In the biting chill that claimed the air, a young man named Morder stood firm. His white hair was a chaotic mess, contrasting with the cold stillness of his gaze. He wore a black leather coat, left open at the chest to reveal a simple grey tunic beneath.
He was crossing a suspended wooden bridge, a fragile thread connecting two jagged landmasses. Below him, a violent ocean thrashed against the cliffs with primordial fury.
Reaching the far side, he was met by the sight of a colossal wall, its sheer height seemingly piercing the heavens.
After a few weary steps, Morder collapsed to his knees, his voice cracking as he called out:
"I need water."
There was no answer—only his own voice echoing back, as if mocking him. He pushed himself up, rubbing his throat, a faint, handsome smile flickering on his lips.
"I'm parched. It was a costly journey just to reach the Kingdom of the Sun."
"The Kingdom of the Sun… and yet, not a single golden thread touches it," he remarked with a dry, sardonic tone, scratching his chin.
He approached the gargantuan wall, his fingers tracing the rough surface until they snagged on a strangely protruding stone.
The rock suddenly ignited with a rhythmic glow, gathering energy for a powerful discharge.
Sensing the coming blast, Morder instinctively tilted his head to the right.
A beam of pure radiance surged past him, obliterating the wooden bridge—the only link between the Brooken lands—into splinters.
"I suppose future travelers will have to find another route," he muttered.
He turned back to the glowing stone.
The shimmer faded, and the small rock transformed—perhaps through ancient sorcery or a mere trick of the light—into a simple wooden door.
"A magic door. Lovely."
As he reached for the handle, a cold shiver crawled up his spine.
He sensed a presence.
In one fluid motion, he drew the sword from his back and swung, but the blade met only thin air.
Am I imagining things? I could have sworn someone was right behind me.
Then, he heard it: the sound of labored breathing, slow and shallow, as if the lungs were begging for oxygen.
Words followed, strained and trembling, as if pleading with the tongue to move.
"No, you were not imagining it."
Morder looked to his right.
A woman sat upon a shattered fragment of rock floating just above the ground.
She was perched near the gateway and the precipice leading to the ocean depths, defying every law of logic.
A white cloth draped over her head, masking her features entirely.
She wore a black dress accented with shifting crimson hues, revealing much of her form.
I didn't notice anyone when I crossed the bridge.
"You did not notice me; yet, I have been watching you."
Morder was struck by the icy detachment in her voice, but more so by her terrifying ability to pluck the thoughts right from his mind.
"It seems I am in the company of a mind-reader. How marvelous," he said, his guard up.
"What is your aim, boy? Power? Riches? Or perhaps… gathering the scattered fragments of the Arcane Ring across the Brooken lands to heal your enduring curse?"
Morder stared at her, a flicker of dread in his eyes, but he quickly began to analyze her words.
It wasn't just a question; it felt like a crossroads of destiny.
He moved his hand from his neck, revealing a vivid crimson mark—a straight vertical line crossed by a slanted stroke on the left and a deep, jagged groove on the right.
Blood was never the means; it has become the end.
"I was never afraid of blood," he said quietly, his grip tightening on his sword. "But now, every drop I lose is a countdown, a theft of my very life. So yes… I am afraid."
"Afraid of death? Or afraid of failing to purge the nightmares from the Brooken lands by restoring the Arcane Ring?" she asked, her tone suggesting she already knew the truth.
"I'm no saint, nor am I the hero coming to save the people," Morder countered.
He paused, watching the ocean lash out at the kingdom as if trying to tear it down.
"I don't even belong to these lands. I only came because I heard that whoever restores the Arcane Ring will be cured of their curse. I am here for myself."
A soft, haunting laugh escaped the mysterious woman.
She rose, floating into the air, her gaze fixed on the horizon where the sea and the dark clouds clashed in a violent, distorted embrace.
"Your journey hasn't even begun. Much will transpire, and your resolve will be tested. But I have one question…"
"A question?" Morder crossed his arms.
"Or… perhaps you should discover it for yourself."
With that، she let herself fall back over the edge.
Morder rushed to the precipice، but there was nothing—no splash، no body، not even a ripple in the dark waters below.
"What a cryptic woman…"
He returned to the door، hesitating.
Entering the Brooken lands was a slow death sentence؛ there would be no turning back.
