"What do you mean by the Palace of Doom?! I thought it was just a legend!" Lawless shouted, snatching the ancient book from Sandro's hands. His eyes darted over the strange, cryptic text. Frustrated, he looked up, exasperated. "I can't even understand what's written in this—just read it out loud!" He thrust the book back toward Sandro, his face tense with impatience.
Sandro sighed, adjusting his glasses calmly. "I was going to read it, even without your urging," he replied dryly, though a hint of intrigue crept into his expression. With a sweeping motion, he signaled everyone to gather around the table. As they huddled closer, the dim candlelight cast flickering shadows across their faces, adding an air of mystery.
"Alright," Sandro began, his voice low and steady. "Let's see what secrets this old diary holds…"
He opened to a specific section, worn from centuries of handling, and started reading aloud.
"Diary of Aasim
Year 1098, Day 212 of the Doom Calendar
We are the people entrusted with the most sacred and cursed of duties: guarding the Doom Palace. My ancestors have defended this place longer than I can imagine, longer even than the kingdoms of the world have existed. It feels strange to think that while other lands grew and fell, we stayed here, locked in an endless duty to protect something we hardly understand.
Legends say that Doom is a force beyond comprehension, a black, formless matter that devours everything. It creeps like a shadow, leaving ruin in its wake. My ancestors spoke of it like a living darkness, with tendrils that would consume anything in their path. From Doom itself, terrible creatures would emerge—horrific beings that destroyed indiscriminately.
It's hard to believe this is real. How could anything be so monstrous, so destructive? Yet our tales say that Doom was almost unstoppable. Only one man could face it: the hero Titus. They say he sacrificed his entire kingdom, every soul and stone, to bind Doom within a crystal, sealing it away forever.
From that moment, we became its guardians. Day after day, a sacrifice is made to keep the crystal's power intact, to ensure Doom never breaks free. For more than a thousand years, my people have upheld this grim duty. And yet, as the centuries pass, many of us are beginning to lose faith. Some now doubt that Doom was ever real. How much blood must we spill for something that might be no more than a shadow of an ancient tale? I find myself wondering, questioning if our ancestors' fears have kept us trapped in a cycle of needless death.
Year 1098, Day 245 of the Doom Calendar
Today, my beloved wife was taken for the sacrifice. I can hardly bring myself to write it—she is gone, and there is nothing I could do to stop it. Every day, another life is offered to maintain the seal, and now, it was her turn. I am shattered. I feel as if a part of my soul was torn away. How can they expect us to go on like this?
I find myself haunted by her last look, the silent acceptance in her eyes. I am filled with anger, grief, and a growing desire for change. This tradition has drained our lives, our families, our very spirits. I promise myself that one day, I will do something to end this madness. I am tired of seeing the people I love torn away in the name of a legend.
Year 1099, Day 24 of the Doom Calendar
Today, I met a man who claimed to be part of a rebel army. He spoke of a rising force determined to overthrow the rules of the Doom Palace, to finally put an end to this cycle of sacrifice. He told me that freedom was within reach if we had the courage to seize it. His words lit a fire within me, a sense of hope I have not felt in years.
I am conflicted, though. What if our duty truly is to protect the world from Doom? What if our sacrifices have kept a terrible darkness sealed away? And yet, the thought of freedom for my children fills me with a quiet thrill. Even if it is wrong, even if it is dangerous, I would do anything to save them from the fate that took my wife.
Year 1099, Day 25 of the Doom Calendar
I am at my breaking point. Tomorrow, my son is to be sacrificed. They are going to take him from me, just as they took my wife. How can I stand by and watch this happen? How can any of us accept such cruelty? I ask myself why they don't take me instead. Why must we sacrifice our children? Why must the innocent suffer for something so ancient, so distant?
I cannot let this happen. I have decided to meet the rebels again. If they can save my son, if they can free us from this cursed tradition, I am willing to do anything—no matter the cost.
Year 1099, Day 26 of the Doom Calendar
The rebels were true to their word. They came for us in the night, and together, we escaped from the city. I cannot believe it—we are finally free. No more sacrifices. No more fear. All that remains is to destroy the Doom Palace and end this nightmare once and for all. They say we will strike in fourteen days. Fourteen days, and we will be free of this forever.
Year 1099, Day 37 of the Doom Calendar
Tomorrow, we will attack. I feel a strange sense of peace, as if everything I've endured has led to this moment. I am nervous, of course, but when I look at my children, I feel hope. I imagine a future where they can grow up without fear, without the constant shadow of sacrifice looming over them. For the first time, I believe everything will be all right.
Year 1099, Day 38 of the Doom Calendar
Today, we attacked the palace. They were unprepared, and we took it in only two hours. In the throne room, the king sat alone, without his guards. Our leader beheaded him, and now, he has claimed the throne for himself. Tonight, we celebrate our victory, and I feel a joy I never thought possible. My children will grow up free. They will never know the terror of being chosen.
Yet, a shadow remains over our celebration. The king's final words haunt me: "Doom will come, and death will follow it." I want to dismiss it as the delusion of a dying man, but something in his voice… I cannot shake the feeling that he may have spoken the truth.
Year 1111, Day 111 of the Doom Calendar
What have we done? We should have heeded our ancestors' warnings. The king was right. By our actions, we have unleashed a catastrophe. Doom has been released.
Year 1111, Day 112 of the Doom Calendar
In a single day, the world has begun to fall apart. Those sworn to protect us—the knights of Doom—have become corrupt. Their once-white armor has turned into dark, pulsating black matter, their very bodies twisted into abominations. They have become the very force they once fought to contain.
The palace itself is transforming, infected by the blackness that was once sealed within it. Horrors unlike anything I've seen walk the halls. All we can do now is try to contain it once more, to restore the seal we so recklessly broke.
Year 1111, Day 120 of the Doom Calendar
Nine days have passed since Doom was released, and we have discovered a fragment of hope. Though the seal is weakened, only two layers were broken. Tomorrow, we will make one last desperate attempt to rebind it. I pray we will succeed.
Year 1111, Day 121 of the Doom Calendar
I am the only one left. The seal is restored, but at an unimaginable cost. I used the crystal, bound with the souls of every person who fought beside me, to trap Doom once more. Our entire people sacrificed themselves for this, and now, I am the last.
Beneath the orb lies the path to the seals. If you have come this far, you have passed the test. But be warned: it only grows more dangerous below. Whoever reads this, do not repeat our mistakes. If Doom is released again, seal it once more, no matter the cost."
As Sandro finished reading the final, haunting entry, he closed the book slowly and looked up, letting the weight of the story settle over the group. The room was silent, each person processing the grim history they had just heard.
"So," Sandro finally asked, breaking the silence, "what do you all think? Should we continue investigating?" His tone was serious, and his eyes held a quiet resolve, knowing that they stood on the edge of something dangerous.
Moros stood up, his expression fierce. "This might be our only way out of the Doom Palace. If we're destined to die here, then I say we face it head-on." He raised his fist, determination sparking in his eyes. "So, what do you say?"
The group exchanged glances, each face showing a mix of fear and resolve. After a moment, Misa stepped forward and, with a calm but resolute tone, announced, "As you wish, Captain. After all, you lead us." She gave Moros a small, encouraging smile, a glimmer of warmth amid the tense atmosphere.
Moros nodded, bolstered by her support. A slow, quiet ripple of agreement passed through the others until it grew into a unified resolve.
"Let's do it!" someone shouted, fists raised in solidarity.
"We'll survive!" another voice echoed, carrying a note of defiance against the dark fate that awaited them.