Hvom, on impulse, gripped the hilt of his sword.
— Calm yourself, son of the traitor — said the elf. — I have no intention of harming you. And, let's be honest… if I had, it would already be done.
Hvom narrowed his eyes, confused and suspicious. — What happened after I passed out? That creature… why didn't it kill me?
The elf then turned his face toward Hvom, almost as if observing him through the blindfold that covered his eyes. — There lies a truly interesting question. For what reason did the Xorh'goth not consume your mind and then kill you… Sir human, I must admit, this is the first time I have encountered such a thing. A situation that is, let's say… unusual.
The first rays of sun began to pierce through the gaps in the leaves growing among the rubble at the top of the chamber. The filtered light fell in soft beams upon the damp floor.
The elf stood up without haste. With his foot, he dragged a handful of earth over the warm embers of the fire until the last of them were smothered.
Next, he leaped lightly onto the piece of rubble where Hvom was still sitting. — A pleasure, human. My kind knows me as Sarvarius — he said, extending a hand.
Hvom took it, using it as leverage to stand. — My name is Hvom Dunhall. The pleasure is all mine. This is the first time I've spoken with one of your kind… if you'll permit the question, Sarvarius, what are you doing in a cursed place like this?
Sarvarius then stepped down from the rock, turning toward the staircases at the end of the hall. — My brothers and sisters still live under the chains of an ancient bond… one that was broken long ago.
Hvom frowned. Gods, broken bonds… these were ramblings he had neither the time nor the energy to understand.
Sarvarius continued, his voice calm, reflective. — The will of a god who no longer answers, but who still dictates the rules among those who fear to think for themselves. — He began to walk through the ruined chamber, his light steps marked by the sound of splashing water. — Life, Sir Hvom, cannot be measured by a single gaze. We are sentient, thinking beings… and only fools accept reins they did not choose. — He then lightly touched the blindfold with his left hand, adjusting it on his face. — Those who are truly free are those who understand that the world is a prison made of expectations. And pleasure, the will, these are the keys that open the cell.
Sarvarius stopped before the first step of the staircase. He stood in silence for a moment, then spoke without turning around. — I am here by choice. Because there are forgotten things that deserve to be remembered. And because the world… still has its eyes too tightly closed. — He then began to descend the steps. — Sir Hvom… I wish you all the luck in the world on your journey to the confines of this mausoleum. Perhaps, if we meet again further on, we can share a true conversation.
The hall was now empty, the sound of Sarvarius's steps no longer heard, and Hvom was now left with only his own company.
"I need to keep moving, too," Hvom thought, as he climbed down from the rock.
•
Since entering the dungeon, Hvom had made a habit of counting the hours. It was one of the few ways not to completely lose his sense of time. A simple but essential ritual to keep his mind anchored.
Four days had passed since he had met Sarvarius. And since then, he hadn't heard another voice. Not even the grunts of the creatures that had hunted him before. The absence was total, and deep down, he knew that this, too, was a type of threat.
But for now, the silence wasn't entirely bad.
The twisting corridors of the dungeon seemed endless, but then, a sound cut through the oppressive silence: a small whistle, up ahead. Subtle, almost childlike, but deeply unnerving in this place of death. A shiver ran down Hvom's spine; his sword was already drawn before he had even processed the instinct.
With bated breath and his senses on high alert, he advanced cautiously toward the sound. He found a wooden door, slightly ajar, its aged surface covered in inscriptions that time had nearly erased. The foreboding creak of the door as he pushed it open echoed down the corridor.
Hvom stopped, his breath held. What was revealed on the other side defied the logic of this place.
A massive, circular chamber opened before him, as vast as the inside of a colossal rib cage, completely lined with ancient shelves that rose from the floor to the impossibly high ceiling. Books, scrolls, and codices were crammed onto every shelf. The air carried the scent of mold, dust, and old leather, but with a faint metallic tang, like dried blood. Small spheres, fixed to the walls at intervals, emitted a dancing, greenish light, painting the scene in phantom hues. It was a scarce light, but it offered a welcome respite from the solitary flame of his lantern.
He entered the space slowly, each footstep echoing softly. No creature moved in the shadows, but the feeling of being watched was a nagging cold that turned his stomach.
He followed a narrow corridor that snaked between the imposing shelves. — What is this place…? — he whispered to himself.
