I reached the split in the path, which, thankfully, allowed me to see what exactly was at the end of each of the diversions. Unfortunately, this would be more of a problem than a solution, and both sides were not just the same, but exact mirror images of each other. Both sides were gently curved before reaching their end, implying that they entered the same section.

They each had the same arrangements of flowers, bushes, trees and even the sequence of pavement slabs that stretched from the pergola, the sheer scale of time and resources that would have gone into making them the same from this angle removed the possibility of this being a sheer coincidence; they must be part of the same feature.

I decided to take the path to my right, continuing my uncomfortable walk towards the pergolas exit. Once I reached its exit, I could see just what exactly this path led to…

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I had entered a massive open sculpture garden with an eerily still and unmoving water feature which covered, if I had to guess, at least an entire third of the garden space. Other than its complete and total stationary state, what was so interesting about it was its exceptionally reflective surface; everything was reflected on its surface to an almost perfect degree, leaving only the most precise details clouded by the water. It felt more like a liquid mirror than a water feature.

The path I was on, and the one to my left, connected to a circular pathway that ran along the entire circumference of the reflection pool. A stout blocky stone fence separated them with only around half a foot of the neon grass between the fence and the pool.

I could see that several other paths broke away from the pool's orbit only to connect to further pergola tunnels through the hedges; maybe this large circular segment was a hub or semi-hub of sorts for this side of the garden complex, perhaps?

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Around a few feet apart, all along the path were sculptures of vaguely humanoid figures; they varied in height and build but stood around seven feet tall and mounted atop four feet tall plinths. The humanoids were all wearing flowing robes that covered them from head to toe. They all wore a suit of rather unusual armour; from its appearance, there seemed to be a mixture of late medieval plate and early medieval laminated leather panels with chain-mail connecting the armoured plates.

The figures wore a featureless mask with only their eyes peering through a pair of carved slits while a pair of horns erupted from behind the mask at the tops of their head. I couldn’t tell if the horns were a part of the mask or a part of the humanoid figures from how high up the statues were. All of their masks had a tapered baguette-cut amethyst grafted between the eyes where the brow ridge was, the gem tapered towards its top while the wide bottom was in line with the middle of the eye slits.

Each one wielded a pole-arm in their right hand, the shaft was grounded by the base of their robe and reached around chin height, each tipped with a broken-back seax-like blade that extended another two feet, easily stretching the full length of the weapon above their head by a dozen inches or so. The seax blades were remarkably thin, far thinner than a blade for a weapon of that size should be; an edge that fine would not only be a massive pain to carve for a sculpture but would also be at risk of damage during combat presumably.

Their seax-staves were etched with something running along the flat of the blade, far too small for me to read from here and with no means to climb up to investigate, would remain a mystery for now...

Their left hand held a tome close to their chest; text and cuneiform also covered it in symbols and icons like the seax-staff blades. Again this was illegible. The thickness of the tome and the presence of the long flowing robes made me wonder if the figures depicted were some form of ceremonial guard, kind of like the Swiss Guard of Rome, and that the tomes held theocratic or cultural importance. Maybe the statues were to commemorate knowledge or understanding? Conceptualization of psychology or theology, perhaps?

Much more interestingly, all of the statues were facing the same point in the park, that being the middle of the reflection pool. When I turned my head to face the centre of the pool, I suddenly feel a jolt of energy shoot down my back, and my eyes burned for a second when they panned to observe what the statues were watching. It would prove exceptionally difficult for me to describe just what I felt, a sense of foreboding? A feeling that I’m not supposed to see this thing? I just can’t describe it to an accurate enough degree.

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At the centre of the pool was a roughly hexagonal stone platform which was connected to the circular path by a pair of bridges; for reference, the bridges consisted of stone slabs suspended in the air like the wreckage of the tower from earlier, the platform also had a fence-row around it just like the path I was on.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Situated at the centre of the platform was a narrow black obelisk; the obelisk reached up to the sky by around twenty feet, but it was only a few feet in width even at its thickest. Along each of its faces were deep red cuneiform-like symbols carved into the stone that glowed a baleful red, a language I didn’t understand in a place I couldn’t understand. What made this thing so strange to look at was that, before actively observing it, I had no idea that there was even something in the middle of the pool in the first place.

