Chapter 77: Back to the Mural

  We reached the chamber where we had found Gaelith in previous loops, adjusted the levers to open the secret passage, and rushed inside.

  But...

  He wasn’t there.

  “What the hell…” I whispered, in disbelief.

  How could he not be here?

  We had arrived faster than we ever had before. And there was no way he left without waiting for us – even if he had, the chamber door would have been open already. We wouldn’t have needed to solve the lever lock.

  “Ooh noooo, he’s not here.” Goren said, displaying concern in the most theatrical way possible. “Well, we tried, Spellsword. Floor number five it is.” He turned and began pacing away.

  “Wait.” I said, scanning the chamber, searching for…something. I didn’t even know what. Anything. Some clue Gaelith might have left behind.

  But there was nothing.

  Whatever had made him vanish in the last run had likely pulled him out of the loop’s normal progression.

  I could only wonder where he was now.

  “Can’t you try to sense him?” I asked. “Like last time."

  Goren rolled his eyes. “Spellsword, for the love of god, what do you want us to do? Search for him one floor at a time? Spend hours hunting him down while the Dark Hunters close in? The fifth level is literally just one floor above us.” He sighed, exasperated. “We needed Gaelith to find the Key. He played his part. We don’t need him anymore.”

  At the mention of the Dark Hunters, I instinctively created a Checkpoint anchor – just to be on the safe side.

  [Checkpoint #1 Set: Your progress has been saved at this point in time]

  “It's true that we don’t need him anymore,” I admitted, “but he might still need us.”

  “Wow. So heroic of you.” Goren said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be sure to let him know after we save the world. Then we’ll have plenty of time to go looking for him. Stop making this so hard! Even after we get the Key for the Core, we still have to travel thirty floors down to the last level, face heavy resistance on the way there, and only then imprison Gaelith's Darkness.”

  He was right – again.

  Looking for Gaelith floor by floor was impossible. I had expected him to be here, just like before, but he wasn’t.

  But something else bothered me as well.

  “Don’t you think it’s kind of weird we found that rusted helm there?” I asked.

  Goren raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “Think about it.” I turned to face him. “You saw the memory fragment too. Major Nilson was killed with General Kaelstrife on the fifth level. But we found his helm on the second floor – locked behind a door only an Axul could open.” I shook my head. “Why?”

  Goren opened his mouth to reply – but hesitated, rubbing his chin. “I think…you’re right.” He furrowed his brows. “It is weird. I thought the same when I first found it. Still, what are you trying to say? That it was a trap?”

  I nodded. “A two-layered trap. While Gaelith vanished – who knows where - we were fed a memory fragment with a particular bit of information that we desperately needed to see.”

  I rubbed the back of my head as I continued. “Before, when I was looking for the third shard of the Core, Gaelith used his magic to trace the connection between the two shards I had and the one Kelltins stole. Here, his magic led us to that helm instead, which gave us a clue to the Key’s whereabouts.” I exhaled sharply. “Why didn’t Gaelith’s magic lead us to the Key on the fifth level from the start? It’s almost like that helm was placed there on purpose. And don’t even get me started about what Gaelith said about the inscription – that he felt like it was meant for him.”

  Goren rubbed his temples, sighing. “I can’t deny your words, Spellsword. It does seem like a setup.” His eyes narrowed. “But by who? We’ve already taken out every possible enemy. Only Erebus is left, and we already agreed that Gaelith’s Darkness is just…an animal. It doesn’t think strategically.”

  “Spurius Axul.” I said the name without hesitation. The answer made too much sense to me.

  Goren groaned. “Dude…You’re obsessed with that grandpa. If he was still alive and in this tomb, how have we never run into him? I’ve lived through 113 loops, Spellsword, and I’ve never once seen the old fart.”

  He had a point. It was weird that we hadn’t crossed paths with him if he was still alive. Could it just be a plan he set into motion before he died? One we’re following right now?

  “Either way,” Goren pressed on, “what choice do we have? Are the memory fragments even real? Could they be fabrications – false memories? You’re the expert on them. You tell me.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, but I’ve never been told otherwise. So, for now, we assume they’re real.”

  “Then the Key should be on the fifth level.” Goren summarized.

