Zenith's fingers traced the glowing carvings on the stone archway, each symbol pulsing with an ancient energy that seemed to hum beneath his skin. The air around him was thick with an unsettling tension, the whispers curling through his mind like unseen tendrils reaching from the earth itself.
"Free us… the relic… it calls for release."
The voice struck sharp and urgent, a spectral demand carried by the wind.
Erina shifted beside him, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she cast a wary glance between Zenith and the glowing symbols. "I don't like this," she murmured. Her usual confidence wavered, her grip tightening on the hilt of her sword. "It feels like we're touching something we shouldn't."
Zenith kept his hand pressed against the stone, the pulse of its energy thrumming through his palm. His brow furrowed. "I know," he admitted, his voice steady but weighted. "But this… this could be the only way to stop whatever's happening. The relic, the spirits—everything is tied to the miasma."
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting his mind drift back to old stories—tales spun by village elders, whispers of a civilization lost to time. His father had once spoken of an ancient betrayal, but back then, it had been just a legend, a cautionary tale for children. Now, standing before this relic, he wasn't so sure.
"The stories," he murmured, half to himself. "The ones about the cursed spirits and the ancient civilization. I think they're more than just myths. This is it—the source."
Erina inhaled sharply. "You mean… the Astrites?" Her voice faltered as the realization sank in. "But those are just bedtime stories, right?"
Zenith turned to her, his expression grim. "No." He gestured toward the archway, its glow intensifying as if feeding on their presence. "This is real. And if the betrayal the elders spoke of actually happened, then this place might be cursed with the remnants of that event."
A shudder ran through Erina as the storm above them deepened, the wind howling through the branches like a warning. The forest itself seemed to darken, shadows stretching unnaturally, creeping closer as if drawn to their presence.
She exhaled, shaking her head. "Great," she muttered, attempting to mask her unease with sarcasm. "So we're standing in the middle of a centuries-old curse. Fantastic."
Zenith smirked faintly but didn't take his eyes off the relic. "We're going to figure out how to break it."
The words barely left his lips before the wind died abruptly, leaving behind a suffocating silence. The whispers that had once surrounded them condensed, merging into a singular voice that sent an icy chill through his bones.
"Seek the betrayer's grave… or face the miasma's wrath."
The voice resonated with an unnatural weight, the command settling over them like a thick fog. Zenith's hand dropped from the stone as the final words echoed through him, pressing down with a force that made it hard to breathe. He turned to Erina, finding her face pale in the dim glow of the relic.
"The betrayer's grave…" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. She swallowed, her fingers twitching at her side. "Orionis, right? The leader who broke the Covenant, according to the old tales?"
Zenith nodded slowly, piecing together the fragments of history that had once seemed so distant. "If we can find his grave, maybe we can stop this from getting worse. The relic, the curse… they're all tied to him."
A distant crack of thunder split the silence, shaking the air around them. The storm hadn't passed—it had simply been waiting.
Zenith drew in a deep breath, pushing back the weight of dread that coiled in his chest. "We'll head deeper into the forest," he said, resolve tightening his voice. "If the relic's showing us the way, we can't ignore it."
Erina hesitated for only a moment before nodding, gripping the hilt of her sword as if grounding herself. "Okay," she said. "But we stick together. If the forest really is alive with this curse… we're going to need to watch each other's backs."
The storm roared back to life as they stepped beyond the archway, the whispers fading into the howling wind.
The forest seemed to close in around them as they ventured deeper, the towering trees bending unnaturally, their twisted branches clawing at the sky. A thick, oppressive silence hung in the air, broken only by the distant rustling of unseen things shifting through the undergrowth. Shadows flickered at the edge of their vision—shapeless, fleeting, yet undeniably present.
Erina tensed, scanning their surroundings with wary eyes. "Do you get the feeling we're being watched?" she murmured, keeping her voice low.
"Constantly," Zenith replied, his grip tightening on his weapon. His gaze darted from tree to tree, searching for movement beyond the darkened trunks. Every crack of a twig, every whisper of leaves sent a fresh spike of unease through him.
The path ahead narrowed, funnelling them into a clearing where the trees bent inward as if recoiling from what lay at the center. A stone monument, ancient and worn, jutted from the ground like a scar. Faint carvings marred its surface, eerily similar to those on the relic—but cracked, faded, as though time itself had tried to erase them. The earth surrounding it was disturbed, writhing as if something beneath still struggled to be free.
Zenith exhaled slowly. "That's it… the betrayer's grave."
A whisper—low, mournful—rose from the monument, carried on the wind like a breath from the past.
"Orionis… cursed… betrayer…"
Erina swallowed hard, her fingers twitching near her sword. "What do we do now? How do we stop this?"
Zenith stepped forward, drawn by an invisible pull, his mind racing. The relic, the forest, the spirits—they were all bound together, threads woven into a single, tangled fate. His fate. He knelt before the monument, placing his hands on the cold, cracked stone. A pulse throbbed beneath his fingertips, slow and heavy, like the heartbeat of something ancient.
The whispers grew frantic. "Free us… or doom us all."
