Vastarael froze, his mind barely processing her words. The question she asked sent chills crawling down his spine.
Inside a mural?
The idea alone made his blood run cold. He clenched his fists to steady himself but the woman's voice made it almost impossible to think clearly.
It was smooth, yet commanding. Silky, like a shadow brushing across his skin, but there was an edge to it. He couldn't decide whether her voice was a threat or a melody. Both seemed equally possible, and both were equally terrifying.
"I'm… not…" Vastarael began, his words fumbling. He had no idea how to respond, no idea how to explain himself. His voice cracked slightly, betraying the fear he tried to suppress.
"I'm not… in the mural. You're the one inside it!"
The woman didn't move, but her presence shifted subtly, almost as though she were narrowing her focus on him. Her tone, when she spoke again, carried an eerie calm, masking the undertone of fear that even she couldn't hide.
"And yet I see you here," she said softly. "Your soul is… vivid. Too vivid. Like a star burning out of place. How did you get here, soul-bearer?"
Her words made Vastarael take an instinctive step back. The way she spoke wasn't out of reverence. It was like she was trying to make sense of him, as though he was something unnatural, something impossible. And in her tone, he could hear it.
Fear.
"Why are you afraid of me? You're the one with the glowing runes… the armor… the powerful presence. You're… terrifying."
He took another step back, his mind racing to put some distance between himself and the mural.
The woman tilted her head slightly at his words as though she were studying him in detail.
"Me? No. No, you are terrifying. Your soul... it burns too brightly. It's unnatural. Too strong, too… chaotic."
"Chaotic? What are you talking about? I'm just—"
"You're not just anything," she interrupted sharply, her voice carrying a sudden intensity that made him flinch. The runes on her sword flickered brighter for an instant before dimming again. She seemed to catch herself, inhaling slowly, her next words softer but no less firm. "A soul like yours doesn't belong in this place. It doesn't belong anywhere. Tell me, what are you?"
"I'm Vastarael Richinaria. I'm a prince. I'm… an Aeterium—"
He froze.
'Did I... just reveal myself to her? How? It's like Sirithiele's Boon!'
The woman stood silently, processing his words. Her crimson gaze bore into him, as if testing the truth of his statement. Then she took another step forward, her figure seeming to grow larger within the mural. Vastarael's breath hitched again as her presence became overwhelming.
"A prince. And yet your soul burns brighter than any prince I have ever seen. Even brighter than a Nexus' soul."
He stiffened at her words, the mention of the Nexuses sending a chill down his spine.
"You… know about a Nexus?"
"Of course I do," she said coldly. "I served one. I fought for one. I died for one. And now, here I stand, in this cursed mural, watching you, a soul-bearer who reeks of chaos and destruction. Tell me, Prince Vastarael… what are you truly?"
Her voice struck like a blade, cutting into the fragile threads of his resolve. He opened his mouth to respond but found no words. The more he stayed silent, the more he was compelled to speak. And finally...
"I'm just a soul trying to survive," he said finally, his voice raw with altered honesty. "I don't know what I'm doing here, or why you're even here. But I swear… I didn't come to hurt you. I don't even know you."
She didn't respond immediately. The glow in her mask flickered faintly. For a moment, Vastarael thought she might relent. But when she spoke again, her voice was colder, darker.
"If you don't know who you are, then you're more dangerous than I thought. I have no name to give you, Prince Vastarael, but hear me well. I will not let your chaos burn this world again."
Her words carried a finality that chilled him to the bone. Vastarael's fingers twitched as he instinctively reached for the sapphire spike at his feet. Whatever this woman was, she was both a threat and a mystery, and one he couldn't afford to take lightly. But as he bent down to take the spike, the mural's glow suddenly dimmed, the woman's figure fading into the shadows as though retreating into the depths of the wall.
"Wait! Who are you? What do you mean, again?"
But there was no response. The mural stood still once more. Only the faint crimson glow of the thorned mask remained, flickering dimly before disappearing entirely. The oppressive weight of her presence lifted, leaving Vastarael alone in the darkened hall once more.
"Well fuck... what the hell is this..."
°°°°°°
Vastarael had thought the murals in the Frozen Ruins were unsettling but this… this was something else entirely. The remnants of his brief, chilling conversation with the mural's knight lingered in his mind.
He wanted nothing more than to leave, to turn and bolt out of this forsaken hall, but his instincts betrayed him, urging him to stay. And for once in his life, Vastarael cursed his instincts.
