Chapter 1

                                   *Snap*

What was once a dry desert is now lush grasslands. Once scorching daylight, now soothing moon-shine. Something is not right. Something has changed.

The grass twinkles as silver between the blissful winds and the scent of fresh cherry blossoms decorate this uncertain land. A forest entrenches itself around with cypress trees and entangling vines. This vegetation—of such variety—doesn’t make sense. Taste of the local air contrasts it all. It’s taste like something of mango yet wheat; of a sour memory yet a savory touch. These sensations cannot be real.

These feet step upon something more concrete than thirsting sands. A desert so vast that it seemed endless. Now, just a forest too thick to see much beyond these two hands. Even so, this field of foliage opens to a sight unfathomable.

There—in the distance—stands a castle upon a hill. One that stands above all, the hill guides my way through the vines and bushes of the unkept grassland. Long hair catches on branches while I frail about with fine tools too obtuse for cutting such greenery. Exhaustion rises as I fruitlessly move forward.

This struggle too surreal to be real. Nevertheless, that stone beacon lights my way. As if that castle is standing king above even nature itself. A monument to all lost souls, this high castle beckons me like a constellation from my youth.

Out from the pot, and into the pan; only grass accompanies me out from the lush and unto this unnerving sight. The beacon has grown cold. The castle looks to be in shambles. Seemingly, its destruction not being too fresh either. No time like the present.

This midnight breeze, this calm isolation; it’s so refreshing to finally be away from the desert expedition. Months spent digging up bones. Days spent sitting—contorted—in different positions for dino bones. The job is fine. I like the job. I chose it. But, still, to break away from the grind for a bit is almost liberating in a way. Let my long ponytail down and not worry about being drenched in sweat. Go at my own pace and not be dragged down by tools upon tools of heavy, fine digging equipment. Even if I’m stuck walking in this weird place, I can enjoy this moment of peace.

I walk and I walk. Amongst silver grass, the moon shines bright. The archeological clothing worked well in the heat of the desert site, yet it protects little against the grassland breeze. The long fabric of the pants and shirt are thinner than paper. Words of my associates’ warnings whisper in the back of my mind. Of preparations. Of the chill in the Arabian nights. But, not of this. How could they have guessed of this to happen?

Questions pile up in my mind. From the obvious to existential thoughts swirl about. An expedition into the saharan desert of a month’s time. Only a month’s time. Has turned into two. Then, three. Now.. what month were we on?

Bah! It doesn’t matter. No amount of sandy months could explain this. Wherever this is. It’s European by sight, but the agriculture disagrees. It’s Asian, but the landmark contests. None of this makes sense, and my tongue is starting to dry out.

Taking a swig from the tin canteen, the splash of the water inside sounds rather hollow. A sound like an alarm to days past— or, more accurately, hours. Memories better in retrospect.

Throughout all the equipment we had to carry, we were always pretty light on survival necessities when nightfall came. When it was time to pack up for the night. When it was time to return to our tents. When I would feel the eyes glaring on me from within the barren shadows. No matter the instructions given, packing light would come before all other rules in that camp. If only I could’ve guessed this would happen. Whatever this is.

Closer and closer, the derelict castle grows in size. Up through the silver fields, more than just the grass begins to shine silver. Things start to peek from those long blades of grass. Inanimate things. Dead things.

Iron of swords and other weaponry stick out from the pleasantry of nature. Halberds. Broadswords. Scimitars. Jeweled staffs. Crippled shields. Some duller than others. Some accompanied by more than just the weapon themselves. History can be seen through the tattered banners that flap for no one. Yet, that isn’t what will be seared into my mind from this battlefield.

Open eyes of the dead will haunt my dreams. Soulless remains are hiding between each patch of land below this wrecked castle. Bodies missing limbs. Bodies missing organs. Bodies that still look human and horse. I know I’m an archeologist, but these are still too fresh to not be affected by them. To reminded by them. To not remember that day. To not remember the wrong color of his shirt.

Fresh blood follows the odor of the midnight winds. Iron of weapon and blood alike coats the grass the further I walk. Still, I look away. Just to keep my eyes on the path ahead is all I could muster. The way up this haunting hill is all I care to think about when walking through this nameless graveyard. I would like to go back now.

