The night was heavy with silence, the kind that seeped into the cracks of the world, wrapping everything in an oppressive stillness. Elias lay restless on the cot, his body exhausted but his mind alive with unease. Malakarath echoed in his thoughts like the slow tolling of a deep and resonant bell, pulling him into the abyss of sleep before he realized his eyes had closed.
When his vision cleared, he stood in an immense hall carved from black stone, its surfaces polished to a mirror shine that reflected the faint glow of intricate runes. The air was thick with the scent of incense, heady and sweet, making it difficult to breathe. The ceiling seemed to stretch endlessly upward, and Elias felt like an intruder in a place that should not have existed.
He looked down at himself and found his body clothed in robes of deep crimson, accented with gold patterns that mimicked the symbols etched into the walls. His hands were steady, his steps purposeful, but none of it felt like his own. He was a passenger within himself, carried by the weight of a moment far beyond his understanding.
Ahead of him, a procession moved in perfect synchrony. Cloaked figures, their faces obscured, carried ornate vessels filled with glowing substances—liquids that shimmered like molten gold and powders that sparkled like captured starlight. Their footsteps were silent, yet their movements resonated in the hall as if they were part of a grand, unspoken ritual.
At the far end of the hall, raised on a dais of onyx, stood a figure unlike any Elias had ever seen.
Malakarath.
It was human—or at least, it wore the guise of one. Malakarath stood tall and regal, draped in robes of black and gold that flowed as if alive, shifting with a deliberate grace. Its skin was pale, not in the way of illness but as if carved from marble and imbued with a faint luminescence. Its face was perfect in a way that made Elias's chest tighten: symmetrical, serene, and devoid of flaws, yet the perfection was unnerving, like something created by a mind that didn't fully grasp the subtleties of humanity.
Dark eyes, deeper than any abyss Elias could imagine, bore into the souls of those who dared meet its gaze. Those eyes reflected no light, only a vast, unfathomable void that seemed to contain the weight of the entire world. Its presence was overwhelming, not through monstrous features or violent gestures, but by the sheer force of its being. It radiated power, an unyielding certainty that all who stood before it belonged to it and it alone.
The room bowed before Malakarath, and Elias felt his knees buckle in unison with the crowd. The weight of reverence, fear, and awe pressed him down, his forehead nearly touching the icy stone floor. The procession stopped, and the air grew impossibly still.
"You who stand before me," Malakarath spoke, its voice reverberating through the hall. It was neither male nor female, but something transcendent, a harmony of tones that resonated in Elias's chest and made his teeth ache. "You who offer your lives to the First Shadow. Do you understand the gift you give? The sacrifice you make?"
A murmur of assent rose from the congregation, a unified sound that seemed pulled from their very souls. Elias felt his lips move, his voice joining theirs without consent. The words flowed like a chant, a prayer to something far greater and darker than he had ever conceived.
As the procession continued, Malakarath descended the dais with slow, deliberate steps. Each movement was fluid and calculated as if it commanded its body and the air around it. The robed figures parted, allowing their god to walk among them.
Elias felt its presence before it even reached him. A cold pressure built in his chest, spreading through his limbs until every fiber of his being screamed to flee. But he couldn't move. He was trapped, rooted in place, as Malakarath stopped before him.
"You," it said, its voice soft now but no less powerful. "You have glimpsed what lies beyond. Tell me, what is it you seek?"
Elias opened his mouth, but the answer came unbidden, spilling out in a trembling whisper. "Knowledge. Understanding."
A faint smile graced Malakarath's lips, and it reached out a hand. The fingers were long and elegant, the nails dark and polished, and when they touched his forehead, a cold so profound it burned through him.
The hall dissolved, and Elias was plunged into a cascade of visions. He stood on the edge of a vast city of dark stone, its towers piercing a crimson sky choked with swirling clouds. Rivers of molten gold ran through the streets, and the air vibrated with the hum of countless voices chanting in unison. The people were everywhere, their faces painted with devotion, their eyes alight with fervor as they carried offerings toward a massive temple.
Inside the temple, Malakarath stood at the center of a ritual. Flames danced in braziers carved with the same symbols that adorned the hall, casting flickering light across the faces of the worshipers. A priest stepped forward, his head bowed and placed a blade to his own chest. He plunged it deep without hesitation, offering his life to the entity that demanded so much from them.
The visions shifted again, showing Elias a series of desperate rituals performed in Malakarath's name. Leaders, priests, and even entire families stepped willingly into the flames, their sacrifices fueling the seals that kept Malakarath's power contained. The people had worshiped it, but their devotion had been born of necessity, not love. They feared Malakarath as much as they revered it.
Elias saw the civilization begin to collapse, their resources drained by the relentless demands of their god. The temples crumbled, the chants faded, and the seals weakened as the population dwindled, unable to sustain the cost of their devotion. Malakarath watched it all with the same serene expression, its gaze unchanging as its worshipers fell around it.
Then, the vision shifted once more, and Elias saw himself.
He stood on the dais, draped in black and gold robes, his arms raised as he addressed a crowd of faceless figures. Malakarath stood behind him, its hand resting on his shoulder, and he felt its cold, unyielding power coursing through him.
"No," Elias whispered, his voice trembling. "This isn't me. I don't want this."
The scene around him froze, and he turned to see Malakarath staring at him with those dark, endless eyes.
"You seek knowledge," it said, its voice cutting through the silence. "But knowledge is not given freely. It is earned through sacrifice."
Elias staggered back as the vision dissolved, the weight of the words crushing him. The last thing he saw before the darkness consumed him was Malakarath's face, calm and unyielding, its faint smile a cruel reminder of the price of understanding.
Elias woke with a gasp, his body drenched in sweat. The room was dark, the faint glow of the streetlights outside casting long shadows across the walls. His heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to catch his breath, the remnants of the dream clinging to him like a shroud.
Marie was at her desk, her laptop casting a faint blue light across her face. She turned at the sound of his gasp, her eyes widening. "Elias? What happened?"
He sat up, his hands trembling. "I saw it. Malakarath. I was… I was there, in the civilization. I saw what they did, what it demanded of them."
Marie moved to sit beside him, and her concern etched into every line of her face. "What did it show you?"
Elias closed his eyes, the images flashing through his mind like a horror he couldn't unsee. "Sacrifices. Entire generations giving their lives to sustain it. They didn't worship it because they loved it—they worshiped it because they had no choice. It was killing them, and they were too afraid to stop."
Marie's voice trembled. "And you? What did it want from you?"
Elias looked at her, his face pale. "It wants me to lead. It showed me… becoming part of it. As if I'm meant to be its vessel, its voice."
Marie's hand gripped his arm tightly. "That's not going to happen. Whatever it takes, we'll stop this. You hear me, Elias? We'll stop it."
Elias nodded, though the weight of Malakarath's presence still loomed over him. He could feel it watching, waiting, its name echoing in his mind.
Malakarath.
The Sleeper was no longer a relic of the past. It was alive and aware, and it had chosen him.