Chapter 34

  The rough reconstruction of the inn had drained me far more than I’d expected. Every beam, every shattered window, every loose stone I’d forced back into place with Gravor’s help had taken a piece of my strength. And while I’d dug deep into my core to reverse the chaos, Gravor had watched on in thinly veiled disgust.

  “Creation?” he had spat, as though the very word made him ill. “That’s not our way, Luken. Certainly not mine.”

  But he’d agreed to help anyway—grudgingly, but effectively.

  “You owe me now,” he’d finally said, just before I left the memory chamber. “A destructive favor. I want to see something burn. Something big.”

  I hadn’t answered. Maybe because I already knew that one day, I would have to pay that price.

  Now, I stood there—exhausted, slightly swaying, but fully conscious—inside a completely restored inn. The wood smelled fresh, the glass panes were flawless, and the floor was even. Only the fire in the hearth remained unchanged: real, blackened by soot, and a reminder of what had truly happened here.

  My three companions—Simon, Maira, and Vin—stared at me like I’d turned into a walking enigma.

  And maybe I had.

  They had no idea what had taken place in the last thirty minutes inside my head—in the memory chamber, as Gunnar had called it. Thirty minutes there... translated to about ten minutes here. At least, that’s what Gunnar had told me—time flowed differently inside that space, at a ratio of roughly three to one.

  For centuries, philosophers and mages had debated whether the memory chamber was part of reality or something else entirely. Some claimed it was merely an illusion of the mind, others said it was a bridge to the soul’s true essence.

  But none of that mattered right now.

  “What the hell are you, Luken?”

  Maira’s voice snapped me back to the present.

  She stood there, leaning slightly on Simon, her face torn between fascination, fear, and sheer mental overload.

  I reached up to my helmet. Slowly, with both hands, I lifted it off. The metal scraped softly as it slid from my head. Cool air brushed against my sweat-soaked forehead.

  I wanted to tell them the truth. To explain what Gravor was, what slept inside me, what that shadow in my soul truly meant. I wanted… to be honest.

  But before I could even open my mouth, another voice cut in.

  “That doesn’t matter right now.”

  Gunnar.

  He hadn’t moved much since we stood back up, still seated at the bar like a man who’d seen far too many lifetimes. His voice was calm, but carried a weight of authority that brooked no argument.

  He stood slowly, bracing himself with one hand before walking toward us. His eyes were sunken, his shoulders heavy—but his posture was that of a man with purpose.

  “We need to stop Dwin and Lira,” he continued. “Before they sacrifice Markus. Before they unleash a monster.”

  A moment of silence fell. Even Vin said nothing.

  Gunnar looked at each of us in turn. “I know you have questions. About Luken. About what just happened. The answers will come. But not now. Not while two lunatics are playing with powers they don’t even begin to comprehend.”

  He paused briefly, then turned his gaze to me.

  “Can you move?”

  I nodded slowly. “I can fly, if I have to.”

  A short, dry snort came from him. Might’ve even been a smile.

  “Then let’s head for the tunnel.”

  “Hold on a damn second!” Simon’s voice cracked through the room, louder than it needed to be—but it carried so much suppressed anger, so much distrust, that it hit like a thunderclap. “I know we need to get into that damn tunnel to stop the Crytomancers. But not even ten minutes ago, you were one of them!”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  He jabbed a finger toward Gunnar, almost accusingly, his voice trembling with emotion.

  “So don’t go climbing up on your high horse and acting like you’re suddenly our leader—not when none of us know what the hell happened to you and Luken!”

  For a moment, silence fell. Then Maira and Vin stepped forward, their movements cautious but deliberate. Maira crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her eyes cold and sharp.

  “Simon’s right,” she said softly but firmly. “Your sudden change of heart doesn’t mean we should blindly trust you. Not when we have no idea what happened You were gone. Vin said you looked like you had died. And then you show up again, full of dark magic, with wings and shadows, and Luken suddenly… restores the entire inn…”

  She let the sentence hang in the air, and her tone said everything else: This isn’t normal. And she had every right to say so.

  Vin nodded slowly. Her voice was quieter, almost hesitant, but no less serious. “I saw you, Luken. I saw wings growing out of your back. I saw you become… more. Or maybe less. I don’t know. But it wasn’t natural.”

  I took a deep breath. The urge to deflect, to make a joke, to hide behind a smile—it was strong. But I knew that wouldn’t help now.

  “Okay,” I said at last, calm and with hands raised slightly. “Here’s the short version. We don’t have time for novels, but you deserve at least a little clarity.”

