The temple loomed, a bastion of cold stone and shadowed silence. The air around it was thick with the scent of incense and decay, a strange, heady mix that spoke of forgotten rituals and whispered promises of a power that felt both alluring and dangerous.

Kael gripped the lizardfolk girl's hand tighter, her scales cool and smooth against his calloused skin. He could feel her trembling, her fear a tangible presence beside him.

"It will be alright,” he whispered, though the words felt more like a prayer than a reassurance. Even to his own ears, they sounded hollow, a desperate attempt to cling to a hope that seemed increasingly fragile. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was leading them both to their doom, another foolish gamble in a life defined by desperate choices and crushing defeats.

He pushed the doubts aside. He’d come this far, had fought so hard, endured so much pain. This was her only chance. His only chance.

The priest, his eyes filled with a weary resignation, a lifetime spent in a city where even faith offered little solace, shook his head slowly. "The ritual... it is meant for the children of our city, for those born under the Emperor's light. It’s… it’s not meant for…” his words trailed off, as if he couldn't find the words to describe the creature before him, a creature so unlike anything he'd encountered in his years of serving the gods.

“You don’t understand.” The words were harsh, desperate. He wasn’t asking. He was pleading. “Please, you have to help us. It’s life or death. She needs the System, she needs to Initialize.” The air hung heavy with the weight of the unspoken, of the chasm that separated them, not just by language or species but by a lifetime of experiences that defied categorization.

He stepped forward, his hand still clasped in the lizardfolk girl's grip. “Please. I can feel it. This is her only chance.” His voice wavered. His body trembled. All the bravado, the confidence that he'd carefully cultivated, all the brash arrogance of his recent victories—it all crumbled away, revealing the desperate, scared boy beneath.

He watched as the priest's gaze flickered between him and the girl. There was suspicion in those dark, sunken eyes, and a flicker of something else, something Kael couldn't decipher. It wasn't compassion, not exactly, but a… recognition of sorts. A shared weariness. He could feel the girl trembling beside him, her fear as sharp and painful as a knife twisting in his gut. The silence stretched, an eternity within the space of a few heartbeats.

Kael watched, the seconds ticking by, the shadows lengthening around them, as the priest contemplated his plea. The air, thick with the scent of incense and something faintly metallic, a subtle echo of the Void Shard, pressed in on him, choking him. It was as if the temple itself was holding its breath.

“Please,” he whispered again, a desperate plea into the heavy silence, every fiber of his being focused on the man's weathered face, those dark, scrutinizing eyes. “We’ve come so far. I can’t… she can’t…” The words failed him again, the enormity of what he was asking, the consequences of his failure, too much to bear.

The priest’s expression shifted then, the hard lines of his face softening slightly, a wrinkle of concern appearing between his brows. Maybe it was the desperation in Kael's voice, the raw vulnerability, that pierced through the layers of pride and bluster. Maybe it was the sight of the lizardfolk girl, her scales dulled, her eyes wide. Or perhaps it was simply the echoes of his own shattered faith in a city where prayers went unanswered and miracles were reserved for those with enough coin to bribe the gods.

He sighed, a heavy, resigned exhale that seemed to carry the weight of all the unanswered prayers, all the broken hopes, that had echoed through this temple. "Come.” he said, his voice low, weary. “The ritual is a sacred thing. I cannot promise it will work, but we can try."

He turned and unbarred the doors, they swung heavily inward. A rush of stale, incense-laden air met them, and Kael, his body shaking with relief, took a hesitant step inside.

They had made it. They were in. The relief was almost overwhelming.

“Thank you.” The words were a whisper, a silent prayer of gratitude. He was too tired, too overwhelmed to express the full depth of his emotions.

He guided the girl forward, following the priest, through the temple’s massive archway, a sanctuary of darkness, the air cool and heavy with the scent of incense, the echoes of long-forgotten rituals clinging to the stone walls.

Her hand tightened on his arm, her grip stronger than her fragile form suggested. Her gaze, wide and fearful, scanned the flickering torchlight, the grotesque shadows that danced across the walls, a labyrinthine echo of her own journey, of the horrors she’d endured.

The temple’s interior was vast, a cathedral of carved stone that soared into the darkness above, the pillars reaching up to a domed ceiling lost in shadow. There was a sense of power in the sheer scale of the place, in the weight of its history, the echoes of countless prayers and whispered desires etched into the very stone. The silence within, a welcome respite from the city's ever-present hum of chaos and despair, pressed in on him, both comforting and unsettling.

A hum, a faint vibration beneath the stone floor. It felt… familiar, an echo of the Void Shard’s presence, a thread of something ancient and unknowable that stretched between the realms. He couldn’t explain it, but the intuition—that skill he'd begrudgingly allocated his points to—it pulsed with a strange sense of recognition.

