A cuirass with no embellishments or engravings lay within the chest, its smooth surface eerily pristine, as if untouched by time or battle. It shimmered under the dim light, not with an unnatural glow, but with a quiet defiance against decay. It was as though the metal refused to tarnish, its unbreakable sheen standing in stark contrast to the relic-like appearance of the chest itself. Beside it, a pair of vambraces and greaves—crafted from the same enigmatic material—rested neatly, their sleek forms exuding an unnatural resilience. Scattered among them were weapons: swords with edges so sharp they seemed to hum with an unseen force, and daggers that gleamed ominously as if craving to be wielded.
At first glance, the chest appeared far too small to contain such an assortment of armor and weaponry, yet the more Kael stared, the less he could make sense of its dimensions. It was as if the inside defied the rules of space, an impossibility masquerading as reality.
Another anomaly gnawed at the edges of his mind. The armor sets, despite their formidable nature, were incomplete—knee guards, pauldrons, and gauntlets were conspicuously absent. Yet, even with these missing pieces, there was enough here to equip three, perhaps four warriors. The metal—if it even was metal—felt unlike anything Kael had ever seen or heard of. Lighter than common steel but exuding an almost imperceptible energy, it resonated with an unsettling durability, as if it could withstand any force thrown against it.
"This is the coolest thing I've ever seen," Zarek muttered, his voice carrying an almost childlike awe. His lips curled into an eager grin as he reached out to touch one of the cuirasses.
Kael's hand shot out, gripping Zarek's wrist before his fingers could make contact. The instant he did, a cold, crawling sensation slithered up his spine, like icy tendrils coiling around his thoughts. A sudden, dizzying flood of awareness crashed over him, filling the gaps in his perception that had gone unnoticed. It was as if a dam had burst, releasing a torrent of suppressed instincts and neglected logic all at once.
Why hadn't he questioned the chest sooner? Why did the armor, in all its apparent age, bear no signs of wear? And why had he felt so at ease before, when now every fiber of his being screamed that something was wrong?
His head throbbed with the force of the revelation, a piercing pain stabbing through his skull. It was as though something had been clouding his thoughts, subtly nudging his mind away from suspicion, and now, freed from its influence, the realization was overwhelming.
Kael glanced at Zarek and saw it—his friend's eyes were glazed, unfocused, caught in an unnatural trance. The pull of the chest was stronger on him, its allure gripping him with invisible chains. Yet, Kael felt something resisting within himself, a force that pushed back against whatever unseen presence lurked here. The chest's influence paled in comparison to something inside him, something vast and immovable.
Fragments of old myths and forgotten tales flashed through his mind—stories of warriors who could split mountains, sorcerers capable of incinerating legions with a mere gesture. But those were just fables, legends spun by old men by the fire. He was no mythical figure. He was simply a man who had lost much and gained little in return.
Then, a name—no, a word—surfaced in his thoughts.
Aether.
It rang in his mind with a strange familiarity, the syllables heavy with meaning, yet offering no clarity. Where had he heard it before? The masked stranger. Yes. The one who had 'freed' them. He had spoken that word.
Before Kael could grasp onto the thought, a new wave of pain lanced through his skull, sharp enough to make him grimace. He pressed his fingers against his temple, breathing through clenched teeth. The ache subsided as quickly as it came, leaving behind an exhaustion that weighed on his limbs.
'Aether…' he mused, but the word provided no answers, only more questions. His mind was a tangled mess, and the more he tried to pry deeper, the more elusive clarity became.
'It's useless to overthink this now,' he finally conceded, exhaling sharply. His body felt leaden, his thoughts sluggish. Sleep—yes, sleep was what he needed. Answers could wait. The mysteries, the anomalies, the unseen forces… they could all wait.
Kael plucked a single berry from the leaf and tossed it into the storage chest. The small fruit tumbled once before coming to a stop in the far-left corner. He watched it intently, waiting for any unusual reaction. When none came, he nodded to himself, closing the lid with deliberate care. The moment the chest shut, the eerie, icy mist that had been seeping from within dissipated, retreating into silence as if it had never existed.