I scan around the statues again, evaluating what I could see, attempting to discern what this place was supposed to be. Maybe the obelisk was meant to be some kind of memorial? Not entirely impossible, considering the presence of weaponry on the statues facing it. Maybe it’s some kind of religious holy site, perhaps some kind of theological or philosophical icon of pride for the people who made the statues? Again entirely possible due to the tomes…

But the obelisk was far too interesting; I could feel a pulsing of sorts coming from it, some strange desire to approach it and investigate. There was a visible walkway around it, and bridges connecting to it were good enough evidence to assume it was safe to approach.

Walking around the path, I passed by several statues; I kept getting this feeling that the statues were watching me. I’d stop several times to check behind me, swearing blind that the silent sentinel’s heads were turning to observe me. Still, whenever I turned to look back, they have fixated on the obelisk again.

Stepping onto the bridge, my sense of paranoia got worse and worse; I knew the statues couldn’t turn to watch me; they were made from stone after all, but I could almost see the heads turning to watch me in the corner of my eye, their tiny piercing eyes peeking out from their mask-slits, watching me in utter silence...

Battling my grave concern that the statues were about to rouse from their slumber at any moment to find a much smaller, weaker and poorly equipped humanoid trespassing in this location of clear significance, I finally reached the central obelisk platform.

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I could hear a faint humming in the background; it sounded remarkably similar to the hum back in that strange room a few nights ago, the same sound that disappeared without a trace. Could this be the source of the hum?

The obelisk continued to emit the hum while I pondered on what exactly this thing was; the cuneiform engraving appeared to flicker sporadically in and out of reality, the very text shifted, and the letters moved around the surface as if it was actively carved over and over again before my eyes. It was clear that my proximity to the obelisk was doing something since the closer I got, the more frequent the cuneiform changed.

I was within a few meters of the obelisk; I could hear something nearby, a sound that wrapped around me that originated from everywhere but nowhere all at once. It sounded like chanting, long drawn out deep chants that overpowered the hum. Whatever was making this sound gave me a twisted feeling in my gut.

I was not supposed to be here...

I heard a dull crunch at that precise point, followed by several loud splashes from directly behind me. I really didn’t want to look behind me, convinced entirely that something was standing no more than a meter or two away, my mind concocting visions of some kind of aquatic beast with a gaping maw, barbed teeth waiting to strike.

I turn to look behind me, seeing that the stone bridge that allowed my passage to this isolated platform had disappeared, the distortions and ripples in the pool suggesting that the stones had collapsed into the reflective pool below.

I hear another dull clunking sound, this time originating from the obelisk. I snap back around to face it, only to see the text had changed again; this time, a hand carving had appeared around chest height alongside English lettering. I got closer to read the engraving.

“The walls against the ceaseless nothing stand tall, knowledge its foundation, realization its shie+ld and the mind its spear. The shining lance of consciousness shines bright through all, illuminating the unforgivable, the forgotten, the forsaken.” My theory on this being a war memorial or military monument might be correct considering this foreboding text. Still, this handprint was a near-perfect size for my own hand. I felt this uncontrollable desire to try and press it.

I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but I decided to press my left hand into the slot; the carved hand slot flickered and shifted to fit around my hand firmly. Barbed spikes grew from the stone and wrapped around my fingers to lock them in place.

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A violent jolt of energy travelled up my arm; I watched in horror as my shirt tore open, veins In my arm close to the surface burst, and blood fountained all around in vile gouts of crimson rain. At the same time, the very flesh splintered, shattering into hundreds of origami-like pieces and drifted away from my exsanguinating arm.

The pain was indescribable; there are simply not accurate enough words that exist in the entirety of the English lexicon which I could string together that could functionally describe a tenth of the excruciating pain I felt at that very moment; it didn’t so much feel like my arm was being severely damaged but rather my very essence, my very soul has been torn and flayed piece by piece.

I once again almost jumped clear of my bed; my arm pulsed and throbbed while I clutched my wrist, on the verge of hyperventilating. It took a good six minutes before I managed to regain my composure. Horror wracked my mind knowing that the pain I felt in the nightmare bled through my arm in the real world.

The same morning routine, as usual, took place after I managed to calm down; pull myself together, have a shower, make breakfast, do some more reading and note work for my next day - another Friday, so yet another wonderful full day on campus - take a trip to the library etc. In other words, a mundane day with no real twists or abnormalities, well that was until night descended once more...