He guided the girl towards the altar, his body trembling with exhaustion. He felt hollowed out, depleted, the fight drained from him. It wasn't just the poison. It was… everything.

The air around them, as they approached the altar, shifted. The scent of incense intensified, mingling with a faint, metallic tang— a scent that echoed the void, a presence that resonated with the shard humming beneath his skin. They were approaching something.

The System Artifact.

It stood on a raised platform, draped in faded velvet cloth that looked as ancient as the stone walls surrounding them. He’d only seen it once, the night of his awakening. But now he recognized it, felt its pull. Its surface, a swirling mass of obsidian, pulsated with energy.

He gestured to the Artifact, urging the girl forward. Her eyes, wide and fearful, mirrored the flicker of hope, of dread, in his own heart.

“Touch it,” he whispered. “You have to touch it.” He gestured with his hand.

“Just let this work,” he pleaded, his voice a whisper, a prayer, lost in the vast silence of the temple. It was a prayer not to any god he recognized, not to any deity from the realm of his childhood beliefs, but to the Shard itself, to the System, to the unknown forces that had shattered his world and remade him into something else.

His heart pounded, the sound loud against the temple’s eerie silence. She hesitated, her hand trembling, then her scales brushed against the smooth, cool surface.

A blinding white light exploded, searing his retinas, burning into his very being. She gasped, stumbling against him. She spoke—rapid, frantic clicks and hisses, her voice, the words, blurred in her sudden panic.

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The world narrowed to that singular point—the artifact's brilliance, the frantic scramble of words, and the cold dread tightening around his heart. He wanted to push her back, away from the swirling energy. His own body ached, a desperate urge to flee.

He sank to his knees, the stone floor cold and unyielding beneath him. The weight of failure settled upon his shoulders once more. He hadn’t been strong enough to save the village. He hadn’t understood. His ignorance, his naivety, his reckless hunger— It was consuming everything, everyone around him. His ears rang, a persistent whine that mirrored his despair.

The girl was still speaking, but he couldn’t understand, couldn’t find meaning in the flood of her words. Was she in pain? Was she…? It didn’t matter. He’d dragged her to this world, promised a path he couldn’t provide. He was going to get her killed, too. It was only a matter of time.

Then, as abruptly as it had begun, her speech ceased. He opened his eyes, his vision slowly returning, and saw her standing perfectly still, her gaze fixed on something only she could see. A sudden calm seemed to settle over her, the panicked breaths slowing, the tremors in her body subsiding.

“What’s happening?” He couldn’t speak the words aloud, but the question echoed through his mind, his heart skipping a beat, fear, and a glimmer of hope intertwined. It was as if the light from the artifact was still burning. Her eyes were open, the blackness of her pupils swirling, widening, a subtle echo of the artifact’s swirling depths, but the world was fading for him again. It was the poison, or maybe… maybe it was something else.

It was… as if she were… connecting to something.

Then, her lips moved. The first sounds were a soft, hesitant murmur. He leaned closer.

“You… Have…”

He held his breath. Her voice. He could understand. She was speaking. She was speaking his language.

“Reached… The Age…”

And then the final words, spoken in a voice both familiar and alien. A tremor of power. A glimmer of hope. A whispered echo of a shared destiny.

“…Of… Awakening…”

Kael stared at her, disbelief mingling with a surge of desperate relief. “You can speak.” The words slipped from his lips before he could stop them, and he winced. What a stupid thing to say, when her world had just been destroyed, when his own body was succumbing to poison, when the air itself hummed with a chaotic energy he didn’t understand. “I mean… I can understand you. Can you understand me?”

The girl’s eyes, still wide with fear, narrowed for a moment, a flicker of suspicion battling with the shock. Her brow furrowed, the intricate pattern of scales around her eyes shifting, then smoothing as she tilted her head, a gesture almost avian, almost reptilian, as she tested the unfamiliar sounds.

"Yes.” It was a whisper at first, a tentative exploration of this newfound ability. “I can… understand you.” The words were hesitant, clipped, each syllable a delicate balance between his language and the guttural clicks and hisses of her own. He saw the way her gaze darted around, the fear, the confusion etched into her posture, her tail thrashing nervously.

The dam broke. Questions, a torrent of confusion and fear, tumbled from her lips. “What is happening? Where are we? What happened to my people? Where’s Vask? And Eshta? Are they—“ Her voice cracked, the weight of her losses crashing down upon her, tears welling up in those dark eyes, the scales around them shimmering like shattered jewels. “What did you do to me?” It wasn’t an accusation, not yet, more a desperate plea for understanding.

Too many questions. Too much to explain. He wanted to tell her everything. To explain about the System, the Void Shard, Mudtown, the creature that had destroyed her village. About how his recklessness, his selfish pursuit of power, had led them to this. He owed her that. But the words wouldn't come. It was all too much. Too fast. Too overwhelming. The darkness was encroaching again, the world blurring, the air thick, the shadows around her lengthening.