He then reached out a hand to one of the nearby shelves, his fingers brushing against the leather spine of one of the countless volumes. At the instant of his touch, the book disintegrated, crumbling into a cloud of dust that danced briefly in the air before settling. Hvom watched, unsettled, before his eyes swept across the circular immensity. He walked to the railing and from there, he noted the great number of corridors and walkways that intertwined below, down to the confines of the Chamber.
Awestruck by the impossible scale of the place, Hvom stepped back, turning his back on the immensity. He resumed his path along the stone walkway and descended a staircase that led to a corridor on the level below.
It was in this new corridor, after a few minutes, that the walking became an effort. With each step, the air grew denser, and a fine mist began to hover, coiling around his feet and rising until it completely obscured the path. Soon, the chamber's green lights were nothing more than distant blurs, swallowed by the growing murk.
— Hvom… —
The whisper didn't come from a specific point. It seemed to emerge from all sides at once, an echo that resonated inside his own skull. He spun on his heels, the blade of his sword cutting through the heavy air, but there was no one. Nothing. Just the veil of mist and the oppressive silence that followed. Hvom frowned, his mind struggling to discern if it had been real.
He took another step, hesitant, and the sound was different. Not the scrape of a boot on stone, but a soft, hollow squelch. He looked down. The stone floor was no longer there. In its place, a layer of dark, shimmering mud was beginning to form, as if the rock itself were sweating a rain-soaked earth.
Croak-croak
A lone, distant croak broke the silence. Hvom stopped, his head tilted, trying to locate the source of the disconnected sound. He ignored it. A trick of the fog, of his exhausted mind. He continued on, his boot sinking a little deeper into the mud with each step. The smell of mold gave way to a strong odor of damp earth and decay.
Another croak, this time closer. Followed by another. Suddenly, a sharp buzz zipped past his ear. He swatted at the air out of pure reflex. He looked to his sides, trying to see through the white veil. The silhouettes of the shelves were no longer straight. They were twisted, gnarled, like the branches of ancient trees. The green lights were now points of light that danced slowly between them, like lost souls.
That place was no longer a library. Or perhaps, it never had been.
Hvom tried to follow what used to be the walkway, but the path gave way. With no sign of where to proceed, he stopped. His heart hammered out of sync, the fog invading his lungs.
It was then that the thought that had guided him, his mantra, returned. The voice in his mind was no longer desperate, but twisted, mocking.
"It's my last job…"
A dry, bitter laugh escaped his throat. A sharp, lonely sound that was quickly swallowed by the fog and the croaking. There was no humor in that sound at all.
The laugh was still echoing in his mind when the whisper returned, but different this time. Closer.
— Walk… —
It was a command, a sibilant sound that scraped the inside of his skull. The mockery on Hvom's face vanished, replaced by a wave of adrenaline. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the hilt of his sword, his eyes darting uncontrollably through the fog in search of a threat he could not see. There was no enemy to fight. Only a voice.
With his teeth clenched, Hvom gave in. He took a step, then another, following the direction from which the command seemed to emanate. Each movement was cautious, but his feet felt like they weighed a ton. Partly because of the mud that sucked at his boots, partly because of the anguish of obeying.
He continued on, one step at a time, his gaze fixed on the fog ahead of him. Something changed in the murk. A darker shape began to condense a few meters away. It wasn't a tree, or a rock. It was a silhouette, a little shorter than Hvom, that cut through the white veil of the fog.
The voice sounded once more, this time emanating directly from the figure. — …Walk… —
Hvom stopped. Hand on his sword, body tense. The silhouette began to move toward him, and with each step, the fog seemed to peel away from it, revealing details that made the air catch in his lungs. The way it walked, the contour of the shoulders… The image came into focus. A woman with short, curly hair, her skin as pale as linen. A simple dress in shades of brown. Service boots, worn from work.
"No. It can't be."
Hvom's heart skipped a beat. It was his mother. There, in that muddy hell, was his mother. She stopped a few steps from him and held out her arm, a warm, familiar smile on her face. Just as Hvom remembered from when he had left.
— My dear, how you've grown — she said, her voice exactly as he remembered. — You've finally returned to us.
Hvom couldn't move. His mind screamed that it was a trap, a cruel illusion, but his eyes saw the one thing he wanted most in the world.
— Your father and I were so worried… — she continued, her smile faltering with a genuine sadness. — We thought you had died… But I'm so glad. I'm so glad you're home.