In the shimmering rays of the morning sun coming through the window, dust particles floated lazily, dancing in the chaos of endless entropy. Lorian felt the crumpled bedsheet beneath him as his sleepy eyes followed the dust with a vacant stare.
With a sigh, he stood up and began to make his bed, yesterday’s conversations swirling in his mind. The Book of Behemoths lay on the table next to him. After countless failed attempts at sleep, he had read the book until dawn.
“Negative emotions can manifest into this world as monsters called Behemoths. Different kinds of fear can result in formation of different behemoths, each with their own unique forms and abilities” Lorian murmured, closing his eyes as he tried to piece together what he had learned. “When a Behemoth consumes a person, it becomes an Archetype. The Archetype has two forms: a monster form resembling its past behemoth features, and a human form resembling the person it has consumed.”
He remembered the skeleton grim reaper morphing into Linden during its final moments. “Most Archetypes switch to their human forms to infiltrate the village, secretly devouring villagers to grow stronger…”
Lorian’s eyes darted towards the myriads of straws above his head purposefully forming a robust ceiling. “I wonder what their purpose is... What drives an Archetype? Hunger? Glory?” He muttered aloud, the questions forcing his droopy eyelids to stay open.
“It’s to escape this world…” a female voice rang out from outside his window, jolting Lorian from his thoughts. He moved slowly towards the window, peering out to see Ruselle, the same girl who had been with the village chief yesterday.
“It’s you... You know it’s not nice to eavesdrop, right?” Lorian said, opening the window.
“You were the one being loud. I was just passing by.” Ruselle blushed and giggled flirtatiously, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“What do you mean by escape this world?” Lorian asked, raising an eyebrow.
“This world is a birdcage.” Ruselle’s gaze held his as she stood outside the window. “There is a larger world out there, a vast, expansive world.” She turned to look at the rising sun, the light casting a halo around her. “I think the Archetypes can sense that.”
“So, by eating all the villagers, they can escape?” Lorian asked, skepticism lacing his voice.
“No… but they grow strong enough to break the walls that cage them,” Ruselle explained, tracing her hand along the walls outside Lorian’s residence. She laughed softly, placing her hands on the window frame. “But I believe you don’t need to break the walls to get in or out… You just need to find the door, or…” She giggled as she lifted herself, squeezing through the window, “or a window!” She winked as she slipped into Lorian’s room, gently pushing him aside.
Lorian was speechless, watching her hands move along his cheeks. “So…” Ruselle whispered into his ear, her breath warm and sweet with a hint of lavender, “will you let us help you find the door out of here?”
A surge of warmth spread across Lorian’s cheeks as her breath caressed his ear, the scent of lavender filling his senses and stirring a mix of confusion and longing. He stepped back abruptly, his mind racing to regain control.
“Is seduction your attempt to make me stay?” Lorian’s voice wavered slightly, betraying his uncertainty. He felt a rush of heat to his cheeks, and he averted his gaze, focusing intently on a speck of dust floating nearby. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, but the playful glint in Ruselle's eyes only deepened his unease.
Ruselle laughed, her eyes sharp and teasing. “You are a smart man. So, have you made your decision?”
Lorian sighed, the tension in his brow easing as a wistful smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The image of Chief Holmes’ hopeful face flashed in his mind, a bittersweet reminder of the villagers' faith in him. “I’m… sorry.”
Ruselle’s face fell, a shadow of sadness crossing her features. “I don’t know what the priest has told you… but…” She paused, her eyes lingering on Lorian. “If that is your decision, I hope the best for you.”
“Wait…” Before Lorian could respond, Ruselle hopped out of the window and disappeared from sight.
Lorian's shoulders drooped; the Book of Behemoths heavy in his hands. He slipped it into his bag with a resigned sigh, as if sealing his fate with each deliberate movement. His mind churned with the echo of Ruselle’s words, each one a seed of doubt taking root. ‘What if she’s right?’ He hesitated at the door, glancing back at the small, humble room one last time before stepping out into the crisp morning air.