With a slow exhale, he turned to Zarek, who was still grappling with the events that had just unfolded. His eyes flickered between the chest and Kael, uncertainty clouding his expression. Unlike himself, Kael seemed completely unfazed. That alone unsettled him. During the moment of agony, when his mind had felt like it was being pried open, Kael had remained untouched. Untouched and entirely in control.
Zarek took an instinctive step back, struggling with an uneasy feeling twisting in his gut. He wanted to trust Kael—he had no reason not to—but after a day that defied logic, what could he even believe anymore?
Kael, unconcerned with his hesitation, walked past him and sat beside the dwindling bonfire. The flickering flames cast long shadows across his face as he placed the remaining berries beside him. He picked one up, rolling it between his fingers before taking a bite. The taste hit him immediately, sharp and acrid, making him grimace.
'Somehow, this is even worse than the ones we ate before.'
Still, he forced himself to swallow it, suppressing his distaste as he reached for another. Hunger outweighed his revulsion. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Zarek still standing stiffly, tense and watchful, ready to bolt the moment Kael showed even the slightest sign of being something… unnatural.
The sight was almost amusing. Had he not been bone-tired, Kael might have played along, but he lacked the energy for games. Clicking his tongue, he finally broke the silence.
"Don't you think it's a little late to be cautious of me now?" His voice was edged with dry amusement. "If you were really that worried, you should've thought twice before opening the chest. We have no idea what we're dealing with."
Zarek exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. That was Kael. Rational, wary, and always ready to scold him for reckless decisions. It was strangely reassuring.
He moved closer and sat beside him, though his eyes remained wary as they darted toward the chest. "Should we just get rid of it?" he muttered, keeping his voice low.
Kael didn't look away from the fire. The flames crackled softly, consuming the last remnants of the dry wood. "Leave it alone for tonight. We'll deal with it tomorrow."
Zarek hesitated but didn't argue. He turned his focus to the berries, forcing himself to eat despite the bitterness lingering on his tongue. One by one, they disappeared until there were none left.
The weight of the day pressed heavily on both of them. The screams of the dying slaves still echoed in the back of their minds, refusing to fade. Every time Kael closed his eyes, he could see it—the first man dragged down by the rabid hound, his life ending in an instant. Then the old slave, torn apart as if he were nothing but meat, his frail body powerless against the merciless jaws. The memory made Kael's stomach churn, but he swallowed down the nausea. Food was scarce. He couldn't afford to waste what little he had.
But it wasn't just the slaughter that gnawed at him. It was something deeper, something colder. The helplessness. The bitter realization that despite everything, he had been powerless to change any of it.
He clenched his jaw, staring into the fire. They had survived, but for how long? Today had been a nightmare, but Kael knew something worse loomed on the horizon. He didn't know when or how it would come, but he felt it pressing down on him, a weight he couldn't shake. He had escaped the chains of slavery, only to be bound by something far more intangible—something that felt like fate itself. He despised the thought. He had never believed in destiny or cosmic forces. Yet, in the face of everything that had happened, it was the only explanation that made sense.
His gaze drifted to Zarek, who had gone quiet, lost in his own thoughts. He didn't need to ask to know they were the same. Zarek had been there too, had seen everything, had felt just as powerless.
And that powerlessness was eating at him.
Kael could see it in the tightness of his brow, the frustration simmering beneath the surface. Zarek wanted to be stronger. He wanted to be more than a burden. But no matter how much he thought about it, he found no answers. His exhaustion won out in the end, and before he even realized it, sleep had claimed him.
Kael sighed, considering waking him. They needed to take turns keeping watch, especially after everything that had happened. But as he listened to the soft snores escaping his friend's lips, he decided against it.
Instead, he reached for a few more pieces of firewood and fed them into the flames, watching as the embers flared and danced.
The night was long, and the shadows still lingered.
But for now, he would keep watch.
***
As time passed, the temperature dipped slightly. Kael worried about hypothermia but was relieved when it didn't drop any further. The fire provided much-needed warmth, its crackling embers a welcome companion in the otherwise silent night. It also kept him awake, allowing his mind to drift toward the plans for tomorrow.