The monument trembled. A sharp crack of energy surged through the air, splitting the silence like a thunderclap. Zenith sucked in a breath as his hands remained locked in place, an unseen force anchoring him. A vision tore through his mind—fragments of the past, glimpses of Orionis' betrayal, the breaking of the Covenant, the spirits bound by the ancient curse.
Erina stepped forward, panic flashing across her face. "Zenith! What's happening?"
His jaw clenched, breath uneven. "I can see it now… the truth of the betrayal. It's all here, Erina. Orionis—he wasn't alone in this. The forest… it's tied to his will, but there's something else. Someone else."
Her stomach twisted at the way his voice faltered. "What do you mean? Who?"
His fingers tightened against the stone. "The Covenant wasn't just broken by him. There were others… and they're still here."
The sky split open with a deafening roar of thunder. The trees groaned, their limbs quaking as the ground trembled beneath them. From the shifting shadows, figures began to emerge—distorted, flickering, neither fully formed nor entirely formless.
Erina's breath hitched. She unsheathed her weapon in one fluid motion, knuckles white around the hilt. "We've got company."
The spirits surged forward, their forms erratic, barely tethered to the world. In brief flashes, Zenith glimpsed what they had once been—humans, warriors, bound to this place by something darker than mere death. Their eyes burned with hollow recognition, their bodies twisted by the curse.
Erina's stance shifted, ready for battle, but her voice wavered. "These things… they're not like the miasma creatures from before."
Zenith exhaled, steadying himself. "No," he said, his tone grim. "They were human once. Orionis' followers—bound to the curse."
A low, haunting voice cut through the air. One of the spirits, taller and more solid than the rest, stepped forward, its face a blurred visage of pain and anger.
"We are the forgotten ones… cast into the shadows of time. The betrayal… it binds us still."
Zenith took a slow step forward, his gaze locked onto the spirit leader. "Orionis. His betrayal—what did he do to all of you?"
The spirit's hollow eyes seemed to flicker, its form wavering as if caught between existence and oblivion. "He promised us power, freedom… but his ambition consumed him. And we… we are the price."
A whispering chorus rose around them, a mournful chant of the damned. The weight of their suffering pressed against Zenith like a heavy shroud, each voice laced with sorrow and rage. Erina shifted closer, her grip tightening on the hilt of her sword.
"What are we going to do?" she murmured, barely above a breath. "We can't fight all of them."
Zenith's jaw clenched, his mind racing through the possibilities. "We don't have to. Not yet."
He turned his focus back to the spirit leader. "What do you want from us? We didn't break the Covenant. We didn't cause this."
The spirit's blurred features twisted, its gaze unreadable. "No… but you will either restore the Covenant… or suffer the same fate."
The ground trembled beneath them. A pulse of dark energy rippled outward, warping the air with its sheer force. The trees groaned as their branches contorted like grasping claws, and the clearing seemed to shrink, suffocating them in its grip.
Erina's breath hitched. "Zenith!"
The energy surged toward them, a spiraling mass of shadow and malice. Instinct took over. Zenith raised his hand, and for a brief moment, something inside him shifted—like gears locking into place. A faint glow flickered in his eyes as he focused, willing the force to bend, to break. The surge of darkness twisted in midair, shuddered, and fizzled into nothing.
Erina stared at him, stunned. "You… you did that?"
He exhaled sharply, flexing his fingers as they tingled from the lingering energy. "Yeah… I did."
A collective hiss rose from the spirits. They shrank back slightly, but the air remained thick with tension. The spirit leader observed him in silence before speaking again, its tone colder, but tinged with something almost like approval.
"You carry a power unlike any other. But power alone will not save you from the miasma."
Zenith lowered his hand but didn't step back. "Then tell us how to stop it. How do we restore the Covenant?"
The spirit's gaze seemed to darken, its voice barely above a whisper. "The relic… it holds the key. But the path to salvation is fraught with sacrifice. The betrayer's grave hides many secrets… and not all are meant to be unearthed."
The words sent a chill down Zenith's spine. Before he could respond, the spirit leader's form flickered, unraveling like mist in the wind. The others followed, fading back into the shadows of the forest.
A final whisper lingered in the air, ghostly and foreboding.
"Beware the miasma's call… for it seeks not balance… but destruction."
Silence fell over the clearing, broken only by the rustling of leaves. The air was still heavy, but the crushing presence of the spirits had vanished.
Erina let out a slow breath, running a hand through her hair. "That was too close."
Zenith flexed his hand again, still feeling the residual hum of energy in his fingertips. "We have to be more careful."
She nodded, her voice quieter now. "So what now? The spirits were clear—the relic's the key. But something tells me getting to it won't be as simple as finding the betrayer's grave."
His gaze lifted toward the path ahead, where the darkness of the forest seemed even more impenetrable than before. "We don't have a choice. If the miasma's growing stronger, the village is in more danger than we thought." He took a step forward, determination hardening his voice. "Let's find the relic and figure out how to stop this before it's too late."
The wind picked up again, weaving through the trees like unseen fingers. And in its wake, the whispers returned—soft and lingering, an echo of the past refusing to be forgotten.