Terrain of the hill’s base is rocky. Perilous for anything on wheels to attempt at crossing over. Nevertheless, it’s better than what precedes it. Even though It’s way rockier than a desert, it is—by far—easier to traverse. Shoes safe from the sand dunes is calming to the soul. Not sinking into a maw of sand is a nice change of pace. A nice thought to enjoy. A good distraction to have.

More sips of water and pieces of a protein bar from my jacket’s many pockets, the rocks open up to a clear path. A legit path. Rings of bells blare in my head. The historian in me squeals out in excitement. It is a real, medieval, commerce route. And, one that looks to be in active use. One that leads up into the shadowy way to the hill’s peak. To the castle’s lone great hall.

Sneakers clap against the fine dirt as I follow this path. Aside from the occasional pebble, the ground of this commerce route feels more familiar to the Sahara sand than the woodlands surrounding it. A mix of delight and apprehension speaks volumes by the hint of uncertainty behind it all. That, and the smell of something foul inching in from the midnight darkness.

The source hidden behind the tree’s shadows. This scent is unmistakably. The further I walk up this dirt road, the more nauseating the aroma grows. As the parting of the trees by the dreamlike breeze, the moon’s shine reveals nothing I could’ve imagined before this phenomenon. The peripheral of this delightful road being decorated by the corpses of creatures I’ve only seen in fantasy.

Liquid of blue, green, and many other colors; it all had the same metallic smell. Blood. Creatures of fur. Creatures of green skin. Creatures of immense height, certain glows, pointed ears, or many others. All lay died in the open air. The gore too much to stare at. This savagery too stark to be curious about. Macabre seems to be the state of things in this unknown world. I close my eyes to it all and walk forward.

Further I walk, the higher the body count becomes. The speed of my steps hasten to the detriment of my dwindling rations. Trees thin out the closer the castle becomes. Can some of these even be considered bodies at this point?

Cypress trees open up to an aging battlefield. Corpses of creatures and armored people alike litter the patches of silver-like grass around our feet. Fly-like bugs circle this open courtyard in waves. Slumps of flesh in ways that shouldn’t be. Crimson shines on metals cooler than snow. All of their dead eyes reflecting their final thoughts so clearly. And, they are all the same. Regret.

The smell atrocious. The sight appalling. Yet, a faint sound can be heard echoing just beyond the carnage. The thing behind all the horrors. The object that casts this dark shadow upon all before it. The Great Hall’s gate. It’s beckoning me. I can feel it.

It opens as if on one’s desires— or curiosity. Creaks siren out of the old stone and wood. Even if parts of it seem to have been hacked away, it still functions as if unscathed by the misfortunes before it. A feeling tingles in my stomach. Uncomfortable as it might be, it’s equally as intoxicating as those desert expeditions have been to me. With the gate slightly ajar, I slip into the Hall’s inner workings. Stale air couldn’t stop the spark within these eyes.

Hallways for days. Crossroads in stone and wealth. Artifacts cover each inch of these hallowed halls. Yet, none of it can fully be seen. A coat of darkness drenches these candle-less hallways.

Strips of moonlight occasionally cut through the outer wounds of the Great Hall itself. Just enough to navigate it towards another avenue. Shivers from the night crawl up my arms. The tin canteen rings hollow in the dark. In this labyrinthian wonder, my spark begins to fade.

Clatters of the wall’s ordainments help drown out the lonesome echoes of my sandals on stone. Faces of the dead flash in mentally from the blinding darkness. Remains too fresh to be distant towards, yet too fantastical to feign sympathy. Still, those injuries cannot be so easily tossed aside. Those lacerations haunting my idle thoughts. Like a plague, those images leading me to curiosities I didn’t want to know. Unknowns from absurdities that lay rotting just beyond these dark halls. What lurks in this strange land?

As the possibilities begin to consume my sanity, a streak of moonlight creeps out from behind a obfuscated place. Slowly I move towards it. Unlike silence, sounds of nature can be heard whispering from behind it. A beautiful sound indeed. A comforting sound of chirping birds and flowing wind again. Of birds that never seem to sleep. All behind this object that feels to be solid.

