Aldrit hadn’t taken his eyes off the spellbook since Flora had vanished through her magic. The last entry detailed her journey to the Holy City, but despite the pages remaining unchanged, he never grew tired of staring at them. His heart, racing with a maddening persistence, refused to calm.
What’s happening in the Holy City right now? Are the kings hunting that monster? What kind of creature could survive for countless ages?
His thoughts spiraled, wild and untethered.
He sat at the table, blankly staring at the notebook, utterly lost in his imaginings, when a sudden splash of water broke the spell.
“Ah!”
He yelped, jerking the book off the table with instinctive urgency. The leather-bound notebook wouldn’t easily be ruined by water, but the reflex came from a deeper place. To Aldrit, the spellbook was more than just an object—it was his connection to the Queen, a vessel for his assistance and a source of both joy and pride.
As he looked around, his breath caught. His room had filled with water—clear and shimmering, now up to his waist.
“What—?” His voice was barely audible over the rising panic.
He dipped a cautious hand into the water, half-expecting his fingers to pass through air. Yet the liquid rippled as though it were real.
“An illusion?” he murmured, his brows furrowing.
The water looked authentic, down to the slightest ripple and glint of light, but it felt… off. His mind leaped to Mara’s creations—those ghostly illusions of people, so vivid they could momentarily fool the senses. Mara, though usually incorporeal, had a talent for conjuring things that felt hauntingly real.
Before Aldrit could piece it together, the water rose higher, surging past his chest. His pulse quickened as he clutched the notebook tighter, its reassuring weight anchoring him amidst the growing unease.
“No time to think,” he muttered and bolted for the door.
Outside, chaos greeted him. A group of young men had gathered in front of his home, waist-deep in the steadily rising water. Their faces were tight with concern.
“What’s going on?” one of them called out, his voice trembling.
“They said something about an important spell happening today,” another added, glancing around nervously. “Is this it?”
“Aldrit, do you know anything?”
The weight of their gazes pressed on him. Though Mur still held the official title of chieftain, the clan had long regarded Aldrit as their de facto leader. His rebellion had marked a turning point for the village, shifting the tides of their fate.
Under his guidance, the clan had unearthed their history, mastered long-forgotten spellcraft, and, for the first time in generations, dared to dream of a brighter future. They believed Aldrit was the one who could turn that dream into reality.
“This isn’t the spell we planned. I’ll find out what’s happening. You all—”
Wooooooong!
A strange, resonant hum cut through Aldrit’s words, drawing every head toward the rocky mountains.
Kruuuung!
A deep, guttural roar followed, reverberating as though it rose from the earth itself. The villagers froze, pale and wide-eyed, exchanging uneasy murmurs.
“What is that sound?” one asked, his voice trembling.
“Could it be an earthquake?” another wondered, his gaze darting nervously. “Don’t they say the ground rumbles before one hits?”
Aldrit frowned, considering the possibility. An earthquake would explain the roar, perhaps even the rising water. But the strange, shimmering illusions of water still nagged at him. Somehow, everything felt connected.
He took a breath, forcing his voice to steady. “Everyone, listen! Go home, gather your families—no, get everyone out of the houses. If it’s an earthquake, the buildings could collapse. Stay in open areas. I’ll go to the mountain elders and find out what’s going on.”
Without waiting for a response, Aldrit took off, sprinting toward the entrance to the underground caves hidden within the rocky mountain. The villagers’ anxious whispers faded behind him, replaced by the steady pounding of his boots against the damp ground.
At the foot of the stone tower marking the cave’s entrance, he hurriedly shifted the heavy stones aside, revealing a hidden door. As he descended the shadowy staircase, his pulse quickened.
The air grew cooler the farther he went, but when he reached the bottom, his heart sank. The ritual formations etched into the floor—symbols that should have been glowing faintly—were lifeless.
Something’s happened. What about the elders?
“Elders! Mara!” he shouted, his voice echoing against the damp, stone walls.
Only silence answered him.
Aldrit’s chest tightened as he spun on his heel, retracing his steps up the steep staircase. Though he knew the path well, urgency made him clumsy. He stumbled once, then again, scraping his palms against the rough stone, but he pressed on.
The lake. I need to get to the lake.
The thought spurred him forward. There was another entrance to the underground caves—a longer route, but one that connected to the depths though the lake.
As Aldrit rounded the mountain’s rocky corner toward the lake, he froze mid-step. Though he had reached the right place, a massive black pillar now blocked his path.
Why… is this pillar moving?
The realization hit him like a cold slap. A wave of fear swept over him, accompanied by the foul stench of waterlogged decay. His breath caught as he instinctively tilted his head upward, forcing his stiff neck to meet the pillar’s source.
High above, crimson eyes glared down at him, their vertical pupils narrowing as though to say, I see you.
“Ah…”
A strangled gasp slipped from his lips.
Aldrit had faced death countless times, even endured the collective gazes of all six kings—a test of will he thought had tempered his heart. But now, his entire body trembled involuntarily, refusing his commands.
What he had mistaken for a pillar was, in fact, the towering, upright body of a jet-black snake. Its sheer size was monstrous; the single crimson eye alone dwarfed him, easily larger than his entire body. Before such an overwhelming presence, he felt as small and helpless as a frog caught in a predator’s shadow.
―Hmm. Yes. You’ll come with me.
The voice reverberated in his mind, deep and oddly familiar.
The snake’s massive jaws yawned wide, revealing an abyss of sharp teeth and darkness. Aldrit raised his arms instinctively, a futile attempt at defense, but it was far too late.
With one swift motion, the beast lunged and swallowed him whole.
Darkness consumed him as he was dragged deeper inside, the sensation of the snake’s muscular throat constricting around him unbearably vivid. If only this were a nightmare, Aldrit thought, despair clawing at his mind. But the memory of that final moment—the sight of the gaping maw—was far too clear.
He was certain: this was no dream.
As he was pulled further into the depths, his unusually lucid mind felt more like a curse. How he longed for unconsciousness, for the mercy of oblivion, but his senses remained painfully sharp.
Suddenly, the downward pull shifted. Aldrit’s body began tumbling, rolling uncontrollably as if thrown down a slick, twisting slope. His limbs bumped and scraped against unfamiliar surfaces, firm yet elastic, like rubber. It wasn’t painful, but the sensation was alien and disorienting.
Finally, the motion stopped. He lay still, chest heaving as he dared to open his eyes.
Only impenetrable darkness greeted him.
“Who’s there?”
Aldrit froze at the sound of a familiar voice, his hands still groping the damp, unseen ground.
“…Elder?” he called hesitantly, his voice trembling with a mix of hope and disbelief.
“Aldrit?” came the sharp reply. “Is that you?”
“Damn it, that cursed snake swallowed you too,” another voice chimed in, rough with frustration.
The echoes of overlapping voices filled the darkness, each one carrying the weight of recognition. Aldrit’s heart surged, and he crawled toward the sound, the slick ground beneath his hands feeling endlessly treacherous.
Finally, he reached out and grasped a hand—warm, alive. He exhaled shakily, relief washing over him like a tide.
