Wherever he went, wherever he looked, he found traces of past battles. The city bore the wounds of a war that had long since faded, but whose echoes still seemed to linger in the walls.
The houses stood black and empty, burnt to the bare stone. Doors hung crooked on their hinges, windows had become gaping holes. Monuments, once presumably symbols of faith or unity, lay shattered on the ground - smashed, desecrated, forgotten.
Nothing remained of those who once lived here.
No laughter, no song, no life. Everything that once reminded them of their existence seemed to have been wiped out - with cold, deliberate violence. Only rubble, ashes and silence remained.
It was as if someone had tried to destroy not only the bodies - but also their history.
He wondered why he had never heard of this place. Why there were no stories that mentioned it.
After a while, he arrived at a gate again, but this time it was preserved. He walked through it slowly.
In front of him was a wide square lined with columns decorated with various patterns. At the end of the square was a gate made of black stone, half open as if inviting people in. Behind it - only shadows.
Above the gate rose an enormous hall - larger than any he had ever seen in this city before. Its pillars rose high into the sky, black and awe-inspiring, as if they wanted to support the firmament itself.
"What a sight," he thought to himself.
The square he walked through was littered with ashes, broken shields and rusty swords; a great battle had once taken place here too - and no one had ever recovered the fallen. Some lay hidden under thick layers of dust, others rose up from the ground like memorials.
Every now and then something cracked under his boots - a dull, brittle sound. He did not look down. He didn't want to know what it might have been.
A cold shiver ran down his spine. He screwed up his face, suppressed a gag reflex, then whispered - harshly, barely audible:
"Keep going... I have to keep going..." His voice was lost between the pillars
When he reached the gate, he examined the engravings across it.
"Only for you, and your dream. . . in these lies our light", he whispered.
So he was able to move forward.
Even though he was afraid, his steps remained firm and determined. He knew that there was no turning back and that the urge he felt deep inside could have originated here. Perhaps he would find answers, perhaps a way to satisfy this insatiable urge.
He kept walking straight ahead.
He kept looking around, but between the many pillars that opened up in the empty rooms, he found nothing. Not a clue, not a single piece of evidence for anything.
At a side exit, he discovered a staircase that led further up. It was in surprisingly good condition, and the engravings on it bore the same words as those on the gate and the statue.
When he reached the top, he was greeted by a sight that took his breath away. Almost the entire city was now visible, and in front of him stood the great hall that he had seen earlier from the square.
The crystals sparkled above him.
He cautiously entered the great hall. The air was stuffy and heavy - the stench so acrid that he immediately put his hand over his nose and mouth.
But that didn't help.
He felt those piercing glances on his skin again.
With his lips pressed together, he stepped further into the hall. The floor beneath his boots was covered in a greasy layer that gleamed in the light of the torch. Dark streaks ran along the walls, and brittle pillars protruded from the shadows
His gaze wandered around - until he paused.
He could make out the first outlines in the darkness. He approached cautiously. It was a kind of stone altar, surrounded by broken chairs and extinguished candles.
It seemed as if people had once been buried here.
He raised the torch a little higher to get a better look.
His breath caught in his throat.
A stone figure was crouching on the altar. It was draped in a tattered robe. There was nothing but emptiness where the eyes should be.
He took a step back.
"No," he thought, as if to call himself to his senses.
He turned around, leaving the altar behind him, and turned towards a narrow side corridor that he had barely noticed before. The corridor was low, the walls narrower and the floor drier. With each step, the acrid stench faded away.
After a while, the corridor opened up into another room - smaller, but higher. He stepped through, the torch still in his hand.
Silence overwhelmed him.
Sweat dripped from his forehead, he had become so tense.
All of a sudden, it sounded quiet, almost cautious.
"Someone call you!"
He immediately startled and tried to locate the voice.
"A guest," another voice sounded behind him. He quickly turns around.
"How nice!", "It's finally getting interesting again!"
Many voices now echoed in the wide hall, crude and distorted, as if several beings were speaking at the same time without paying the slightest attention to each other.
"O . . . is he visiting us again?"
"No," hissed another voice, clearly more irritated. "It's just a brat from the village in the east!"
"What a shame!" "Disappointing . . ."
He swallowed hard. His voice trembled when he finally dared to speak :
"W-who are you?"
"Nobody!"
"What do you care?"
"I-I have questions, and I thought I could find answers here."
"So young . . . and already so demanding."
He kept casting a quick glance over his shoulder. The ever-moving shadows behind his back frightened him. Even though he had a strong feeling that he shouldn't be afraid. He could not listen to this inner voice.
Then a softer, almost benevolent voice sounded :
"Let him speak. Perhaps . . . it might even be entertaining for us."
He said more to himself than to them: "All right . . ."
Sweat dripped from his forehead. The air was oppressive, almost suffocating.
"I have an urge in my heart. I don't know why, but I always feel like I have to come here!"
There was silence for a moment. Then a voice spoke, almost reverently :
"O. . . so it's time."
"It's him. . . it's really him. . ." whispered another, excitement in her voice.