The five-minute walk to the cathedral felt like an eternity. Lorian’s eyes darted to the villagers, their movements robotic and devoid of spirit. More than once, he changed his path, taking the longer route as though deliberately avoiding the cathedral. Every step was a struggle against his own uncertainty.
As he turned into an alley, a group of children caught his attention. Their eager faces were illuminated by the morning light as they flipped a coin. "Heads, I’m sure it's heads," one child declared, while the other confidently bet on tails. Lorian stopped, his breath hitching, feeling a strange anticipation. ‘Heads…’ Lorian bet within, unsure of why he cared.
The coin flipped multiple times in the air, twisting and turning as though fighting through tangled webs. No matter how hard it tried to evade the ground, the coin was destined to fall. Just like Lorian's detours and hesitations, the coin's path was ultimately inevitable.
Tink~~
The coin landed on the child’s palm who then slowly opened it.
“Ahahahah I win I win” Shouted the boy while holding the coin.
A bitter chuckle escaped Lorian’s lips as he shook his head, the sound hollow and tinged with frustration. ‘Tails…’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Maybe that’s why I can’t bet on the villagers finding the door by chance, Ruselle. The priest knows more than you guys ever will.’
He quickened his pace, memories of Perseus and the villagers flashing in his mind. Their kindness, their unwavering support, and the gift they had given him—the Book of Behemoths. He recalled the events from yesterday, the villagers’ warm gestures, their faith in him. ‘One hundred and ten years,’ he mused, ‘yet the villagers haven’t even understood Behemoths and Archetypes in its entirety. How can I trust them to find the escape?’
Lorian’s jaw tightened, a mix of guilt and determination hardening his features. ‘I owe them some, but it isn’t enough to throw my fate into their hands,’ he reminded himself, though the thought tasted bitter. With each step, Lorian forced himself to focus, his eyes steely but his heart heavy with conflicting emotions. ‘I can’t save everyone,’ he reasoned, clenching his fists. ‘To be with my mother, is more important than helping people I barely know fight an enemy they don’t understand.’
His resolve solidified, but the turmoil in his heart persisted, a cold, resolute confidence masking the fear and uncertainty that churned within. He reached the cathedral, standing tall, his eyes fixed on the imposing doors. "I would rather bet on a certain outcome than be certain on a bet," he whispered, pushing the heavy doors open. The chill of the cathedral’s interior greeted him, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within. With one last glance over his shoulder, he stepped inside, leaving doubt behind.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The cathedral's vast, echoing silence enveloped Lorian as he stepped inside, the heavy doors closing behind him with a resounding thud. The air was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of incense and aged wood. Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, casting vibrant, fragmented patterns on the stone floor.
Lorian walked down the aisle, his footsteps a soft cadence against the ancient stones. The echoes of his steps were the only sounds in the hallowed space, each one amplifying the weight of his decision. As he neared the altar, where the priest was arranging ceremonial items with deliberate care, a fit of coughs and wheezes shattered the silence.
Instinctively, Lorian rushed toward the sound, finding the priest collapsed on the floor, clutching his chest. The priest's eyes were bloodshot, bulging with the intensity of a bull in the ring.
"Are you okay?" Lorian asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty as he maintained a cautious distance.
"I am fine," the priest replied with a forced smile. He crawled to the sofa and sat down; his legs shaky. In his right hand was a blood-covered book that he slowly closed. "I was late for my prayers," he said hesitantly, "my power does come with a price."
"A deal with the devil?" Lorian’s eyes remained fixed on the ominous book.
"No, rather a price for lingering too long in a foreign realm" The priest's smile was bitter, his bloodshot eyes never breaking contact with Lorian, as though accusing him of the poisoning. "So... have you made up your mind?"