  Slowly—deliberately—I placed my helmet back on. It wasn’t a gesture of aggression, more like… self-preservation. If Simon still had a fireball in his pocket, I wanted him to think twice before throwing it.

  I drew in a breath. And began.

  “So… I’m possessed by a creature. I don’t know where it came from, only its name: Gravor. It’s… sadistic, sarcastic, incredibly powerful. And in a moment of desperation, I accepted its offer. A symbiotic bond. It can partially transform me into something… well, something you’d probably call demonic.”

  I paused, letting that sink in. Their expressions didn’t change—at least not yet.

  “After the explosion, I wasn’t conscious anymore—not here, anyway. I was trapped in my memory chamber—a kind of inner world, where I was forced to face a simulated future. One where we lose.”

  Simon was tense, visibly so. But he listened. So I continued.

  “Then Gunnar showed up. And let’s just say… he wasn’t friendly. He came to kill me. Or rather, to kill my soul. I assume that was part of the Crytomancer plan. Maybe a direct order. Maybe… his own choice. We fought. And yes—Gravor helped me. Transformed me. Without him, I would’ve lost.”

  Maira had gone pale. Vin looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time.

  “And then?” Simon asked. His voice was quieter, but it shook.

  “Then we stopped fighting,” I said. “Not because we liked each other. Not even because we understood each other. But because we were both… done. Exhausted. Gunnar told me he lost his daughter during the Dragon Wars. That he helped the Crytomancers because they promised him justice. Or maybe vengeance.”

  I shrugged. “But now he knows it’s wrong. And that’s why he’s here. That’s why he’s helping us.”

  I looked at each of them—Simon, Maira, Vin.

  “I know this is hard to believe. I know you still have questions. But we don’t have time to argue or test each other. If Dwin and Lira succeed… it’s all over.”

  Silence descended again.

  Then Vin spoke first. “You’re still Luken, right?”

  I nodded. “I hope so.”

  Simon let out a soft snort. “Then stay Luken. And no surprise tentacles, yeah?”

  I grinned under my helmet. “No promises.”

  Maira sighed. “Alright then. One more time, and hopefully for the last time: into the tunnel.”

  Gunnar gave a silent nod. And this time, no one stood in his way.

  -

  It was the second time we entered the dark, wide tunnel beneath the storeroom. But unlike the first time, when we had walked cautiously and full of questions, now we were running—driven, hunted by the feeling that every second could be the one that broke our necks.

  Our footsteps echoed dully against the stone walls. The torches that had once offered a flickering sense of orientation now burned weakly—their flames twitching faintly, as if they, too, wanted to flee from what was coming. At one point, Simon stumbled over an uneven patch in the floor, his foot slipping on damp stone, and he would have fallen if I hadn’t grabbed his arm at the last second. Without a word, I pulled him up—and tore open my wings.

  With a snort of shadow and wind, the wings at my back unfolded, large and powerful, streaked with deep black that was nearly invisible in the darkness. But the sound they made—the rough crack of bone and muscle, the thunderous pulse of each wingbeat—boomed through the tunnel like the heartbeat of the mountain itself. I beat faster, forcing my body forward, toward the end. We had no time. Not for caution. Not for explanations.

  Not even for the wall murals.

  And yet my gaze flicked to the side—just for a moment. But it was enough to see it again.

  Erebos.

  His form was there, burned into the ancient stone. But this time, the image was… different. Still dark. Still enthroned. Surrounded by fire, shadow, and silent, kneeling figures whose faces were twisted in agony. His eyes—simple circles of red pigment—seemed to look straight at me. As if they had been waiting.

  I turned away and beat my wings harder, forcing myself not to think. Not to feel. Only forward.

  Behind me, I could hear the others gasping. Gunnar was surprisingly quiet, despite the heaviness of his steps. Vin breathed through clenched teeth, but kept up. Maira murmured something under her breath—probably a prayer. Or a curse.

  The tunnel stretched on, as if mocking us. Every meter felt the same, each turn a reflection of the last. Time and space began to blur, while my wingbeats grew faster, more frantic, more furious. Why the hell was this damn tunnel so long?

  But then—finally—the passage opened up. The narrowness gave way. My wings calmed. The walls receded. And we entered.

  The great dome chamber.

  And in that moment, I stopped. My wings folded in, chest heaving, and I stared ahead. The others halted beside me, instantly falling silent.

  And then we saw it.

  We were too late.