Kyle Darkfield pressed his lips together, trying to steady the frantic pounding of his heart.The final words still danced before his eyes:
"Everyone will die, including you."
Without realizing it, his gaze turned toward the brass revolver.His trembling hands grasped its cold handle, as if trying to anchor themselves to the dreadful truth—That here, he was not just a witness…but perhaps the first of many victims.
He slowly raised the revolver to eye level.The metal chamber rotated with a smoothness that reminded him of a cursed wheel turning.He hadn't noticed when his hand reached for it,but now, as his eyes welled with unsteady tears, he whispered:
"Why… me?"
Suddenly, he pulled his hand back and flung the gun aside.The physical pain paled in comparison to the final page—the one that heralded a game already in motion,a game with no escape.
He rose from the chair at last, seeking the comfort of the cold wall.Turning his head left and right,he searched for a way out—or any sign he wasn't alone.
The room was bare,furnished only with two wooden doors,a cabinet with ten drawers,and a low bed tucked in the corner.
He stepped toward the door on the right,his gait unsteady but his resolve firm.His hand extended to the cold iron handle,and slowly, he opened the door.
Beyond it stretched a narrow corridor, pulsing with faint sounds:a soft whistling, like the groan of rusted paint,and distant whispers, their words too faint to reach his conscious mind.
He advanced cautiously, his eyes widening as he saw:
A cracked mural, etched with an ancient seal,bound by faded metal wires.At its center—a fine fracture pulsed with a dim red light.
Nearby, on a wooden shelf, lay sealed records:three leather-bound tomes,each marked with a five-pointed sigil.
Kyle stepped closer to the mural and murmured:
"This is the seal…"
He raised his hand to examine the fissure—then recoiled in horror.It wasn't just a crack in the wall…it was alive.From within, dark beams trembled as though something was waiting—lurking—eager to seep through.
He took a step back.Then he heard the echoes whisper,a single voice spoken through many:
"Come closer… so we may inscribe your name."
Memories surged through his mind again:his earliest lessons with The Cursed Ink,the Grand Custodian's teachings on the art of writing with the heart, not the hand.
And he knew—now was the time to choose:
To turn back,perhaps saving himself by surrendering to an unknown darkness;
Or to offer himself to the ink,and erase the final line between him and the hidden world.
Kyle stood in silence,his eyes fixed on the glowing red crack,and whispered in his heart:
"If writing is my fate… then let them do as they will."
And with that thought,he stepped forward toward the mural.The first letters began to fracture around him,and the seal trembled—in a flare that came just before the fall.