"Ready when you are... though are you sure you can travel?" Lorian asked, concern flickering in his eyes.
"Inaction will only make it worse; I do not have much time left," the priest responded bitterly. "I need some time to get ready now, can't go out looking like this." He pointed to his bloodied face.
"I hope you understand that I’m someone who dislike uncertainty," Lorian said firmly, his tone brooking no argument.
"I understand. I will explain everything along the way," the priest said, standing up with visible effort. "Look at me... I am as desperate as you to get out of this hellhole."
"How long for you to get ready?" Lorian asked, his gaze unwavering.
"Fifty minutes... I still need to pray." There was a hint of rage in the priest’s tone. "I hope you don’t mind the wait."
"I’ll take a walk then," Lorian responded, his voice tight with controlled frustration.
"Do as you please. Meet me at the broken wall in about an hour. We’ll leave from there." The priest's voice echoed through the empty halls, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows around the room. Lorian’s gaze lingered at the doorway from where the priest disappeared.
Just as he turned around to leave, he noticed a delicate spider weaving its web in a corner. The spider moved with precision, jumping from one side of the wall to the other, anchoring its silk to both sides. With each thread it spun, the web grew more intricate, shimmering in the fading light. The spider as though noticing Lorian’s gaze, paused for a moment, remaining still on one side of the wall. Soon after, it hopped again to the other. ‘A single wall cannot support a web’ Lorian thought as his shoulders relaxed.
With a smile he left the castle, his destination, the infirmary.
----------------------------------------
Ruselle paced the length of the infirmary, her brow furrowed in thought. Magnus and Holmes watched her in silence, the tension palpable in the room.
“It’s troubling,” Ruselle began, finally breaking the silence in the infirmary. “Lorian seems very indecisive. I’m sure we can convince him to work with us. We just need proof…”
Holmes, lying in the infirmary bed, sighed deeply. “The priest is smart. It’s like he’s always steps ahead of us.”
Ruselle cast a doubtful gaze toward Magnus, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s almost as though someone is tipping off the priest.”
Magnus's posture straightened, his fingers momentarily tightening around the armrest.
"The order consists of my most loyal supporters. I highly doubt the priest has swayed any of us..." Holmes raised a hand. "Now is not the time for infighting, Ruselle."
Magnus forced a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes, “Trust me,” he said, his voice steady but lacking warmth, “you can rely on the important information I’ve gained… acting as the priest’s trusted friend. The priest often coughs and forgets, as though his powers come with a debt.”
Holmes looked at Magnus intently. “Explain what you mean.”
Magnus’s voice grew stern as he leaned forward. “The priest is dying. His body is weakened, his soul crying… He often forgets his own name, yet when he prays, he becomes his old self again.”
A knock on the infirmary door interrupted their conversation.
“Come in,” Holmes said apprehensively, as Ruselle hid behind the door, clutching a dagger.
As the door swung open, Holmes’s eyes widened in surprise. “You…”
Lorian entered; his expression unreadable.
Magnus's fingers drummed lightly against his thigh when he noticed Lorian. “Didn’t you say you’d follow the priest?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his tone.
Lorian glanced around the room. “I have decided to help you as well.”
Magnus muttered under his breath, “Indecisive indeed,” his jaw clenching slightly.
Holmes smiled at Lorian. “Excellent. I will arrange quarters closer to the infirmary for you. We can discuss the next steps at dusk.”
Lorian shook his head. “Oh, no. I won’t bother the villagers anymore. I will be leaving with the priest in an hour.”
Magnus's smile faltered, a flicker of unease crossing his face, “Then why are you here?”
“I will help you by staying with the priest, gathering proof of his intentions,” Lorian said. “In return, you will give me all the details you have about this world and the priest.”
Holmes’s smile widened. “Smart. So even you have concluded that the priest can’t be trusted.”
Lorian’s eyes gleamed. “To quote the priest, trust is built on past triumphs, and my past is knotted with neither faction.”
