Leir stayed in the ruins longer than he intended, drawn by a force he could not name. The pale morning light faded into a heavy gloom as he wandered deeper into the broken city. Every footstep echoed through corridors of cracked stone, but there was no one to hear. Yet the ruins were far from silent—the shadows seemed alive, stretching along broken pillars and archways like they were breathing, reaching for him. Faint whispers brushed against the edges of his thoughts, half-formed words teasing him: come… see… want…
He touched the artifact again, now warm against his palm. A soft pulse resonated through him, in rhythm with his own heartbeat. The whispers grew more insistent, a subtle melody that carried recognition, not command. It was almost as if the artifact understood him, responding to the void inside, the desire to be seen, to matter. Shivers ran down his spine.
The corridors twisted unnaturally. Walls seemed to shift slightly when he wasn't looking directly at them, corners bending impossibly, leading him into a chamber he hadn't noticed before. Dust swirled in gentle currents that felt like invisible hands tracing his skin. Leir's pulse quickened—not from fear, but from a cold, thrilling anticipation.
In the center of the chamber lay a skeletal figure, its body frozen mid-motion, twisted into an unnatural angle. Hollow sockets stared at him. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw the shadow of movement cling to it, a flicker of life trapped between death and memory. The artifact pulsed violently, sending tremors through his hand. Whispers surged in his mind: power… take… survive…
Leir staggered back, heart hammering. Stones shifted under his feet, yet the skeletal figure seemed to twitch subtly, as if sensing him. The artifact had acted without his conscious intent—it had protected him, reacted, and observed. The realization struck him cold: it was alive in a way he could feel inside his bones, and more frighteningly, it was aligned with him.
A gust of wind swept through the chamber, carrying the scent of decay and something strange, almost intoxicating, like possibility. His mind filled with fragmented images of dominance, recognition, and desire. The artifact whispered in tandem with his thoughts, twisting the yearning he had buried deep into something sharp, almost tangible. Roots of obsession began growing in his chest, tangled with his heart, curling around his awareness.
Leir sank to the floor, trembling, gripping the artifact. Around him, shadows lingered, stretching unnaturally. Dust moved in impossible currents, responding to the pulse of the Crown he barely understood. The ruins themselves seemed to acknowledge him now—not merely alive, but aware, respectful, fearful, or at least recognizing.
For the first time, he understood something: he had crossed a threshold. He was no longer simply a boy surviving a cruel world. Something had awakened inside him—a dangerous, hungry awareness that whispered in his mind, pulling at his desire, reshaping his longing. The ruins carried one last whisper as he rose, uncertain but enthralled: begin.
And Leir felt a thrill so cold it burned, knowing that the world would never see him the same way again—not because it recognized him, but because something beyond it had. Something unseen, waiting, hungry, and aligned with him.