Upon reaching the thing that separates me from where the shine of the moonlight, I put my hand on it’s surface. Only a pinky, at first. A minimal to sacrifice if things turn sour. As I rub my recessive pinky across, the surface didn’t react. There isn’t anything that moved or twitched. It simply feels to be made of simply wood. It is just a door.

A sigh of relief passes from between my chapped lips. With a light push, the door opens discreetly. And, with it, a sight most breathtaking unveils itself to these sleepless eyes.

A grand, round room in ruin lies behind such an unassuming door. A throne room with an unintended sky view. Pieces of roof masquerading as royal furniture all around where the nobles would be. Many once gorgeous chairs encircling a stone center made of marble. Many of such chairs now smashed by said roof furniture. As if judges looking down upon those worldly concerns.

It’s something I would have seen in my college days. In many archeological books as examples or royal depictions of mythological monarchs. This would’ve been quite a find if not for the given circumstances.

This place reminiscent of Arthurian legends. As if something I had heard from storybooks in my youth. Stories read to me when tucked under blankets smaller than coffee tables. Tales under twilight my uncle once read to me. A photograph of childhood imaginations laid to rest. A sanctum of kings.

Nevertheless, the sight is breathtaking. And, haunting. All these royal seats left empty except—

“Yet another beckons these halls?”

A gravel voice tears through the beautiful ruins. A thing that ripples throughout my nerves and into my amygdala. As my brain kicks into overdrive, my eyes catch the obvious. The source of such an intimidating sound.

At the furthest chair, in the tallest throne basking in moonlight: there sits a man. One of long locks of auburn and plated in platinum armor. There he sits disheveled and weary. Yet, something comes between him and I. There, in his bloody hands, is a sword that has seen better days.

A broadsword, while worn, still radiant in it’s appearance. Especially, at it’s hilt. A beautiful hilt of gold. One decorative with angelic wings reaching to each end of it’s cross-guard. It is so mesmerizing on it’s own. Familiar, even. Maybe something akin to Excalibur. Or, could it be—

“There you stand. In archeological garb, you stare me hollow.”

“…!” There, I stand still. He spoke my language. He knew the specifics of my clothing on sight. To what looks like a royal knight, his words dictate something else. What do I say—

“One of few words is one thing, but of none? Either you’re of resolve or indecision. I do not know. What say you, my dour attendant?”

Thoughts cross my mind. Possibilities. Questions. Uncertainties. The ‘what ifs’ swirl around my imploding mind. Butterflies hatch in the millions within my stomach. Snaps of attention dimly click in the shadows of this foreign land. Those grimacing eyes of his begin to mimic my own. This mouth is frozen in place. Sweat slides down my check. How did I get her—

“I suppose loose lips would spin tighter yarn… Interesting.”

Huh? What—

“Here I sit. Abandoned by my fellow compatriots of the high table. Sullied by all these benevolent failures of ours. Defiled by the Thorns of Avalon. Here you arrive as if by the Horns of Babylon pushing even you away. It’s something one of your kind would deem a biblical hell. To me, it’s a humorless joke.”

Palpitations caress each valve inside the heart. His words hurt. And, I don’t know why. I don’t know what he’s meaning. I don’t know where he refers towards. I don’t know why he detests me. I don’t know where that snapping noise is coming from. I don’t know. I want to go home.

My throat has closed up. My voice has been cynically locked away. All I can do is stare.

Yet, he doesn’t stop. He won’t. He isn’t shutting up. He can’t—

“Underneath these soiled stars and within this realm of tawdry knights, we reunite. Crater and conquest ravage the dreams that define how ‘will’ will come to be studied. My anima, let the collective be less connected to those our Nostradamus foretold. I beseech thee to forget their Orwellian lusts. What say you, beloved misanthrope?”

His words… how? Does he know—

The ground rumbles. The cracking sound booms from up above. It’s deafening. Hands clasp my ears as I fall to my knees. As if a ribcage splintering from the sternum, it echoes throughout my nerves. Nothing else acknowledges the quakes. Still, I crumble to the ground further. The moonlight flutters. My senses snap. Everything goes dark.