Iskander didn’t immediately leave the building. He wasn’t sure if doing so would make things safer or more dangerous.

From his time atop the tower, he knew that the inconspicuous temple was only a few dozen meters from the observatory. The distance itself wasn’t an issue, but hiding long enough to make it there was another matter. As soon as he stepped out of the tower, there would be no cover. Anyone below the hill could easily spot him.

If the shadows lacked any means of detecting him, that would be fortunate. But based on what happened atop the tower, he assumed they could sense his presence—assuming the creatures below were the same as those above. Iskander didn’t want to risk it. But it seems like I have no choice but to go, he thought with a bitter expression.

After stepping through the door from where he had originally woken up, he found a spiral staircase leading down. Another floor appeared shortly after, but it wasn’t the ground level. If each level was spaced evenly, he had at least three more floors to descend before reaching the ground.

"—I can't get in, huh...?"

Iskander mumbled.

The fourth floor, or what he assumed to be the fourth, was blocked by rubble.

He didn’t want to waste time clearing it, as it might draw attention from the shadow creatures, and so, he continued down to the next level.

That floor, fortunately, was unobstructed.

Iskander paused briefly at the entrance before stepping inside, his eyes quickly sweeping the room for any potential threats—or anything of use.

The room was dark and damp, illuminated only by faint light filtering through cracks in the stone walls. The ceiling arched high above him, and the floor was scattered with dust and debris. In the corners, remnants of destroyed furniture lay in disarray—broken wooden tables, overturned chairs, and collapsed shelves, all long forgotten by time.

To his left, a row of large bookshelves lined the wall, though many of the books had fallen to the floor. The books looked fragile, their covers weathered and nearly destroyed, but perhaps some were still readable.

Directly in front of the shelves was a large stone table, cluttered with strange metal instruments and several scrolls.

Iskander stopped, feeling a familiar sensation that he had experienced at the top of the tower, albeit noticebaly weaker. He winced. Those shadows again...

The feeling was as if he were being watched. He had never been able to identify it consciously, but it always made him think that something was observing him. It feels almost instinctive. Iskander attributed it to Aiura’s influence.

Rather than leaving the room immediately, Iskander approached the stone table to inspect the scrolls.

He glanced around the room, and strangely enough, he could sense the positions of the overseers. He wasn’t sure if it was entirely Aiura’s ability this time, or if something else was at play.

He tilted his head slightly, a silly idea creeping into his thoughts.

I could die, yes, but those books might be useful— Let's do just that.

There were a dozen overseers in the room. Some moved away as Iskander walked confidently further inside, acting as if everything was casual. His lips nearly twitched when realizing that.

What are they, honestly?

Unfortunately, the Hologram didn't materialize to answer him.

The scrolls on the stone table were filled with ancient writings that Iskander couldn’t decipher, but one, in particular, caught his attention. It was a map—damaged, but still showing the layout of the building. He took it without hesitation.

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He could faintly sense a shift in the overseers’ attention. The feeling of being watched was slowly but surely rising to a more alarming level, causing his expression slightly stiffened. —that's my cue to leave.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, however, a series of high-pitched noises rang out. Iskander tensed instantly before calming himself.

The sounds didn’t come from inside the room or even the building. They were coming from outside. He could tell that much. He frowned in confusion. Those sounds, though... they feel oddly familiar.

He couldn’t place them himself, but something within him—perhaps Aiura’s influence—recognized the noise. The sounds stirred a strange lightness in his chest, as if they carried more than just sound—emotion, maybe. Then, the realization hit him like a bolt. His eyes widened. Humans?

He nearly rushed outside but held back, proceeding cautiously.

He stepped out of the room and descended the staircase a few steps, leaning carefully toward one of the narrow windows set into the wall. The staircase spiraled down along the outer walls. Previously, Iskander had always kept his head low to avoid being spotted by creatures in the city. But this time, he took the risk of looking out. It seemed like the right choice.

They look like humans.

Three humanoid figures were running up the hill.

There was no mistaking it now—they were definitely human. Their armor, although incomplete compared to the full sets worn by the Knights of Orze, still partially covered their bodies. From this distance, he could vaguely make out their faces.

A blonde woman, who seems to be the leader, then a tall, broad man, and another man of average build, he noted.

Two of them wore chainmail. The average-build man carried a staff resembling that of a wizard, though his tattered purple robes offered little protection. The others wielded swords, with the tall man also carrying a shield.

Iskander squinted, looking past them to see what they might be running from. I can’t see anything. Is it something invisible? Or whatever's chasing them won’t climb the hill? He hadn’t noticed any unusual movement around the tower from the top floor, so the latter seemed possible.

Regardless, the three humans appeared to be heading toward a shrine-like building on the same hill as the observatory— the inconspicuous shrine.

A small smile tugged at Iskander’s lips. He stopped watching them and continued down the stairs, bypassing what looked like the second floor and heading straight for the ground level.

The ground floor had the highest ceiling, aside from the top floor with its entirely collapsed roof, which obscured its original height. One sweep of the room was enough for Iskander to conclude that it had once been a reception area.

There was a desk where a receptionist might have once sat. It was partially destroyed, covered in layers of dust, much like the wooden seating scattered near the desk.

Aside from those remnants, three statues dominated the floor—two near the large, partially open entrance iron gate and one behind the reception desk.

The first statue, positioned on the left side of the grand entrance, depicted a tall man draped in long robes that flowed all the way to the floor. His right hand held a staff with a crystal embedded at its tip, while his left hand was extended outward, as though welcoming guests into the room. His face bore a serene expression with a bizare sense of majesty lurked beneath the calmness. The intricate carvings on his robes displayed unknown symbols that faintly glowed with a seemingly residual, magical aura.

On the right side of the gate stood a statue of a woman with flowing hair, frozen mid-motion as if carved from ripples of water. In her left hand, she held a mirror that reflected light, despite the dimness of the room. Her right hand pointed downward, clutching something that resembled a small bowl. Her expression was a mix of compassion and wariness. The entire statue was exquisitely crafted, yet a thin crack ran down her face, giving the illusion of stone tears.

The last statue, behind the reception desk, depicted a fully-armored warrior standing tall, with a massive sword planted firmly in the floor before him. His helmet, adorned with metal plumes, completely obscured his face, masking any sense of identity. Only a glimmer of light within the helmet's eye slits hinted at something alive. The engravings on his armor depicted grand battles, perhaps at long-forgotten wars.

As Iskander observed the statues on the ground floor, the shadows in the room seemed to thicken, as though the night had seeped in through every crack and corner. The air grew colder, and a creeping sense of unease began crawling up Iskander’s spine.

He frowned subtly, examining his surroundings.

Without warning, from the dark corner of the room, a form began to manifest. At first, it was merely a shadow, darker than the rest, but slowly it writhed and took on a more tangible shape. Iskander could make out a tall, thin figure, its body shrouded in a thick, toxic green mist.

The creature had no face—only swirling fog where a head should be—but Iskander could feel its gaze fixed on him. The figure slithered closer, bringing with it the unpleasant stench that began to fill the air.

What is it now? Iskander took a step back, grumbling internally while he did. Can you give me a break? Come to think of it, I have Chaos as my Affinity. Is this what it meant?