For now, he wanted to make this place their base. Despite the forest teeming with mutated beasts and unknown dangers, this particular clearing had been oddly devoid of large predators. With a few improvements, he felt they could fortify it enough to stay here without drawing unwanted attention.
Tomorrow, he planned to scout the nearby area for any immediate threats. If he spotted anything dangerous, he would steer clear. Survival meant caution. Food was another pressing concern; their current supply was pitifully low. The stream they had passed earlier gave him some hope—small animals like rabbits might frequent it, and while it wouldn't be enough to draw in larger predators, it could still serve as a decent hunting ground.
His gaze shifted toward the chest, its dark presence unsettling even when shut. It was anything but normal. The unnatural amount of space inside defied all logic, and the aura it exuded made him wary. Yet, the weapons within were invaluable in this ruthless environment.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized how much they needed those weapons. 'We're dead anyway if nothing changes. At least with those weapons, we have a fighting chance.' If it came down to it, he would rather die with a weapon in his hand than defenseless.
Letting out a slow sigh, he turned toward Zarek, who remained deep in slumber. For a brief moment, Kael hesitated. He had planned to wait until morning, but there was still time before he had to wake his friend for his turn at watch. More than anything, he didn't want to sit here spiraling into self-pity, drowning in thoughts he had no answers for.
Decision made, he turned back to the chest. He wasn't planning to take anything just yet—only to inspect. Even if the chest's influence barely affected him, he refused to be reckless.
'I feel like I'm betraying him,' he thought, glancing once more at Zarek before rising to his feet.
Approaching the chest, he steeled himself against the invisible force surrounding it. This time, it was weaker, a mere whisper compared to the overwhelming presence it had before. Gripping the latch, he hesitated for a brief second before pulling it open.
The chilly mist slithered out like a living thing, curling in the cold air before dissipating. Kael's eyes adjusted to the dim glow of the firelight reflecting off the stored items. Once again, he found himself marveling at the sheer impossibility of its storage space.
However, as he observed more closely, a new realization dawned upon him. The items inside weren't arranged with care. They had been shoved in hastily, without any semblance of order. Weapons lay tangled among armor pieces, belts half-looped around scabbards, and small gaps hinted at missing parts.
'Whoever packed this was in a hurry… maybe even desperate,' Kael thought. That would explain why some of the armor pieces were missing.
Nodding slightly as if affirming his theory, he redirected his focus to the weapons. He had inspected the armor briefly before, but the weapons intrigued him more.
Reaching inside, he grabbed a cuirass. The material was cool to the touch but oddly not as cold as he expected, contradicting itself in an unsettling way. He set it aside before carefully sifting through the other items. Eventually, his eyes landed on a scabbard.
At first glance, it looked unremarkable—plain, devoid of any embellishments. But upon closer inspection, its craftsmanship stood out. It was built with precision, made for utility rather than decoration. Every inch of it spoke of function over form, a tool designed purely for battle.
Gripping the scabbard firmly, Kael pulled it free and held it in both hands. The weapon inside was a longsword, its proportions reminiscent of a claymore—about a hand and a half in length. It had a satisfying weight to it, solid but not cumbersome. With a slow, deliberate motion, he reached for the hilt and drew the sword.
The blade shimmered in the firelight, its edges honed to a lethal sharpness. Even the faintest touch could likely draw blood. Unlike the armor, the sword appeared to be forged from a different metal, something unknown to him. The material exuded an almost eerie durability, and a faint blue hue ran along its length, giving it a chilling, otherworldly presence.
Kael tested the weight in his hands, noting the impeccable balance. Whoever had crafted this sword had been a master. There were no excessive decorations, no engravings or elaborate flourishes—just raw, unyielding efficiency. In the hands of a true warrior, it would be unstoppable.
Tempted to test its swing, he tightened his grip, but a glance at Zarek made him pause. Waking his friend in the dead of night over a sword wasn't worth it. With a quiet chuckle, he slid the blade back into its scabbard. 'I'm such a considerate friend,' he mused before turning back to the chest.
