The library's study room had become a prison. Its walls, once a place of comfort and focus for Elias, now felt like they were closing in. The air was heavy with unease, and the faint hum of the fluorescent lights only added to the oppressive atmosphere. Elias sat alone at the desk, his head in his hands, the weight of the visions pressing down on him like an iron chain.
The waking dreams had become more frequent. They no longer needed the night's quiet or the study room's solitude to take hold. They came unbidden, slipping into the edges of his mind during the most mundane moments—while drinking coffee, flipping through notes, or even walking through a crowded street. The visions were not just images but emotions, sensations, and memories.
And they weren't his.
The first memory came when Elias reviewed the translations of the purification ritual. His eyes blurred as he stared at the text, the symbols seeming to shift and writhe on the page. And then, without warning, he was there.
He stood in a grand temple, the air thick with incense and the low hum of chanting. The walls were adorned with carvings of Malakarath—its serene, humanlike form towering above the robed figures who knelt before it. The carvings depicted scenes of sacrifice and devotion, each one etched with painstaking detail.
Elias felt his chest tighten as he looked down at himself. He was no longer wearing his clothes but the priesthood's crimson and gold robes. In his hands was a ceremonial blade, its surface etched with the same intricate symbols adorning the temple walls. He felt a weight in his chest—a mixture of reverence, fear, and an unshakable sense of duty.
The chanting grew louder, and Elias turned toward the center of the temple. Malakarath stood on a raised dais, its presence commanding and unyielding. Its dark eyes bore into him, and he felt the weight of its gaze like a physical force.
"Do you understand what must be done?" Malakarath's smooth and calm voice resonated in his mind, carrying an undercurrent of expectation.
Elias's hands trembled as the blade gleamed in the firelight. He felt the emotions of the priest whose memory he inhabited—the conflict, the dread, and the overwhelming compulsion to obey. The priest's voice echoed a silent plea for forgiveness in his mind.
"Your devotion strengthens the seal," Malakarath said, stepping closer. "Without your sacrifice, all will be lost."
The priest's hand moved as though guided by an unseen force, raising the blade to his chest. Elias's heart pounded as he tried to stop it, but his body wasn't his own. He was a passenger, forced to watch as the blade plunged into the priest's heart.
Elias gasped, jerking upright in his chair. His hands flew to his chest, expecting to find blood, but there was nothing. The vision faded, leaving him drenched in sweat and shaking uncontrollably.
Marie burst into the room, her eyes wide with alarm. "Elias! What happened?"
He couldn't speak at first, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. Finally, he choked out, "It wasn't a vision. It was… a memory. Their memory."
Marie frowned, stepping closer. "Whose memory?"
Elias met her gaze, his eyes haunted. "The priesthood. I was there—in their temple. I felt what they felt. It was like I was him."
Marie sat beside him, her concern deepening. "Elias, this… this isn't just Malakarath showing you things. It's something more. A connection."
Elias nodded slowly, his voice trembling. "It's not just visions anymore. It's emotions and sensations. I can feel what they felt—their fear, their devotion… their pain."
Marie reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "This bond—it's getting stronger. Malakarath is trying to pull you in, to make you a part of its history."
Over the next few days, Elias struggled to make sense of the bond he shared with Malakarath. The visions continued, each one more vivid than the last. He experienced the ancient civilization's rituals through the eyes of its priesthood—saw the world as they had seen it, felt the weight of their choices, and heard the whispers of Malakarath guiding their every action.
He saw the rise of their cities, the grandeur of their temples, and the unyielding devotion of their people. But he also saw the cracks—the fear that crept into their hearts as Malakarath's demands grew. The Sleeper's influence was insidious, seeping into every aspect of their lives until nothing was left but obedience.
One memory stood out above the rest.
Elias found himself in the midst of a heated council meeting. The high priests, obscured by golden masks, argued over the rising cost of their devotion. The sacrifices were no longer enough. The seals were weakening, and Malakarath's whispers were growing louder.
"We must do more," one priest said, his voice trembling. "The Sleeper demands it."
"But at what cost?" another retorted. "Our people are dwindling. If we continue, there will be no one left to serve."
The high priest, seated at the head of the council, raised a hand for silence. "The Sleeper's will is absolute. Without its guidance, we are nothing. We will do what must be done."
Elias felt the weight of their decision—the crushing inevitability of their actions. They believed they were saving their civilization, but they were hastening its downfall.
One evening, Elias gathered Marie and Jonas in the study room. The three of them sat around the table, the tension palpable.
"I need to tell you something," Elias began, his voice unsteady. "I think… I think I've developed a psychic link with Malakarath."
Jonas raised an eyebrow. "You think?"
Elias shot him a tired look. "I'm seeing their memories—the priesthood. I'm feeling what they felt, experiencing their lives. It's like… it's like Malakarath is showing me everything it's touched."
Marie's face was pale. "Elias, this bond—it's dangerous. If Malakarath lets you see its memories, it wants you to. It's trying to manipulate you."
Jonas leaned forward, his voice sharp. "She's right. This isn't a gift, Elias. It's a trap. The more you let it in, the harder it will be to break free."
Elias shook his head, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "Don't you think I know that? But these memories—they're giving me answers. They're showing me what went wrong and how the seals failed. If I can understand what they did, I can figure out how to stop it."
Marie reached across the table, her eyes pleading. "But at what cost? Elias, this bond is changing you. I can see it. We can all see it. You have to be careful."
Elias met her gaze, his voice firm. "I don't have a choice, Marie. If this is what it takes to stop Malakarath, then so be it."
That night, Elias sat alone in the study room, memories of the priesthood swirling in his mind. He felt their fear, devotion, and ultimate surrender to Malakarath's will. And through it all, he felt the Sleeper's presence, cold and unyielding, watching him from the shadows.
"You see now," Malakarath's voice whispered in his mind. "They faltered because they were weak. But you… you are different. You understand what must be done."
Elias closed his eyes, his hands trembling. The bond was growing stronger, pulling him deeper into Malakarath's influence. He knew the risks, but he couldn't turn back now. The Sleeper held the answers he needed and was willing to pay the price to find them.