So, instead of dwelling, he walked. The soles of his boots clicked faintly against the stone floor, the sound swallowed by the suffocating vastness of the hall. His sapphire spike glowed faintly in his hand, casting a soft bioluminescent light that barely illuminated the darkness. Slowly but surely, he made his way along the cold, endless walls, expecting to see another mural.
But there was nothing.
He frowned, his unease growing as he continued forward. Minutes turned to hours and the hall seemed to stretch on infinitely, like some cruel labyrinth designed to sap his resolve. He checked every inch of the walls, running his fingers over their smooth, cold surface, but all he found was silence and emptiness. The absence of murals felt wrong. He couldn't decide if it was better or worse than the alternative.
"Where the hell did you go, mural lady?"
The sound of his own voice made him flinch, as though he'd disturbed something he shouldn't have. The hall seemed to respond with silence so oppressive that it almost felt mocking.
He finally came to the conclusion that silence is the creepiest existence.
By the time he reached the far end of the hall, exhaustion gnawed at him, but it wasn't physical. His body was fine but his soul, however, felt drained, worn down by the unnatural atmosphere. It was as if it was fatigued.
What made it worse, though, was the passage of time. He could feel the hours ticking by inside this spire. It wasn't natural or even logical, but it was as though the spire itself was telling him the time. He knew when it was noon. He knew when the day began to wane into evening.
He hated it.
Eventually, after what felt like a lifetime of walking, his wandering led him to a corner of the hall where something different caught his attention.
A massive teleportation circle etched into the stone floor.
Vastarael stopped in his tracks, his golden eyes widening as he stared at the intricate runes carved into the glowing lines.
"Teleport Runes…" he murmured under his breath, kneeling beside the circle to inspect it more closely.
Even for someone like him, who had spent years studying magic and runic languages, these runes were a nightmare to decipher. Teleport Runes weren't just difficult to conjure. They were damn near impossible to use, let alone write or speak. The level of precision required to craft something like this was mind-boggling, and yet here it was, perfectly drawn and fully operational.
The only one who could use Teleport Runes was his father, who was an Eleventh Star Mage.
He reached out hesitantly, his fingers hovering over the faintly glowing lines. His instincts told him exactly what would happen if he applied even the smallest amount of essence to the circle—it would activate. It would take him somewhere. But where?
"Guess this is the only way up," he muttered, standing and taking a step back. He glanced around the hall again, his gaze lingering on the distant walls and the open doorway behind him.
No stairs. No ancient elevators. Nothing to suggest another way out. The teleportation circle was his ticket, whether he liked it or not.
Still, he wasn't ready to leave just yet.
As nightfall crept closer—another sensation he could feel through the spire's bizarre manipulation of time—Vastarael decided it was time to eat. He set up a small camp in a relatively open corner of the hall, away from the teleportation circle. He was surprised to find that runes still worked within the hall, allowing him to summon a Heat Rune and roast some meat he'd packed in his inventory.
The warmth of the fire was a welcome comfort in the cold, eerie space, but it did little to ease his unease. Vastarael sat cross-legged on the floor, chewing slowly as his thoughts wandered.
The woman from the mural wouldn't leave his mind. Her voice, her presence, her crimson-lit helmet, all of it felt like it had been burned into his memory. He couldn't decide what disturbed him more. The way she seemed so powerful, or the way she had looked at him.
She had been afraid of him. He could feel it in her voice, even if she tried to hide it. And why? Because of his soul?
"What the hell does that even mean?" He muttered, poking at his meat with a sapphire stick he materialized. "Too vivid? Too bright? Is that supposed to be a compliment or a threat?"
He didn't have answers, only questions. The woman had spoken of chaos, of destruction, of his soul being unnatural. He thought back to his life, his abilities, his existence as an Aeterium. None of it seemed chaotic to him. If anything, he'd spent his life trying to bring order to the chaos around him.
"And yet she was afraid of me," he whispered, leaning his head back against the wall.
The longer he thought about it, the more it grated on him. Fear was something he understood well; it was a survival instinct, a necessary tool. But the kind of fear she'd shown him was different.
It was the fear of the unknown, of something she couldn't comprehend. And if someone as powerful as her was afraid of him, what did that say about him?
He sighed, running a hand through his curly white hair.
"This is a mess," he said aloud. "One hell of a mess."
Still, he couldn't deny the spark of curiosity gnawing at him beneath the fear. Who was she? Why was she in the mural?
And more importantly, what was waiting for him on the next floor of the spire?
As he stared into the Heat Rune, Vastarael made a decision. He didn't like his instincts but he trusted them. He would stay the night, gather his strength and in the morning, he would use the teleportation circle. Whatever lay ahead, answers or dangers, he would face it head-on.
Because that was who he was.
"Time for me to move on."