The glow of the eye on the book cover faded. The energy receded. But what had been done, remained.
Aezur felt the change. He was no longer just a floating consciousness. He was flesh. Bone. Nerves. A form that pulsed with a new, terrifying vitality.
His fingers, now firm, still hovered over the book's leather. The smell of mold and blood was stronger. The air, dense. Heavy like wet cloth over his face. He breathed. A simple act. But it brought with it the taste of dust, iron, and something older. Decay. Forgotten centuries trapped in stone.
His muscles were stiff. Every movement, an effort. His joints cracked when he shifted. His skin prickled as if touched by invisible insects. The body was a burden. A prison.
The voice. It still echoed in his mind. "The world outside is rotten, Aezur." The rot. He felt it. Not just in the air. But in the walls. In the floor. In the runes. A subtle corruption, seeping into everything. Like a silent disease. Like mold creeping under skin.
He looked at the altar again. The runic symbols. Not mere drawings. They pulsed. A faint, sickly light. Greenish. Unnatural. Breathing. Watching. He reached out. Touched one of them. Cold. Damp. It vibrated under his skin. A flash of images burst in his mind. Faces screaming. Cities burning. A tower… broken at the top.
He jerked his hand back.
A sound.
A dragging. Far away. Beyond the stone walls. Not the wind. Something alive. Moving. Wet. Heavy.
Aezur turned his head. His pale, colorless eyes tried to pierce the gloom. Only shadows. Dancing. Flickering with the weak light of the embedded crystals. But something… moved between them.
His heart, sluggish as it was, gave a reluctant beat.
He forced himself to stand. His knees buckled. His body protested. Every joint, a lament. Like a machine waking after centuries. Weak. But moving.
The voice again. Whispered. Like breath against the back of his neck. "You are the key… You are the curse..."
The book. Still there. Waiting. Calling.
He picked it up. The leather cold and rough against his palm. The eye on the cover… moved. Just a twitch. Or a trick of his mind.
He opened it.
Pages, brittle and yellowed. Written in a language he didn't know. Yet… understood. The letters twisted. Warped. Changed as he read. Symbols that made no sense… but told stories his mind could barely grasp.
Diagrams. Circles. Sacrifices.
An image.
A map.
Distorted. Broken. Lines like veins across torn flesh. Places marked with names that hummed with agony.
He touched the page. His vision blurred. His head burned. Knowledge surged. Forcing its way in. No permission. No warning.
He gasped. Closed the book. The pain eased. But the map… burned behind his eyes. A path. Leading out. Into the world beyond. Into the rot. Towards a truth that cracked sanity like dry bone.
Another sound.
Closer this time.
A moan. Wet. Ragged. Not quite human. Something dragged itself closer. From the corridor outside. Slow. Deliberate. Hungry.
Aezur turned.
Towards the darkness.
Towards the beginning of the game.