The world shimmered faintly as Johan's breath steadied. His reflection rippled in the river — a face that was his, yet not. The afternoon sun had begun to pale, and the wind carried a scent of iron and moss. He followed the river's course this time, his boots sinking slightly in the damp soil as the flow wound through the outskirts of the town.
The stream thickened, twisting beneath a weathered bridge before vanishing into a dark mouth of stone — a drainage tunnel, half-swallowed by vines. The air turned fetid.
"So this is where you lead…" he muttered, pulling his coat tighter before stepping in.
The stench struck him first — sour, rotten, alive. The walls glistened with damp filth. Rats scattered in frantic squeals, their slick bodies disappearing into cracks. Snakes slithered along the edges, and cockroaches scuttled over his boots. The sound of dripping echoed endlessly.
He pressed forward. The darkness was broken only by the flicker of his lighter's flame. Then, ahead, the tunnel widened, and he noticed something peculiar — a stream of pure water trickling in from a side crevice, clear as glass, mixing gently with the foul drainage. The flow shimmered oddly, and the faint current below seemed to pull in unnatural rhythm, almost breathing.
"What in God's name…"
The water suddenly surged, forming a downward slope, as if the earth itself opened beneath him. He lost footing — sliding, tumbling through cold, rushing blackness — until he crashed against a stone basin far below.
He gasped, drenched from head to toe. His torch had died. The air was colder now, unnaturally so. As he stood, his trembling hands found the outline of something vast — a pair of doors, gilded once in gold, now dull with rust. Their surface bore carvings of serpents and suns, symbols half-swallowed by time.
He stripped off his soaked coat and shirt, wringing them dry beside the faint flicker of his lighter's flame. His breath rose in pale mist. The scene before him blurred with memory — that door, it was the same design he'd seen in his last expedition…
And the memory seized him.
Julian Becker stood at the mouth of the Tomb of Kheroth, deep beneath the dunes. His team surrounded him — five in total, torches flickering in trembling hands.
"Watch the sigils," Julian warned. "The old ones always mark their traps."
They proceeded cautiously, the air thick with dust and silence. The first chamber was a labyrinth of stone and shifting floors. When Marcus stepped forward, a grinding sound erupted — and spears shot from the walls. His body hit the ground before a cry could leave his throat. Blood splattered against Julian's boots.
"Move! Keep moving!"
They pressed on, shaken, until they reached a hall lined with carved idols. A guardian awaited — a creature of bone and dust, shaped like a man but crowned with hollow eyes of flame. Julian drew his revolver, firing three shots — to no avail. The creature shrieked, charging with the weight of centuries.
They fled through narrow corridors, shadows snapping at their heels. His closest friend, Elias Crane, turned and slashed at the monster with his machete, the blade sinking deep into its chest. The creature staggered but retaliated — claws tearing through Elias's arm in a spray of red. The sound of it — flesh and bone breaking — echoed like thunder.
"Elias!" Julian shouted, grabbing him under the shoulders, dragging him through the collapsing tunnel. The guardian's roar faded as they stumbled into a chamber lit by unnatural blue fire.
The final door awaited them — inscribed with runes that pulsed faintly at their approach. A bowl lay beneath, empty save for a single mark: blood.
Elias's breathing grew ragged. His arm, torn and bleeding, glowed faintly with blue veins that crawled up his skin like living roots.
"Use it…" Elias whispered, voice weak. "Use my blood…"
Julian hesitated, tears burning his eyes. "No… I can't—"
"You must…"
The veins pulsed once more, and blue blood dripped into the bowl. The sigils flared to life, bathing the room in light. The great doors creaked open. Inside lay a vast hall of gold and forgotten majesty — statues of kings, shattered thrones, and amidst it all, a relic floating in midair, casting golden radiance.
But the light that touched Elias consumed him. The veins spread, his eyes glazing over as his body convulsed. Julian caught him as he fell, his heart breaking as he felt the last breath escape his friend's lips.
He screamed into the silence, fists pounding the cold stone.
"Why… why must we always be powerless before such monsters…"
Then he saw it — etched upon the inner wall of the chamber, written in gold that pulsed faintly with light:
"The Universe shall again know the Reality Escaper."
The words burned themselves into his memory, and the relic's glow reflected in his tear-streaked eyes.
And then— blackness.
The memory shattered. Johan gasped, leaning against the damp tunnel wall of the present. His lighter's flame trembled in his hand. He was alone again— wet, cold, and shaking.
But now he knew where he was.
The same tomb. The same door.
Only this time… it was not just memory.