  “If it’s actually the Key.”

  Goren narrowed his eyes. “You mean…if this is a trap, the so-called Key might just be a regular gemstone?”

  I nodded. “It makes sense. They failed the ritual a thousand years ago – caught off guard by Kaelstrife’s arrival that night and Galeith still being alive. Maybe Spurius Axul planned for a second chance. A thousand years later. Our time. This would explain Lysandra’s existence as a highly intelligent Undead.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Goren looked thoughtful, before he suddenly shouted into the air. “Fucking Axul! I hate them so much! Nothing is ever easy! Fuck you, Kelltins!”

  We remained silent, processing everything, and our next move.

  Then, Goren broke the silence.

  “Listen, Spellsword. I know I can be rash. And stupid. And impatient.” He exhaled, catching my gaze. “But again…what other choice do we have? We have to go for that gemstone. We have no other leads.”

  He was right again. Unfortunately.

  Even if this was a trap, what else could we do?

  We had no way to look for other leads without Gaelith. And looking for Gaelith would be even more difficult in our current predicament.

  I sighed deeply. “Looks like we have to go there.”

  Goren nodded hesitantly. “Once we get there, we’ll see how to approach the situation.”

  I nodded back.

  Then, the Dark Hunters whistles sounded close. They were becoming faster at finding us.

  “I’m on it.” Goren said, stepping toward me with his daggers drawn.

  “Wait!” I stopped him. “We can’t waste my Checkpoint so early.” I shook my head. “We’ll fight them and progress to the fifth level. Like you said – it’s just one floor.”

  Goren narrowed his eyes. “Hell no. They don’t need to kill us – they just need one hit to mark you. That’s all it takes. It’s too risky to fight them.”

  I recalled the run in which one of them grazed me – but I still had time to save myself before the mark settled.

  “Yes.” I agreed. “But the mark doesn’t appear immediately.”

  “If I get hit, drop everything you’re doing and kill me. Got it?”

  Goren sighed, rubbing his face. But he nodded. “If you’re sure.”

  “I am.”

  And with that, we set off to the fifth level.

  ***

  We fought our way up, cutting through countless Dark Hunters and other monsters, until we finally reached the chamber with the large mural.

  Surprisingly, I remained unmarked.

  I had managed to evade the Dark Hunters’ attacks – and when I didn’t, Goren was there, covering my blind spots and making sure I stayed in the clear.

  Now standing before the mural again, I examined it closely.

  The cryptic images – the ones that had never made sense to me, even after so many runs, even now after I regained all my memories – were still unclear. But this time, something stood out.

  The mural was glowing purple.

  Another Vestige of Time.

  [Temporal Trace: Vestige of Time #16 - Available]

  Goren sighed and pointed at the center of the mural. “What are we waiting for? It was there, wasn’t it? Let’s break it.”

  “Wait.” I stopped him.

  He turned to me, confused.

  “There’s a memory fragment tied to this mural.” I explained. “If we break it, we might not be able to see it later.”

  “You want to watch it first?” Goren asked, still looking confused.

  I nodded. “This specific type of memory fragments – Vestiges, they’re called – are more authentic. If the gemstone is a trap, maybe this mural holds a memory that will show us exactly how and who’s behind it.”

  I hoped that was the case - that maybe Chronos was still watching over me despite our last meeting.

  Goren exhaled sharply. “Are you sure?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Fucking hell…” He muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Do we even have the time for this?”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “Real time moves slower when watching memory fragments.”

  Goren clicked his tongue. “Then, do it. Hell, we already suspect it’s a trap – maybe the memory will help.”

  I nodded. “You don’t want to watch it too?”

  “Fuck that." Goren shook his head. "One memory was enough for me.”

  I shrugged, then reached out and touched the mural.

  It reacted instantly.

  Here we go.

  ***

  [Vestige of Time #16]

  Two men stood in front of the large wall, the soft glow of a flying orb illuminating their work.

  “So, what are we actually drawing here?” The younger of the two asked.

  He had long dark hair tied back with a comb. His clothes were worn and paint splattered. A paintbrush moved in the air before him – or rather, he was moving it with his mind – as he painted a woman with a helm adorned with stag horns.