Holmes nodded thoughtfully. “Very well, we will comply with your demands. Sir Magnus will take you to the Archives and inform you about the priest.”
“Sounds good,” Lorian replied, his tone resolute.
Ruselle stepped forward, eyeing Lorian. “I have something to share regarding the priest based on what Magnus just said. I think you should listen to this as well.”
“Go on,” Holmes gestured.
Ruselle’s expression turned serious. “The priest at times begins coughing, and when he does, he loses his memories completely.”
Lorian nodded. “I’ve seen it happen.”
Ruselle continued, her voice low and conspiratorial. “He regains them after 'praying'. During the tapestry ritual, I noticed him stealing a few tapestries.”
Holmes’s eyes widened. “Stealing them? But why?”
Ruselle’s brow furrowed. “To add pages to his diary. I believe the so-called ‘bible’ is just his diary where he has written everything about himself due to his forgetful nature.”
Holmes leaned forward. “A diary?”
Magnus's face paled slightly, and his gaze dropped to the floor. Under Ruselle’s steady scrutiny, he began to stroke his beard thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing in contemplation.
Ruselle’s gaze shifted towards Lorian. “I request Mr. Lorian to find that diary and read it. If possible, steal it. It might be the proof we need.”
“I will try my best,” Lorian nodded.
Ruselle turned to Magnus. “Sir Magnus…”
Magnus looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Ah… yes, yes.”
Ruselle smiled slyly. “Let’s take Mr. Lorian to the archives. You wouldn’t mind if I tagged along, would you?”
Magnus laughed nervously, scratching his head. “No… not at all.”
----------------------------------------
45 minutes later,
A green snake slithered through the dark, damp sewers with urgency.
Its scales glinted faintly in the dim light filtering through the grates above. It moved swiftly, winding its way upwards through a narrow channel, its sleek body undulating with purpose.
Suddenly, the surface of a pristine toilet in the Cathedral bubbled and gurgled. With a splash, the snake shot out, landing on the cold marble floor. Its vertical pupils narrowed as it scanned its surroundings, then darted out of the bathroom and into the corridor. The soft red rugs on the floor muffled its movement, creating a subtle, sinister "shhhh" as though the very floors were conspiring in silence.
“…Not…here…” The snake's forked tongue flickered as it surveyed the empty hall, then changed direction, heading towards the prayer room. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows on the walls, making the empty room feel even more foreboding. “…Empty…” The snake hissed; eyes gleaming in the candlelight. “…Lookss…like…the priest…hassss…lefttt…already…”
The snake began to coil loosely, its muscles tensing. “…He’s…not…warned…about…the…diary…” it hissed, the words hanging in the air like a dark omen. The faint scent of incense mingled with the coldness of the marble floor; the air thick with a silence that seemed to listen.
----------------------------------------
Lorian sat at the crumbling wall, waiting for the priest. His mind reeled with everything Magnus and Ruselle had revealed. The bag slung over his shoulder felt heavier now, not just with Ruselle’s "important books" but with the weight of unsettling truths. The jagged edges of the broken cement prodded his back, forcing him to shift uncomfortably.
The faint sound of footsteps drew his attention. The priest emerged from the shadows, his smile serene, as if he wasn’t harboring secrets of his own. "Ready to go?" he asked.
Lorian met the priest's gaze, his expression hardening. He nodded, the motion curt. "Lead the way," he said, pushing off the wall and landing lightly on his feet.
They walked side by side, the silence between them thick with unspoken words. As they navigated the uneven terrain, Lorian’s eyes darted around, scanning the dense foliage of the forest that loomed ahead. The trees seemed to whisper secrets of their own, their leaves rustling ominously.
The priest finally broke the silence, his voice a mere murmur against the backdrop of the forest. "Now... I can finally tell you the truth, about the Wastelands…..and me”