There was no mistaking it, the statue had moved.

Somehow, the gargantuan thing had extended a hand to him. Time moved slowly as the realisation set in, or perhaps it was that his mind moved much faster. Either way, his mind struggled with a hundred different explanations for how it was possible.

The idea of a statue moving should have inspired fear in any rational man. But at that moment, Art was the furthest thing from rational. Instead, the implication that he was not entirely alone in the dark hall reignited some faint hope for salvation.

As milliseconds slowly crept by, the urge to grasp that cold, stone hand washed over him. It became stronger and stronger—an unexplainable desire to be rescued by the fingertips of the unknown deity of these halls.

He thought, albeit briefly, that he must be truly insane now to think such a thing could save him.

Until he heard her voice in his head.

Reach for me. Take my hand if you desire life.

The words echoed around his mind, gently brushing aside all other thoughts and emotions. Her voice was not what he had imagined when he first laid eyes on her. He had envisioned the soft, quiet tone of a woman so adored as to be enshrined in stone. Yet it was cold and powerful, commanding and alluring. Hers was the voice that could remove all objection and tame the wildest of hearts.

Art fought against the sensation of her words eating into his brain. It felt wrong to be so overwhelmed by just a voice, yet he wanted to give in. Finally, he wrestled a coherent thought out of the mess.

There must be a cost, right? What will you take from me?

Her response came immediately, though she spoke reassuringly now.

I take only what you can give. Reach for me, stranger. Time does not happily obey, and you have run out.

Excruciating pain tore through his neck as Morrigan's fangs finally pierced his flesh. Pure heat radiated from the wound as she began to drink his life away. Finally, as panic set in, he flailed a hand out towards the statue.

They made contact, and for a moment, nothing changed. Panic set in. Then it hit him.

The world went black for a moment, then came the pain. More pain, deep within his chest and radiating across every inch of his skin, the kind of pain that grows with every second. He felt as though he was being pulled in a thousand directions all at once, flung through infinite empty space at imperceptible speed.

Then, suddenly, his vision was bright again. His body rolled and crashed against a rough, uneven surface. Whatever had happened to him, however he had been moved through space, it caused an ear-splitting crack that echoed out through his surroundings. The noise was deafening, bordering on painful.

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He lay still for a minute, then rolled over onto his side and heaved onto the ground. His body desperately wanted to vomit, but it could find nothing left in his stomach to bring up. Instead, he dry retched onto the hard earth, his eyes welling up with tears as he did so.

Finally, the retching stopped, and the sensation began returning to his legs. Art struggled to his feet and looked around him.

Oh... Oh no. Oh gods no.

He looked around him again, only this time he scrutinised his surroundings harder.

As the disorienting sensation of the warp faded, Art found himself in a mountainside clearing, standing on the precipice of a breathtaking landscape. The borderlands stretched out before him, a vast expanse of rolling mountains draped in a cloak of ancient forests. Towering trees, their trunks gnarled and twisted by centuries of untamed growth, reached skyward like the fingers of forgotten giants. The air was thick with the scent of pine and earth, mingling with an undercurrent of pure freshness—the kind that can only come from a place untouched by civilisation.

The landscape felt alive. Shadows danced between the trees, taunting his vision with pockets of the unknown, hinting at the presence of beings that defied human understanding.

He thought back to tales of a mysterious place his mother had whispered to him. Tucked under warm furs as a child, basking in the dim glow of candles, he had let her breathe wonders into his dreams with her stories of the borderlands. She spoke of it as a wondrous land, untouched by the greed and malice of men.

As he looked out from his position, he understood the truth of her words. It truly was captivating. Though her stories had not been entirely peaceful, he could sense that side of the truth, too.

'It is a place of peril,' she used to say, 'One should never be fooled by the beauty of the borderlands; there is a reason they remain unconquered.'

Finally, he let himself breathe deeply. The realisation of where he had been sent had sunk in.

It was clear that whatever that statue... No, that thing was, it had a twisted sense of humour.

Gods, this has to be some kind of a fucking joke. Of all the places to send me, it just had to be the borderlands.

In the space of just a few days, he had gone from being escorted to the borderlands by his father's loyal dog, to running for his life from some horrendous blood-sucking creature, escaping by the mercy of some semi-living statue, only to end up in the exact place his father had condemned him to initially.

In fact, he thought, this was considerably worse than what Jorin had planned for him. If his father's plan had gone successfully, Art would have spent his days stuffed up in some dingy fort, being bossed around by a captain with a point to prove, or whatever it was they did up here.

Now, he was clearly deep beyond the safety of those forts, surrounded by nothing but wilderness and clear skies.

For the first time ever, he was well and truly alone.

Oh Gods, when word of my escort not reaching the border gets home, mother will assume the worst. Jorin will probably crack a smile though, that fucking bastard.

He sighed, his head swivelling around to take in the breathtaking scenery once more. Then, his mind circled back to his mother again. Thoughts of her warnings of this mysterious place rang out in his mind. All of the tales of great beasts and horrible monsters came rushing back.

A deep sensation of uncertainty washed over him as he considered the implications of those tales...

How much of it was simply to scare a small child into sleeping? How much of it was true?

Just as he was allowing himself to spiral into uncertainty and panic, a sharp burning sensation began to emanate from his left forearm. It grew quickly; the staggering pain soon had him on his knees and clutching at his forearm. As the pain kept increasing, Art did his best to hold in a muffled scream.

His eyes widened in shock as he watched an eerie luminescent mist pull itself from nothingness, except this time, he had not tried to summon it at all...