Moonlight Castle

Kazimir drifted between nightmares and fleeting moments of consciousness.

One moment, he was a child again screaming, crying, begging his mother not to leave. But no matter how desperately he reached for her, she faded into the shadows, her back forever turned.

Then, the vision shifted.

Above him stretched a vast, vaulted ceiling adorned with breathtaking artwork, painted by the hands of long-forgotten masters. Towering silver chandeliers hung from the heights, casting a soft, ethereal glow over the grand hall.

Massive white columns lined the space, their surfaces infused with the same swirling black smoke as the Umbrax Highway, shifting like living ink beneath polished stone. The walls were draped in magnificent paintings, their golden frames catching the flickering light of silver candelabras. Beneath him, the intricate mosaic floor shimmered as if woven with moonlight.

Twin marble staircases spiraled upward on either side of the hall, their dark wooden handrails carved with exquisite craftsmanship. They led to balconies that loomed high above, overlooking the vast chamber like silent sentinels.

Yet what truly unnerved him were the statues.

Dozens of them.

Each one stood in eerie silence, all facing the altar at the heart of the hall. Their unblinking eyes bore into him, their frozen expressions unreadable.

And he lay bleeding before them.

His blood dripped slowly onto the altar, pooling in the deep grooves of ancient carvings. Strange symbols, etched into the stone, pulsed to life with a soft crimson glow—growing brighter with each drop that spilled.

At the far end of the hall, a colossal door stretched as high as the ceiling. Its surface was covered in intricate carvings, the same strange symbols that adorned the altar. Each engraving seemed to whisper of forgotten power, humming faintly in the vast silence.

Then came the sound of footsteps.

Steady. Measured. Echoing through the chamber like the ticking of an unseen clock.

Kazimir forced himself to turn his head, vision swimming. Through the haze of candlelight, he saw her.

The knight.

She moved toward him with slow, deliberate steps, silver armor glinting under the chandelier’s glow.

Reaching the altar, she stood over him, gazing down with unreadable light grey eyes. Then, she knelt, placing a rough, calloused hand gently against his forehead.

Her voice, cold yet strangely tender, cut through the silence.

"I’m sorry. But this is the only way for you to survive. It will hurt."

Slowly, she unsheathed her sword, its polished steel gleaming in the dim light. Holding it steady, she spoke again, her tone unreadable.

"If you would rather have me end your life, I will. Just say the word."

Kazimir said nothing.

He would not die like this—meaningless, abandoned, betrayed.

For a moment, the knight simply watched him, her pale grey eyes searching his. Then, slowly, she smiled.

And without hesitation, she plunged the sword into his stomach.

The pain was beyond anything he had ever known. It was as if his entire being had been torn open, his insides unraveling as blood gushed freely from the wound. Each crimson drop struck the altar.

Kazimir had escaped death before. But this time, there was no way out.

So, he did the only thing he could.

He closed his eyes. And waited for death.

But death did not come.

What came instead was pain—raw, consuming, and unlike anything human.

Not the searing agony of a wound. No.

It was the pain of being remade.

A pain like being born.

Every fiber of his body burned, twisted, changed—as though he was being rebuilt from the inside out. He could feel it, deeper than flesh and bone, down to his very essence.

His blood, spilled freely upon the altar, had become something more. It seeped into the ancient stone, filling the glowing red engravings. The symbols pulsed with an unnatural light, and through them, Kazimir felt something latch onto him—binding him.

To the altar.
To the castle.
To something far beyond himself.

And then, the darkness swallowed him whole.