Eiden walked. Or at least—he thought he did.
The world around him felt unreal and weightless, as if every step was occurring a fraction of a second after he intended it. His boots met the floor, but the sensation was muted and distant, like a stroll through a fading memory rather than a physical place. Before him, a corridor stretched into infinity, carved from black stone so polished it reflected torchlight like dark glass. Each footfall echoed, but the sound behaved unnaturally—traveling too far and lingering too long, bouncing down the hall in slow, drawn-out waves.
The air was cold; not biting, but ancient—the kind of chill that felt as though it had existed long before his first breath. Torches lined the walls at perfect intervals, their orange flames burning with a steady, eerie stillness, as if the fire itself were holding its breath. Their light cast thin shadows that reached across the floor like skeletal fingers.
Eiden searched his mind for a beginning, but there was none. He didn't remember entering this place or anything before the moment his eyes opened to this hallway. But the air carried voices—soft, muffled, and layered like several conversations occurring simultaneously behind a thick veil.
He followed the sound.
The corridor widened, the ceiling rising until it vanished into an overhead void. The torches grew larger, illuminating carvings of swirling runes and shifting shapes that seemed to move whenever his gaze drifted. Ahead stood two colossal doors of black stone, three times his height, etched with spiraling designs that pulsed with a dull, rhythmic glow—a stone heartbeat.
The voices were clearer now, though still blurred. Eiden pushed one door open just enough to slip inside.
The chamber beyond was impossibly vast. The air felt heavy, saturated with a raw, ancient power. In a wide ring around a raised platform stood blurry silhouettes—humanoid forms that the dream refused to define. Their edges wavered like smoke, shifting with every breath as their voices drifted through the expanse:
"I've heard the Angel King and Yajin have died… against the First Divinity and the Umbramage."
"Yes… I heard the same. Soon, they might be invited to join our council."
"Perhaps. But we should ask the Three Gods."
Eiden's breath caught as the figures turned toward the center of the room, where a large crystal orb hovered above the platform, swirling with white, gold, and deep violet light. One of the silhouettes leaned closer. "Three Gods… what do you think?"
The orb brightened, but Eiden couldn't hear the response. The sound warped instantly, muffled as if hands had been pressed over his ears. The voices stretched and twisted, slipping away regardless of how hard he strained to listen.
He stepped forward—and froze.
A hand touched his shoulder—soft, cold, and deliberate. The temperature of the room plummeted. A man's voice whispered into his ear, so close he felt the breath against his skin:
"To free me… chant the third invocation."
Eiden's heart hammered against his ribs. A second voice—deeper, echoing, and ancient—began a rhythmic chant behind him. The words were indistinct, but the pulse vibrated through the stone beneath his feet. The crystal orb flared into a blinding radiance, and the chamber began to tremble.
The silhouettes dissolved into streaks of shadow. The torches flickered violently, their flames bending toward the orb as if drawn by a vacuum. Eiden's vision blurred, the world dissolving into a bleaching white light as the whisper returned one final time, softer than before:
"Chant it… and release me."
His body became weightless. The voices faded into a great distance. The chamber collapsed into nothing.
And the dream shattered.