very soul were being siphoned away, drawn to the enigmatic lights overhead. Mesmerized and confounded, a deep-rooted dread began to surge within him, rising to the fore. The spectacle before him felt intrinsically wrong, something completely beyond his grasp and comprehension. Before he could surrender to the draw of the orbs, he turned away, breaking the hold that nearly overtook him.

Surrounded by the otherworldly landscape, Carrack’s hands clenched, and his toes curled within his damp boots, overwhelmed by the sense that these sights were forbidden. Yet, an inexplicable pull nudged him forward, step by step, toward the statue. With each stride, his initial urgency faded, replaced by an increasing sense of comfort as he neared the enigmatic figure. Standing beneath the shadow of the monolith, he looked up to find the statue’s form resembling an embrace, its gesture welcoming, enhanced by the six lights above that formed a celestial halo.

Carrack’s gaze then fell to the statue’s base, and he tentatively raised his hand. With cautious reverence, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the stone. The moment contact was made, a surge of raw, intense emotions engulfed him, racing through his body like wildfire. Simultaneously, a vivid image seared into his vision: a vast river bathed in a flickering crimson light. Shrill, haunting shrieks pierced the air, resonating within him, causing his heart to falter and his breath to shorten.

An overwhelming shock and unseen forces hurled Carrack backward, his body crashing into the mud with a distinct splash and a squelching sound as he sank into the soft earth. The strange world he had been immersed in vanished abruptly; the celestial lights disappeared, the eerie murmurs in the air silenced, and the shadowy veil that had shrouded everything lifted. Yet, the terror lingered. Carrack lay there, immobilized by the haunting visions he had witnessed, the sensations he had felt, and the shrieks he had heard. Staring up at the statue, now returned to his stoic, indifferent state, he found himself unable to move, gripped by the aftermath of the experience.

Lying there in shock, Carrack’s arms and legs felt tight and heavy, as though bound by invisible restraints. His mind replayed the haunting image of Lady Matilda sinking into the ground, igniting a deep fear of sharing her fate. Desperate thoughts of escape consumed him, his heart racing in a futile struggle against paralysis.

The cold, watery soil began creeping along his skin, a chilling realization setting in—he was sinking. Frantically, he writhed, his torso shaking as he screamed into the howling tempest, a vain plea for rescue. His only hope lay in Mortier, perhaps witnessing and rushing to his aid. But the mud was relentless, swallowing his arms and legs, climbing over his chest and toward his head. Another scream tore from his throat, drowned out by the wind’s fury and the suffocating taste of muddy water invading his mouth. In this moment, drowning and suffocation seemed indistinguishable. He remembered Matilda’s poised descent and return, but Carrack’s experience was a terrifying dance with death, its shadow looming, ready to claim him.

Darkness enveloped Carrack, his vision fading with one last glimpse of the shimmering muddy water before the thick blackness of the mud sealed him from the world above. Buried and half-choked by the earth, he felt his breaths become shallow and stale. Though immobile, a sensation of perpetual sinking haunted him, the earth around feeling like a vast abyss.

In this moment of despair, fate intervened unexpectedly. Amidst his panicked breaths and the pounding of his heart, a muffled, familiar voice pierced through the earth, uttering unfamiliar words. Suddenly, he felt an upward force, as if being lifted from his earthen grave. The mud above him receded, revealing the sight of Lady Matilda standing over him. She appeared exhausted, panting heavily, her expression etched with urgency and concern.

Carrack propped himself up, the initial relief of movement quickly overshadowed by a desperate gasp for air and the urge to expel the mud he had swallowed. His limbs were numb and cold, responding to his commands with a painful shiver at every slight movement. As he regained his bearings, he noticed Lady Matilda standing still, seemingly frozen mid-action, as if caught in frenetic haste.

As his vision cleared, Carrack saw something astonishing about her. A violet aura enveloped her, emanating from her skin in a soft, shimmering glow. Stunned and speechless, he could only stare in awe. Lady Matilda’s posture relaxed as she looked over him, her expression shifting from worry to a melancholic disappointment.

Carrack, with a trembling hand, slowly raised a finger toward Lady Matilda, managing only a faint mutter, “Purple?” He was taken aback to see his own finger faintly glowing. Lady Matilda sighed, giving a slow nod in silent acknowledgment of the strange occurrence.

As Carrack turned to inspect himself, he realized the subtle glow had enveloped his entire body. He looked up, his mouth opening to unleash a torrent of questions, but Lady Matilda preemptively silenced him with a gentle wave of her hand. Meanwhile, the sound of Mortier, panicked and approaching, echoed from behind Carrack.