  His partner, a rotund man with short brown hair, worked on a different section of the wall. Like the younger man, he moved his brush with his mind.

  “What do you mean?” the older man asked.

  “I mean…what do these drawings even mean?” the young man clarified.

  “Oh.” The rotund man replied seriously. “Aren’t you a seventh-generation Axul, Mathias?”

  “And?” Mathias raised an eyebrow.

  The older man shook his head, his expression grave. “I’m afraid we must exile you now, Mathias, for asking such foolish questions.”

  Both men burst out laughing.

  “You had me worried there for a moment, Doran.” Mathias said, wiping away an imaginary tear.

  Doran grinned. “Well, it’s your fault for being so gullible.”

  Their laughter subsided, and Mathias asked again, more earnestly this time.

  “No, but seriously, Doran. I have no idea what we’re even drawing here – or why. We already know our signs of worship. We were never exactly welcoming to outsiders. Now we’re even considered dead to them. Why are we painting this? I can understand some of the other murals we’ve drawn in the other floors and chambers – they’re for the Gods. But this one? I don’t get it.”

  Doran paused, studying the unfinished mural. Only the figure of the woman had been completed so far – mostly completed. He rubbed his forehead thoughtfully.

  “You’re right.” He admitted. “I’ve been so focused on the work that I hadn’t even noticed. Since when do we depict the High Priestess as a figure of worship?”

  “Exactly!” Mathias exclaimed. “This makes no sense. I’m not going to commit heresy.”

  “Wait.” Doran raised a hand to calm him. “Let me check the notes. There must be a reason to this.”

  He rummaged through a cloth satchel, pulling out several pieces of parchment. After a moment, he found the one he was looking for.

  “Let’s see,” Doran said, reading aloud. “Floor five, chamber seven, eastern wall. Depict an image of High Priestess Lysandra. Additional details are up to your discretion.”

  “It’s even worse than I thought.” Mathias muttered, shaking his head. “What a bizarre order.”

  “Indeed.” Doran agreed, frowning.

  Then, a cold, unsettling voice pierced the air making them both take a step back.

  “It doesn’t matter what you draw here, you see?” High Priestess Lysandra said, stepping into the chamber.

  She was wearing a long, dark dress, matching the hair flowing down her back.

  The men straightened instantly at her presence, offering a small bow. “Lady Lysandra.”

  “What do you mean ‘it doesn’t matter’, High Priestess?” Doran asked as he raised his head.

  “Exactly that, dear Doran. The purpose of this mural is not the art itself, but its presence here. In this room.” She replied, smiling wickedly. “Let me show you something.”

  She snapped her fingers, and the brushes the men had been using flew into her hand. “I assume I don’t need to explain the power of our magic to distinguished Axuls as yourselves.” She said, her tone slightly mocking. “But one thing you’ve yet to understand is the traces our magic leaves behind. Someone in the future will call them by a peculiar name - Vestiges.”

  The brushes in her hand suddenly ignited in dark flames. Then she blew an icy breath on them, extinguishing the fire, leaving the brushes unscathed as she handed them back.

  “Now, as you continue your work, traces of your magic will remain embedded in the mural, depicting this very moment, and holding a surprise for a certain someone. It'll linger here for a thousand years.”

  The painters exchanged confused glances.

  “But…why would we need that, High Priestess?” Mathias asked hesitantly.

  “It’s a contingency plan.” Lysandra replied. “Passed down to me by Father Spurius. You see, he appeared to me in a dream last night. Told me he’d seen the future. He said our planned ritual would fail. I find it hard to believe as I worked tirelessly to ensure it succeeds, but I’ll never doubt Father Spurius. So, by his order and wisdom…this mural exists.”

  “Forgive me, High Priestess, but I still don’t understand…” Doran said, confused.

  Lysandra shrugged, turning her back to the mural. She gazed into the air as if talking to someone unseen.

  “The person who needed to understand has already done so.” She paused, her voice turning colder, as she seemingly addressed the air. “I have no idea if you'll ever see it, nor do I know what it means, but..." Her grin turned malicious. "Father Spurius told me to pass a message to you, oh Champion of Chronos: You are now marked by Lord Erebus.”