My thoughts drifted back to Doctor Tot. I remembered the day he pulled me aside, his eyes grave beneath his thick spectacles. His cluttered study was a labyrinth of stacked books and bubbling vials, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and strange herbs. Sunlight filtered through the dusty windows, casting a golden hue on the motes dancing in the air.
"Jamie," he had said softly, his voice tinged with concern. He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, the fabric of his robes rustling softly. "You must understand the dangers of gazing into a magical mural unprepared. Your father's greed has led him to display one prominently in the castle hall. It's not something to be taken lightly."
He led me to a large tome resting on a wooden pedestal, its pages filled with intricate diagrams and ancient script. "These murals are not mere decorations," he continued, pointing to an illustration of swirling colors and ethereal figures. "They are conduits to realms beyond our comprehension. To an untrained mind, they can be as lethal as any weapon."
His eyes met mine, earnest and piercing beneath his spectacles. "Promise me you'll stay away from it. The allure can be overwhelming, especially for someone with your innate curiosity and... special talents."
As a curious kid, I hadn't heeded his warning. The very next day, the mural in the castle hall seemed to call to me with a siren's song. It was enormous, covering an entire wall—an ever-shifting tapestry of colors and shapes that defied logic. The figures within danced and twisted, their forms both beautiful and terrifying, beckoning me to come closer.
I stood before it, my small frame dwarfed by its immensity. The vivid colors beckoned me, swirling and intertwining in mesmerizing patterns that seemed to reach out from the wall itself. The air around me hummed with energy, a palpable force that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. I felt a strange pull, as if invisible threads were drawing me in.
Unable to resist, I extended a hand toward the mural. The moment my fingertips brushed the surface, a shockwave of sensation coursed through me. The world around me dissolved; floors, walls, and ceilings faded into oblivion. I was enveloped by the mural's embrace, its colors wrapping around my consciousness like a cocoon.
I recalled how they seemed to reach out, wrapping around my consciousness and pulling me in. Shapes and symbols swirled around me, voices whispering in languages I couldn't understand. The sensation of slipping away, of losing myself, was something I'd never forget. It was as if I was being unraveled, each thread of my being woven into the endless expanse of the mural.
I had almost died as a result. They found me lying unconscious on the cold marble floor, my skin pale and my breathing shallow. For weeks, I hovered between life and death, trapped in a coma with nightmares that I could never fully remember upon waking. And when I finally awoke, disoriented and weak, the world I returned to was irrevocably changed.
My mother was gone—she had started getting sick around that time, an illness that baffled the healers. By the time I opened my eyes, she was dead. They told me she had spent her final days by my bedside, singing the lullabies she used to soothe me with as a child, hoping I'd find my way back. Guilt consumed me; while I had been lost in the depths of my own recklessness, she had slipped away, and I never got to say goodbye.
The weight of that loss settled heavily on my chest. If only I had listened to Doctor Tot. If only I hadn't been so foolish and selfish. The mural had taken more than just my consciousness—I shook my head and wiped away the tears. I couldn't let my mistakes as a youth color my future. My mother's memory deserved better than that. Steeling myself, I took a deep breath and stepped back into the dimly lit corridor.
I went back out the door without hesitating, and my lack of concern was proven correct as the two men were not in the hallway. The cold air of the castle halls brushed against my skin, sending a slight shiver down my spine. The grey-bricked walls seemed to stretch endlessly, each adorned with faded tapestries and sconces that flickered weakly with dying flames.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
I slunk down the hall, peering into open doorways and smashing open crates along the way. Dust motes danced in thin shafts of light breaking through cracks in the ceiling. I managed to snag a few daggers and swords—their metal cold and unwelcoming in my hands—but nothing I wanted to use in this class. It seemed like they were more concerned about weapons than anything else. My stomach growled loudly, a sharp reminder of how drained I felt. I kept hoping for a way to heal. The 5 HP I had left after the last battle was definitely not a good sign.
As I rounded a corner, the faint aroma of roasted meat and freshly baked bread wafted through the air. My senses perked up, and I followed the scent like a moth to a flame. And then, I found it—the banquet hall of a large, dilapidated palace, seemingly built to withstand the cold, bitter winters. I had no idea how it had sunken into the cave system unabashed. It made no sense to my mind, but here it was.
The hall was grand, with high arched ceilings adorned with intricate carvings of ancient battles and mythical creatures. Long, heavy drapes hung from the walls, their rich fabrics frayed with age. Massive wooden tables stretched across the room, laden with platters of food that looked as if they had been prepared moments ago.
My eyes beheld my salvation: a feast fit for multiple kings lined the table, ready to be consumed. Golden roasted chickens glistened under the soft glow of chandelier light. Bowls of steaming vegetables—carrots, peas, and potatoes—sat nestled among loaves of crusty bread still warm from the oven. The rich aroma of spiced wine filled the air, making my mouth water.
My stomach clenched with a sharp pang of hunger. I can't remember the last time I ate anything substantial, I thought, the temptation almost overwhelming. The sight of the succulent lamb shank, dripping with gravy, was nearly too much to bear. I could already imagine the warmth spreading through my body as I ate, the rejuvenation I so desperately needed.
"Do you think it's safe to eat?" I asked Malice, curiosity tingling in my voice as I took a cautious step forward. My fingers twitched at my sides, itching to reach out and grab the nearest morsel. The scent was intoxicating, wrapping around me like a comforting blanket.
[Really? You're going to eat freshly prepared food in the middle of a castle inside a cave where a walking mouth with centipede legs just tried to eat you?] Malice's voice dripped with sarcasm. [Does any part of that sentence sound even remotely sane to you? Yeah, go ahead. It's fine.]
I hesitated, Malice's words slicing through my hunger-induced haze. His shifting tones, alternating between biting sarcasm and mocking incredulity, always gave me headaches. I rubbed my temples as a dull ache began to form. Was he trying to protect me, or just mock me? Why did he always change the way he spoke?
“Do I have any food in my inventory?” I asked aloud, desperation creeping into my voice. I needed something, anything.
[Hahahahaha.] Malice’s exaggerated laughter echoed in my mind, sending a spike of irritation through me. [No.]
I sighed, swallowing down my frustration. Figures. Deciding to make the best of a bad situation, I began pocketing the food laid out on the long dining table. It probably wasn’t safe, like Malice said, but I could always use it later—poisoned or not. Something was better than nothing.
[Received Poisoned Food x37.]
“Drat. I hate when you’re right,” I muttered under my breath, the bitterness clear in my tone.
Frustration welled up inside me, and before I knew it, I lashed out, kicking a chair over. It clattered loudly in the large, empty room, the sound reverberating off the high ceilings.
“Who’s there?” A nervous voice called out.
My heart froze. Idiot. A thin, jittery man entered the room, holding a flickering torch that cast long shadows across his gaunt face. His eyes darted around, searching for the source of the noise. Move. Now.
Heart pounding, I ducked under the table just as his gaze swept over where I had been standing. My muscles tensed, every instinct screaming at me to flee. I didn’t want a confrontation, not now—not after barely surviving the Manipede. My energy reserves were depleted, my limbs heavy, and I knew I wouldn’t stand a chance.
As the man cautiously approached the fallen chair, his footsteps echoing in the vast space, I scuttled further down the length of the table, keeping low. Quiet. Don’t breathe.
When he bent down to lift the chair back up, I seized the opportunity. Taking a deep breath, I bolted from the dining room, the door squeaking as I slipped back into the labyrinthine halls of the cult’s stronghold.
But something was off.