Ziko walked closer to the statue, fascinated by its ancient appearance and the layer of dust covering it. He noticed inscriptions on the blade of the stone sword and brushed away the dust to reveal characters that looked like Latin.
"Malum ea malum, minus, maius, medium. Idem est," he read aloud, almost effortlessly understanding the Latin text.
"Evil is evil, lesser, greater, middling. It is all the same."
"How do I know what that means?"
I'm sure that it's Latin but I also know for certain that I've never studied a word of the language.
He barely passed French in elementary school. Oh, the memories of Madame Tussauds, he cringed. Now all of a sudden he's a pro in Latin.
"What the hell is going on?"
The mist cleared, offering him a clear view of the statue's face. Its face was diamond-shaped, tapering at the chin, with straight temples and long hair flowing down its cheeks. Its eyes were sculpted deep, dark, mysterious, and wild.
"What an impressive statue," he said in awe.
"Never seen the Mona Lisa, but this might be on par," he mused before examining a nameplate on the platform.
'The Silver Wolf,' Dlareg T Aivir.
"Weird name, but sounds noble. Maybe he was exiled or something," he thought, sensing familiarity.
"Shouldn't have spent so much time in libraries, now I'm getting a headache," his inner historian surfaced before he forced it back in, focusing on more pressing matters.
Like how he suddenly understood Latin. He was terrible with languages, so why the sudden proficiency?
"Maybe I'm high and this mist is LSD or something," he mused.
He needed to leave, regardless of his current state of mind. This place unnerved him, and he had bigger issues to tackle – like his existence.
Surveying his surroundings, he struggled to determine his direction. Settling on left, he navigated through the mist with his hands outstretched.
Guided by subtle shifts in the fog, he moved forward, shuffling his feet along the way.
Searching through the thick mist was mentally taxing, relying solely on touch. It was like swimming in a white sea with no end, a potential descent into madness.
"Why am I not crazy yet?" he questioned, pondering his probable slow spiral into madness.
'Or am I already nuts'
As he was about to sink further into his confusion, the mist thinned, revealing something ahead.
Dashing toward it, he found hope – an exit, a lifeline.
'A statue?'
No, it was the same statue as before. Ziko grabbed his hair in despair.
"I've lost it"
"I've finally lost my mind"
He needed to calm down. But it was hard, from the eerie mist to that fucking statue everything was driving him nuts.
"There's logic in everything," he had to remind himself.
Taking a deep breath and cooling off, he analyzed the situation. This wasn't mere coincidence. The mist or fog and the statue – they were connected.
'They had to be'
Returning to the statue, he examined every inch, every nook, cranny and crevice hoping for a clue. Though nothing new surfaced at first, he gained a newfound respect for skill of the sculptor.
'It's looks way too real to be a statue, I wonder what noble house he was from?'
But something didn't make sense, to hire such a skilled sculptor for an exiled knight was unheard of and extremely unlikely.
'Except I've been looking for the wrong thing'
" Wait a minute! 'The Silver Wolf' should have a wolf symbol at least somewhere!"
It was a shot in the dark, but it made some sense. Climbing onto the platform, Ziko dusted every part, feeling for anything resembling a wolf.
On the neck, he found it – a carving of a wolf's head. He traced it, and unexpectedly, the carving glowed and burned away, like molten steel.
Surprised, he backed away before feeling a burning sensation on his neck. Ziko screamed and fell, clutching his neck.
It hurt, it felt like a hot blade was tracing it's edge along his neck, his skin sizzling in the heat. Then suddenly pain subsided just as it came it disappeared, leaving him puzzled.
"That hurt a lot," he muttered, touching the spot cautiously. There was something there – the same wolf he'd traced on the statue, now on his skin. He felt different, as if his senses had sharpened. Something had changed.
Pausing, he felt a new sensation, stronger than before. An ominous presence loomed, gripping him, chains binding his body, pulling him down. It hurt.
Ziko knelt, feeling his hands sink into the ground. He couldn't escape. His fate seemed sealed, until the wolf mark on his neck heated up once more, awakened by the pressure and the pressure vanished.
Ziko glanced back at the statue. Its gaze remained, but it no longer terrified him. It felt... warm?
"What's happening?" Ziko struggled to keep up. "Maybe I should ask it."
"Sure, ask the statue that almost killed you," he chuckled nervously at his self-destructive thoughts.
While he debated, he heard a sound of an old gate creaking open. Before being yanked away once more by a familiar force, and he was back in front of the black gate.
The gate hummed before closing, sealing the mist behind it, struggling to stand, Ziko felt himself sinking into darkness, as if being rejected from wherever he was. He fought against it but was gradually engulfed, one last look at the gate before slipping into unconsciousness.