"She's made me second-guess myself. But did I really come all this way just to stand here shivering?"
Instead of turning the handle، he kicked the door with all his might.
It shattered into splinters، crashing against a wooden pillar inside.
"The Arcane Ring… what a hell of a trip this is going to be."
He stepped through with a heavy stride.
As he crossed the threshold، the small doorway vanished behind him.
Morder glanced back with a smirk.
"Who said I had any intention of going back?"
He turned his attention forward.
The Kingdom of the Sun lay in a state of grotesque ruin.
The architecture was hideous—a decaying، ancient Gothic nightmare.
The streets were slick with moisture، and a foul، sickly stench hung in the air.
Most unsettling of all were the gargantuan pillars that stretched into the sky، supporting surreal buildings that seemed to defy gravity.
"The Kingdom of the Sun? There's no life، no light… this place looks like it was couched in the depths of a nightmare."
Covering his nose، Morder navigated the desolate streets.
The silence was heavy.
Corpses were strewn across the cobbles، and the remains of horses lay butchered and rotting.
"It's as if a strange plague hit the city. But beyond the mystery…"
He looked up.
The sky was a pitch-black void، an empty abyss.
Yet، despite the lack of clouds، a cold rain was falling steadily.
"It's like I've stepped into another dimension."
Continuing his trek، he reached a gate leading to the next sector.
This one wasn't wood؛ it was forged from "dead metal،" pulsing with a faint، erratic magical aura.
"I need a way through."
Scanning the area، he spotted a skeleton dressed in tattered، filthy rags.
It held a wooden sign with a message scrawled in blood:
[Does not open without the key.]
Morder put his hand to his head، exasperated.
"Good heavens، I never would have guessed a locked door needs a key. We have a real comedian on our hands."
As the words left his mouth، a sound drifted from the right—not a scream، but the sound of high-pitched، ecstatic، and deeply unsettling laughter.
"Am I finally losing my mind، or is someone actually laughing?"
Morder did not hesitate. He set his feet and moved decisively toward the source of the sound. As he navigated the ruinous streets with a steady, calculated stride, he came to an abrupt halt. Before him, a grim spectacle unfolded. A group of figures, clad in broken, blood-streaked iron armor, wielded swords as they stood around a corpse. It was crucified upside down, and they were in the act of setting it ablaze.
Across from this gruesome scene stood a decimated tavern. It was barely upright, leaning precariously on damp, rotting pillars. From within its shattered walls, the high-pitched laughter continued to erupt.
"Soldiers burning a corpse, and laughter echoing from a broken pub... The very definition of the absurd."
Morder muttered, his hand moving slowly to grip the hilt of his sword.
Intending to slip past them unnoticed, fortune betrayed him. His boot inadvertently struck a piece of loose gravel, sending it skittering across the pavement. The sharp sound was enough to draw the attention of several soldiers, who turned their heads toward him.
Their faces were concealed behind harsh iron masks. At the sight of him, they gripped their swords with renewed force, while others quickly raised bows, notching arrows.
"My apologies for ruining the atmosphere of your party," Morder stated coolly.
"Please, carry on with whatever this is."
He turned and continued toward the tavern, treating the knights who had been standing before him moments ago with complete indifference. But after only three steps, the cold bite of a sword's edge was pressed firmly against his neck.
He stopped moving. He shifted his gaze toward the knight who held the blade, whose breathing sounded like someone drowning in their own fluid.
"Your body... it is saturated with light..." the soldier rasped, his voice choked and muffled by his mask.
"And yet, utterly lacking in blood," Morder retorted.
"It seems we are all searching for what we miss the most."
The knight swung the sword, aiming to cut deeper, but Morder reacted instantly, stepping back as he drew his own blade from its scabbard in a swift arch. He glanced around, realizing he was now encircled by six knights forming a tight hexagonal perimeter.
"So, you aren't going to let me pass peacefully. Typical."
Suddenly, the intricate sigil on his neck began to glow intensely. Blood started to seep from the mark, radiating an agonizing heat.
'What a hateful thirst for blood... It's truly irritating when I am forced to kill,' he muttered to himself.
Morder raised his sword, aimed at them all, a mocking, sardonic smile playing on his lips.
"The party is about to begin. Try to dance well enough to impress the audience."