Date: August 21, 542 After the Fall of Zandra the Dishonorable
Kazai walked through the forest, his steps quiet, almost silent—he didn't want to disturb the peace of this place. The branches of the trees, as he passed, didn't snag his clothes or whip his face. They seemed to part before him, letting him through. The sun, filtering through the foliage, painted whimsical patterns on the ground, and the shadows dancing in those rays were soft, almost tender.
He didn't know where he was going. His intuition, that strange, pulsing sensation that had led him to the portal, had awakened again. It pulled him forward, and Kazai obeyed it without question. He had long since learned to trust his senses—they rarely failed him.
The forest gradually changed. The trees grew older, their trunks thicker, and the roots protruding from the earth resembled the spines of ancient beasts slumbering under a green blanket. The air here was different—denser, heavier—and amidst the sweet floral scents, a new smell appeared. The smell of stone. Dampness. Depth.
Kazai slowed his pace. His hand went to his sword hilt—just in case. The birds no longer sang here. Only the wind rustled in the crowns, and somewhere far away, beyond the trees, came a steady, heavy hum—as if the earth itself was breathing.
He emerged into a small clearing surrounded by old, crooked oaks. Their intertwined branches formed a dense, nearly impenetrable canopy, and beneath it, in the shadow, a dark maw gaped in the ground.
A cave.
Its entrance was narrow, barely allowing a single person to pass. From within wafted cold and dampness, and in that cold, in that dampness, there was nothing hostile—only an ancient, unhurried power that waited. Kazai drew closer, listening. Silence. Only his breathing, only the beat of his heart.
He entered.
It was dark inside. At first—nothing, only blackness pressing on his eyes. But his eyes adjusted quickly—the vision of a Herald allowed him to distinguish shapes even in complete darkness. The cave walls were uneven, covered in some growths that resembled frozen drops of wax. The floor was rocky, and each of Kazai's steps echoed with a dull, damp sound.
The cave turned out to be shallow. He had only walked a few dozen paces when he came up against a solid wall. No branches, no passages—only stone, cold and indifferent. Kazai examined the walls, ran his hand over them. Nothing. No runes, no signs, no hint that this place was connected to the portal or to what he sought.
"Empty," he said, and his quiet voice spread through the cave, echoing off the walls.
He stood for a few more minutes, peering into the dark. His inner voice was silent. The intuition that had led him so confidently through the forest fell quiet here, offering no hint of what to do next.
Kazai closed his eyes, listening to himself. His Spirits of Sin—Wrath and Pride—slept in the depths of his Vessel, showing no signs of disquiet. That meant there was no danger. But also no guidance.
He remembered how he had gotten here. The portal had opened when his blood spilled onto the ground. Blood had been the key. Perhaps blood was required here as well.
Kazai didn't hesitate. He drew his dagger and, without looking, slashed the same palm he had cut before. The wound was still fresh, and the blade glided easily through the already-cut skin. Pain flared, but he didn't even wince. Blood ran down his fingers, gathering into large drops.
He clenched his fist and, extending his arm forward, let the blood fall onto the stone floor.
The effect was instantaneous.
Where the drops fell, the stone began to glow. At first—faint, barely noticeable, as if someone were blowing on dying embers. Then the light flared brighter, and from the point where the blood had touched, thin, twisting lines began to spread. They grew, branched, climbed the walls, and in their movement, in their pulsation, there was something primordial, ancient.
Runes.
Kazai stepped back, observing. The lines resolved into symbols—not the ones he had seen on the Seer's map, but others, more complex, angular. They glowed crimson, and in their light the cave ceased to be merely a cave. It became something more—a place of power, a gateway to something that lay beyond his understanding.
The runes covered all the walls. They didn't haphazardly overwrite each other but arranged themselves in orderly rows, forming a text. A text in an ancient, forgotten language that Kazai could not read—yet somehow understood. The words were born in his head on their own, as if someone were whispering them into his ear.
*Here lies what was lost. Here waits the one who remembers. Come when spring replaces me.*
The last phrase burned brightest of all. Kazai read it several times, peering at the crimson symbols, and they still pulsed, as if awaiting an answer.
"'Come when spring replaces me,'" he repeated aloud. His voice was calm, but inside, disappointment simmered.
He had not come here to read a riddle. He had come for power. For answers. For the thing that was meant to help him build a "Better World." But instead—only words.
Kazai ran his hand over the stone wall, but the runes did not respond. They burned steadily, calmly, and in their glow there was neither threat nor promise. Only expectation.
"So it's not the right time," he said. "Very well. I'll wait."
He turned and headed for the exit. The light of the runes followed him right to the entrance, and when he stepped out into the clearing, they went dark, and the cave was swallowed by darkness once more.
Kazai stood under the open sky, and the sun's rays, piercing the foliage, touched his face. The birds sang again. Somewhere in the distance, the river murmured. The world was beautiful, but it offered no answers.
*Spring,* Kazai thought. *When spring replaces me. What does that mean? The change of seasons? Or something else?*
A long road lay ahead. And behind him—the silence of the cave, the runes, and a promise waiting for its hour.