June 5, 2007.
It had been almost a month since Rafa left Byson Indonesia. During that time, he traveled toward a destination, riding a motorcycle, trains, and even a ship to leave the country.
For more than five days, he boarded on an illegal ship, heading to the place he sought.
As Rafa rested his head against the window, gazing outside, he realized the ship was nearing its destination.
He quickly prepared, carrying the bag he had bought during his journey. Inside were mostly clothes and his money.
The ship finally docked. Alongside other passengers, Rafa disembarked in an orderly manner.
He walked away from the ship. The ground beneath his feet was cold and slippery. He kept walking until the ship was far behind him.
Rafa stretched out his arms, welcoming the rising sun that warmed his body.
This was Antarctica.
Snowstorms battered his body, but Rafa kept walking, struggling to see through the blizzard and fighting the cold that could cause hypothermia. Hours passed as he trudged forward, driven by determination.
His hand gripped a staff, his face hidden beneath a fur hood, his body wrapped in fur clothing and a scarf.
He stumbled, buried under snow, his breath growing heavier, the cold overwhelming him. But Rafa stood again. Ahead stood a massive old church, its walls black brick, its windows frozen. This was what Rafa had been searching for.
He approached the church and opened its doors. Inside, candles flickered. Rafa sat on one of the long pews, seeking warmth and perhaps rest.
Slowly, he drifted into sleep, lying sideways on the bench, eyes closed.
When Rafa opened his eyes, "Hello? Excuse me?" a woman's face was startlingly close to his. "AAAHH!!" Rafa fell off the bench in shock.
"Hahaha, sorry, sorry," the woman said. "I, on behalf of the church, want to ask if there's anything we can help you with?"
But she wore clothing unlike anyone from a church, a black jacket, black tank top exposing her navel, and thick black cargo pants. Her hair was reddish‑brown, her eyes bright red.
Rafa slowly stood. "Oh, yes. May I meet the head priest?"
"Sorry, he's not here right now. If you have something to say, tell me and I'll pass it on."
"But he should be here. Is he in another room?"
"No, he's out."
"Then, may I enter the other room—"
"No need. Stay here. Better yet, you should leave. Or if you have something to tell the priest, I'll deliver it." She cut Rafa off.
"No, I'll deliver it myself," Rafa said, then remembered something. "One more thing."
"Hmm?" she waited.
"May I sleep here?" Rafa asked.
"Go ahead, but don't go inside." She left, disappearing into another room.
Rafa sat back down on the long bench. He leaned back, letting the flickers of candlelight wash over him.
The air smelled of dust and ashes, the silence was easily broken only by the faint crackle of flames.
His eyes wander across the vast room, looking at the strange of the chaotic arrangement of candles, messy and uneven, yet somehow divine.
Then, he looked at the towering statues beside the altar. It wasn't the familiar figure one might expect in a church.
Their faces was jagged, moltened. Their eyes carved like burning pits. They stood like a knight, both hands with fingers a claw‑like gripped swords raised upright.
Their blades was jagged, alien, etched with markings that whispered of an ancient civilization no where to be found.
Their blackswan metal shimmered in the light, as if the swords themselves were relics pulled from a forgotten age.
As though they're reaching for the entire hall. The walls seemed alive in the candlelight. Shadows crawling across the surface, giving them the aura of kings.
Stained glass windows reflecting dim sunlight. Colors faded with the panes telling a story, not of saints or angels or demons, but of a humanoid black creature.
Rafa stepped out into the storm, the blizzard clawing at his hood and scarf. Snow whipped across his face, stinging like needles, but he kept going on.
The church rose in the blizzard like severe. Black stone walls climbed upward, slick with ice, rising so high they seemed to vanish into the storm clouds
He moved along the edges, boots sinking deep. Snow dragged at his legs, the wind pushing hard, but he kept a steady pace with his breath steaming in the frozen air.
Every step he took, revealed detail of details. Bat statues high of the ground, half‑buried in frost, arches. Carved with symbol of symbols long forgotten.
On the walls, stained glass windows were frozen. Their colors barely visible beneath layers of ice. Rafa brushed his glove against the glass, the cold felt deep.