Kael doubled over, a sharp cry escaping his lips as the pain flared, white-hot agony burning a path from his stomach, through his chest, into his arms and legs. He felt like he was being torn apart from the inside. The temple spun around him, the stone walls a blur of shadows and darkness. His vision narrowed, the girl’s voice fading into a distant echo as he fought against the urge to collapse, to surrender to the overwhelming wave of pain, of fear, of guilt. He had to stay conscious, had to find a way out of this.

He collapsed, the impact jarring his broken ribs, his body trembling uncontrollably.

He could feel the girl’s touch on his arm— a cool, reassuring presence, her voice, sharp with panic, drifting further and further away as he struggled to stay conscious.

"Think, damn it, think.” He had to focus. He could feel himself slipping, his thoughts a chaotic mess, his mind rebelling against the poison’s invasion.

"Think, damn it, think!" He said to himself, again.

He’d been in this situation before, poisoned by tainted meat in the slums. What had he done then? He’d scavenged, bartered. The Market, of course. The Market of Shadows, with its chaotic stalls, its endless parade of vendors hawking cures for every ailment, potions for every affliction. They’d have something, he was sure of it. But he had no money, just a few scraps of loot from the realms— worthless trinkets in a world that valued only coin, only survival.

"The market,” he rasped, the words coming in ragged bursts. "There might be something. An antidote. The woman with the herbs. We have to get there."

Reasoning +1

Focus +1

An image flashed in his mind— the spoils from the last realm. A small, shimmering fragment, its colors shifting like a miniature aurora. Uncommon. Valuable. He’d thought of trading it for food, for supplies. But now… it was his only hope.

Her voice cut through the haze, the confusion and anger in her tone, her questions more forceful, more demanding now, mirroring his own urgency. “What is happening? Why am I here? What about my people?” His gut twisted, the guilt a sickening weight, but he couldn’t afford distractions. He was dying. He needed to act.

“We… have to… go. Now.” His vision wavered as he struggled to push himself up, her small frame wavering above him. He could feel the Shard’s energy, a weak, sputtering flame in the face of the poison’s overwhelming assault.

“Go where?” Her disbelief hung in the air between them. Her gaze flicked towards the door, fear in her eyes, the shadows that clung to her like a second skin. “You… need my… help? Why?” The world seemed to spin.

“It's the creature, the one who... who attacked the village,” He couldn't say the words “realm boss”, couldn't explain. Not now. “It’s poison. In my blood. I’m sick.”

He tried to explain, tried to tell her about the woman in the market, about the herbs, the salves. But the words came out jumbled, a mess of sounds and fractured thoughts, his tongue thick, his mind struggling to stay ahead of the pain. He could hear his own breathing, shallow, labored.

“Please.” It was all he could manage. A whisper of helplessness, a testament to his desperation. Her touch—that cold, smooth pressure against his arm — a lifeline in the swirling darkness. "I need to get something to… trade. Something to help me heal."

"It's the only way," He clung to the hope, a last bastion of defiance against the relentless pull of oblivion.

She looked at him, suspicion darkening her gaze. “Why should I help you?” He could see her confusion, her hurt. She didn’t understand, not really. But something, perhaps that ancient, instinctual awareness, seemed to penetrate the language barrier. She saw the pain in his eyes, felt the tremors that racked his body.

He tried to speak, but no sound came out. The air caught in his throat, choked by guilt, by fear. “Because I… I need to make things right. It’s my fault. I led it to the village.” The words burned in his throat, a confession he couldn't force past his lips, his gaze dropping, unable to meet hers.

“Because it’s my fault,” he finally whispered. “It’s all my fault.”

Her tail flicked back and forth, and for a moment he thought she might turn away, leave him there, leave him to face this darkness alone. It would have been what he deserved, he knew that.

“You’re dying?” She moved closer then, studying him with a keen intensity that made him feel even more exposed, his fear amplified by the flicker of the void she still carried within.

He wanted to laugh. To scream. “We all are, in Mudtown. This is just a little quicker.”

The girl’s face came into focus. He could see the conflict, the doubt, the fear mirrored in her own eyes, but also a spark, a flicker of… what? Compassion? Or maybe it was just a reflection of her own desperation, the realization that their destinies were now intertwined, that her survival, somehow, depended on this… this broken human.

Her scales glistened in the basement's meager light. He saw her jaw tightening, her shoulders squaring. It was a physical manifestation of her decision.

"Yes,” she said, her voice a quiet hiss.

Then, to his utter disbelief, “I will help.”

A rush of relief, a surge of hope, almost painful in its intensity.

He had a chance. A slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.

He forced himself to stand, to keep moving.

“Come on. We have to hurry.” It wasn’t a request. It wasn't an order. It was a lifeline thrown into the abyss.