"Be quiet!"
The voice, which had just sounded friendly, suddenly thundered through the hall with such shocking force that he and apparently the others flinched.
Then - gentle, almost motherly again :
He heard it before he could see anything: slow, heavy footsteps making their way through the darkness. Something seemed to be stirring between the huge pillars of the hall - large, heavy and menacing.
"Damn. . ." he whispered.
He squinted his eyes, but it was no use. He could make out absolutely nothing of what was happening in front of him.
It suddenly fell silent in the great hall. Only the soft dripping of water and the crackling of the fire echoed between the ancient pillars. Everything was plunged into darkness, except for the small flickering circle of light from the torch in his hand.
He felt it first - the staring eyes on his skin. The air became heavier. Then . . . something moved.
A strangely shaped shadow emerged from between two massive stone pillars. Slowly, with a shaky gait. As if it were standing for the first time in years.
"Where did I end up here . . .?"
One leg dragged across the ground, the other limped. And then it came completely out of the shadows.
The body was strangely twisted, as if someone had reassembled it and forgotten what a human being actually looks like. Where his head should have been, there was only a dark, hollowed-out void. One hand was little more than a mangled stump, bloody and useless. But the other was an eye, red and bloodshot. A huge, wet eye that sat in the middle of the palm, moving restlessly. It stared, noticing every single movement.
His breath hitched.
"Don't be afraid, my boy!" the figure said in a calm tone. "I . . . No, we won't hurt you. You can be sure that you won't suffer any harm here."
Of course, he did not think to take these words from this being seriously. He looked around nervously again and again, seeing individual eyes. Staring at him from the darkness.
The eye in front of him blinked. And then fixed him completely. Without turning away from him once.
He began to stutter at the sight, "W-what are you?"
"Think of us as your friends. As followers of the true and endless faith," the figure said loftily.
"You must meet them to satisfy the urge. And we will help you pass them as well."
"S-meet them?"
The figure approached him slowly, whereupon he took another step back. The creature stopped when it realized that he was afraid.
"Well . . we have been waiting for this moment for a long time. You must know, you must understand. That we are on your side and that we will guide you to the first person who will fulfill the predestined."
"But what about the girl?" a shrill voice shouted in between.
The other voices immediately raised their voices again, talking wildly to each other.
"I can feel it - he likes her!"
"And the other one?!" another voice shouted between them.
"Understand at last! The other one is coming too - he'll do it with her!" one voice instructed the others.
The babble of voices swelled, they overlapped, became faster and faster, more and more confused, until you could hardly understand what was being said.
Then - a word. Harsh. Clear.
"Quiet!"
They all fell silent at the same moment.
"You're not going to ruin this moment just because you want to be entertained!"
"We've waited so long for this moment!"
The voice echoed through the wide hall, shrill with impatience.
"Quickly! Bring it here! It is to be handed over!"
An order that brooked no argument.
Then something moved between the pillars. It began to scratch and scrape unbearably.
Hands.
Out of nowhere, they suddenly appeared in front of him. One after the other, some propped themselves up on the floor. Others were grinding along the ceiling. Without even seeing the full body of this creature, it was an unreal sight.
The long, bony hands came shooting out of the mist. Some of them were covered in scales, others still appeared to be wearing some sort of armor, while others were simply mutilated. He could recognize the pieces of armor, some of which he could already see in the large square that lay outside the great hall.
Each hand was different to look at, and yet they looked like parts of a single, ancient body.
He instinctively took a step back. His heart hammered against his ribs. His eyes widened as he watched what was happening in front of him.
"He's ready!" The words echoed through the entire hall. A cheer broke out among the creatures.
Something formed in the overlapping hands. Slowly. An object so black that it was barely recognizable in the darkness at first. No light was reflected in it.
And yet he recognized it immediately for what it was.
A sword.
He could feel it - how the pitch-black metal pulsed inside him as if it had a heart of its own.
The hands began to pass the sword to him. From one to the next. It cut through the flesh of the hands and it flinched.
"Take it," whispered the figure, who was now standing right next to him.
"And carry what is yours. What you have been entrusted with, fulfill the eternal inheritance!"
Almost submissively, it remarked: "It is an inheritance that belongs to you alone. Take it, now!" In the end, it rushed a little again.
When he touched it, there was the stinging in his chest again. He knew the same pain from his dreams. At first he hesitated a little, until he finally reached for the sword and took it.
"It . . is mine alone," he whispered.
Slowly, the figure behind him retreated into the shadows.
It continued to stare at Nidal.
"So be it. . ." it whispered.
Without another word, he turned and walked firmly towards the exit.
"Very well . . . it is falling into place as it has long been destined to," a new, darker voice said as she watched Nidal walk slowly down the stairs to the exit.
"He'll be thrilled to see him someday!"
"Wonderful!"
"Even though it doesn't belong to him, our sword will pave the way for him!"
"But . . . Has he found it yet, or has he found it?"
"No!"
"Oh!" it sounded as if from a single mouth, spoken by the collective of beings.
"This is going to be exciting!"
"Yes!" - "Right!"