Rafa continued to walk, following along the edges and edges of the church. Then he glanced up, black stone towers stood tall. Their frozen peaks vanished into the fog of the blizzard.
The church seemed to have five distinct floors as he walked and looked up. Windows with steel bars lined the walls. They reflected nothing. He couldn't see what was inside, only rows of dark windows.
But the walls imposed further than he expected, like an infinite with an edge. It was a fortress, a castle with a cross for its disguise.
His walk had come to an end, he came back to the beginning again after the walk around the solemn church. He pushed the door with his right hand, entering inside. Warmth radiated from the candles. He stepped back to the bench he sat on earlier, walking closer.
He then spotted a doorless frame, the arch was tall and heavy. Rafa decided to enter the passage, entering the church further. It lead him into a corridor, the candleholders hanging from the high roof were all unlit, their iron frames coated in dust and frost.
Frozen windows along the corridor emanated faint white sunlights. Their panes were dull and lifeless.
The corridor stretched far. Its scale was overwhelmingly immense. It was some ribs of stone arching above him like bones. But he kept walking, boots echoing against the floor.
The blizzard's wind was muffled, replaced by the silence of the way. He moved forward, the corridor guiding him further into the unknown.
Then, the blizzard's wind roared again as Rafa stepped onto the alure, the wall walk high above the ground. He had walked upstairs within one of the towers.
Rafa lowered his head, hood whipped, and still walking.
He stopped, standing on the peak one of the tower, storm blazing heavily around him, From that height, the world was endless white plains, broken only by jagged ice ridges.
He then walked along the cloister beside the courtyard, grass turned gray, the roofed passage with stone columns lined in silence. It was cold.
Rafa walked trough the corridor, then he opened a door, leading him into a vast ballroom.
The space stretching upward into three full floors, the ground floor and two upper tiers above, wrapped around the hall, each lined with heavy railings, circling the space.
The room itself was silent. The ceiling rose high above, supported by massive arches and pillars. It was so dark, no lights from the candles, no windows.
Rafa looked around, his eyes locked on the roof with paintings of people dancing. Then—
"Ah, you again!" The voice cut through the emptiness. Rafa turned, and there she was, the same woman he had met earlier. Her arms folded in front of her chest.
"Fuck…" the word slipping under his breath.
The woman tilted her head, her red eyes gazing. "What are you doing here?" Her voice carried annoyance, sharp against the silence hall.
Rafa straightened, brushing off the edge of his coat. "Just looking around," he said, his tone casual, as if wandering into a frozen fortress was nothing unusual.
She gave a short laugh. "So you ended up here by accident? Must've been enjoying your trespassing trip, huh..." Her giggle echoed faintly, mocking but playful.
Rafa smiled, both of his hands raised. "Well, not everyone gets to see a ballroom like this. Guess I'm lucky."
Her smile faded into a stern face. "No, you're not staying here. Come here, I need to take you somewhere to punish you."
They walked side by side through the hall, the dim candlelight flickering against the stone walls. Shadows stretched across their faces.
The woman glanced at him, "What's your intention here?" she asked.
Rafa answered, "Leviathan would support a rebel from a country if it was reasonable, right?"
Her eyes widened. Leviathan, an organization that spread across the world, working behind the shadows, it thrived in the black market, dealing in stolen military prototypes, vehicles, and weapons far beyond ordinary reach.
They sold secrets, traded danger, and sometimes lent their hand to rebels when the cause was deemed reasonable. Leviathan was both a benefactor and a curse, and their main hideout was in this church.
"So that's your intention?" the woman asked again, her voice low, eyes still looked on him.
"Yeah." Rafa answered.
They moved on, descending into a stairwell. The stone walls spiraled downward, dim light from candles flickering against the walls as the air grew heavier.
Deeper, and deeper still they go. The descent seemed endless, each level passing like a forgotten layer.
They took steps over and over again, taking forever.
Ten floors had slipped past them by beneath their feet, the sound of their steps echoing.
At last, they reached the bottom floor. The cold should been absolute, but there were candles everywhere, lighting the hall beautifully.