His eyes swept over the remaining weapons and armor. Alongside the claymore, there were two short swords, two round shields, and three daggers. Each was forged from the same strange metal, their craftsmanship just as meticulous. He could easily spend hours examining them all, but there was no time for that now. For the moment, simply knowing they were there was enough.
While rummaging through the chest, Kael's eyes locked onto a peculiar wooden box nestled between the armor and weapons. It was small, no larger than his palm, and carved with strange symbols that seemed to shift under the flickering firelight. Though its surface was smooth and unassuming, something about it radiated an unnatural durability—almost as if it could outlast even the weapons of war.
A cold shiver crept up his spine as he stared at it. Everything in him screamed to leave it alone, yet a quiet, insistent whisper in his mind told him otherwise. It wasn't dangerous.
His breath hitched. The moment that thought solidified in his mind, his vision blurred. A dull fog wrapped around his senses, and before he could react, his body went completely numb. His fingers twitched, then froze. A terrifying stillness swallowed him whole as his consciousness unraveled.
It was like drowning in silence.
Then—he was weightless.
A sickening sensation overtook him as his perspective shifted. He was no longer inside his body. A translucent figure—his figure—floated just above where he once sat. Kael could see himself below, motionless, eyes vacant.
'What the hell—'
Panic surged through him, but his ghostly limbs failed him. He flailed helplessly in the air, reaching toward his body, but no matter how desperately he tried, an invisible barrier prevented him from returning.
Below him, his body moved on its own.
With slow, deliberate movements, it reached for the wooden box. Kael could do nothing but watch as his fingers pried it open and pulled out something that pulsed faintly in the dim light—a strange, blue fruit. Its translucent skin rippled like liquid held together by invisible threads, a faint hum vibrating from within.
It throbbed.
It was alive.
His stolen body brought the fruit to its lips.
'No! Stop!' Kael tried to scream, but no sound came from his spectral form. His voice was trapped in the void. He watched in horror as his own hands forced the fruit into his mouth. The moment it touched his tongue, it liquefied, slithering down his throat like a living thing seeking a home.
A pale glow ignited in his chest, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. The liquid coiled toward the light, drawn to it like a moth to flame. The glow brightened, absorbing the strange essence entirely, until, at last, the light faded, leaving no trace of what had happened.
Then—Kael's spirit was yanked back.
A force beyond comprehension ripped him from the void and slammed him back into his body. He gasped as air flooded his lungs, the world snapping back into focus.
And then the pain struck.
A molten spike of agony erupted from his chest, shooting through every nerve like wildfire. His muscles clenched violently, twisting and convulsing against his will. It felt as though something was tearing him apart from the inside, unraveling him piece by piece and stitching him back together with fire.
His body slammed onto the ground, his back arching as an indescribable pressure built up in his skull. Knowledge—foreign, ancient, and incomprehensible—poured into his mind like a flood, drowning his thoughts beneath a tidal wave of raw, searing information. It carved its way into him, scorching itself into every fiber of his being.
His fingernails clawed at the dirt as his veins bulged, turning an eerie shade of blue.
"AARGH! GOD—DAMN IT!" The scream tore from his throat, but even that felt distant, as though it came from someone else entirely. He wanted to cry, to thrash, to rip this torment out of his own flesh, but his body was no longer his to control.
The pain didn't subside. It worsened.
Each second stretched into eternity, his existence trapped in an unending cycle of suffering. The fire in his blood refused to die, and the ceaseless drilling in his mind never stopped. He could hear something—whispers slithering through the corners of his thoughts, their words just beyond comprehension.
At some point, he lost the will to resist. His body no longer felt like his own, his mind fraying at the edges. If this was death, then maybe—
Through the haze, he saw Zarek rushing toward him, panic written all over his face. But his presence felt distant, his voice muffled, drowned beneath the roaring in Kael's skull.
His eyelids grew heavy. His limbs turned to lead. Darkness coiled at the edges of his vision, pulling him under.
'Is… this it?'
The thought drifted aimlessly in his fading consciousness before everything went black.