They walked through the hall, its length stretching forever. The glow of candles lined the walls, but the silence made the space feel even larger.
Then, they came upon a tremendous door, towering nearly fifteen meters high, its wooden surface heavy with age and shadow.
The woman placed her hands against it and pushed opem. The door creaked slowly, the sound echoing like thunder through the hall.
Inside, it was utterly dark. No torches, no candles, nothing but a void. At the center of the room, a single spotlight from something up there cut through the black, illuminating a king's throne.
Upon it sat a figure of the king, motionless, his presence dominating the silence. His head rested against his right knuckle, his other hand gripping the armrest, both legs planted firmly on the ground.
The man was dressed in gray and black. A hood and shadows concealed his face, his hands covered in gloves. A dark, gray and black cloak draped over him, the fabric heavy, swallowing him in shadow. He sat like a king in the abyss, the throne is his dominion, the darkness is his crown.
The woman turned to Rafa, her voice low. "You know him, right?"
"Fuck no, who do you think I am!?" Rafa asked back.
The man rose from the throne, the sound of his movement echoing in the void. He stepped forward, each step deliberate, the spotlight clinging to him like a shadow. His voice was cold, cutting through the silence. "Never thought I would have found you... here of all places"
Rafa's eyes narrowed to the man. "I'm sorry, I don't know you." his voice were sharp.
"I know...," the man replied, his tone steady, almost detached. "But he would."
"Yeah… he would have knew…" Rafa muttered, the words hanging heavy in the dark.
The woman frowned, she asked. "I'm sorry... who's he?"
The man didn't answer. He turned around, walking back to his throne with slow steps. "Laura... take him to the bedroom next to yours."
"But, my king, isn't he a stranger?" Laura asked, her voice uncertain.
The man stopped, his gaze cut back towards Rafa. "What name do you go by, creature?"
"Rafa. Rafa Reinarcher." Rafa told the man.
"A human name." He chuckled, low and cold, before settling back into his seat. "How unique of you. I'm The King."
"What...?" Rafa muttered, confusion etched across his face.
Laura leaned closer, her tone softer. "His name is really The King. Just the title."
"Okay..." Rafa answered, still unsettled.
"Come. Let me show you your room," Laura said firmly.
They walked back through the hall of candles outside The King's chamber, the flames bending faintly as the heavy door closed behind them.
Together they walked upward, the stairwell winding until they reached the third floor. Outside, the sun had already sunk low, the sky darkening as the day gave way to night.
Rafa followed behind Laura, his eyes catching on the paintings that lined the walls. Each frame was polished, each canvas well‑treated, preserved as if the fortress itself demanded reverence for its history.
Finally, they arrived at a door. Laura stopped, turning to him with a key in hand. "Here you go," she said, her tone was soft, and she threw the key to Rafa.
Rafa took it. He slowly slide the iron hey into the lock. The door creaked open, revealing the chamber beyond.
It was a substantial room. A king‑size bed at its center, resting on a wall. Tall windows opening onto a balcony, drawers and wardrobes pressed against the walls, a stool and sofa set neatly in place. The space carried both luxury and silence, a room built for someone meant to stay.
The flames in the fireplace crackled, throwing warm light across dining room. On the long table. Rafa sat stiffly on his chair, Laura sat beside him, the silence broken only by the sound of cutlery.
On the table, a plate of steak and vegetables was set before him. He hesitated, untouched, while Laura ate with enjoyment, her fork moving quickly, her appetite unbothered.
"Who cooked this?" Rafa finally asked, his voice low, eyes fixed on the food.
"It was The King's brother," Laura replied between bites. "The Humanoid."
"Again?" Rafa muttered, the words edged with disbelief, clearly indicating to the strange titles he kept hearing.
Laura tilted her head, fork raised with a piece of steak aimed toward him. "You don't know anything about this world, do you?" Her red eyes glinted, her tone teasing.
"I mean... not really," Rafa admitted, leaning back slightly.
Laura laughed, leaning closer until the warmth of her breath brushed against his ear. "Just enjoy your food," she whispered.
Rafa felt heat rise to his face. Blushing, he lowered his gaze, picked up his fork, and finally began to eat.
#8 End.