With each step, the guards carried me deeper into the pyramid, the air growing damp and heavy with the pungent scent of decay. As we ventured further into this labyrinthine structure, it felt as though we were crossing the threshold into a forgotten world—one lost to the annals of time. The light artifacts lining the tunnels, which had once emitted a steady glow, seemed dimmer, their radiance fading the deeper we descended.
Finally, we arrived at what appeared to be the tunnel's end: a vast chamber shrouded in darkness. At its center loomed an imposing stone door, its towering surface adorned with intricate runic patterns.
I recognized them instantly as reinforcing runes, the kind that frequently adorned the walls back home. The study of such intricate patterns was infamously challenging—a pursuit reserved for those whose Pathway aligned with the complexity and precision they demanded. To me, they were an enigma, recognizable only because of their distinctive design: a central diamond fractured into four equal quadrants, each inscribed with miniature geometric symbols, all encased within a double-layered circle. The outer circle was etched with jagged lines resembling cracks, while the inner circle glowed faintly, pulsating as the ambient aetheric energy flowed through it.
Two of the eight guards stepped forward, their towering forms silhouetted against the faint light. They pressed their shoulders into the ancient doors, straining their muscles to push them open. The doors groaned in protest, their immense weight resisting even the combined strength of the guards.
Slowly, inch by inch, the stone door began to move, revealing a dark, yawning void beyond.
The remaining guards carried me into the cavernous chamber and placed me in its center. The room was bathed in darkness, with only faint streams of light filtering through the narrow crack of the massive stone door behind us, casting dim, uneven patterns across the floor.
One by one, the guards moved with practiced precision, lowering heavy chains from the ceiling. Two others retrieved similar restraints from the ground, their metallic clinks echoing in the silence. The golden links glimmered faintly in the dim light, a stark contrast to the dark atmosphere.
Then with a deliberate and almost ritualistic care, they unclamped the golden bindings that had held me to the chair.
Their movements being both methodical, yet fast.
Then, without hesitation, they fastened the chains. The cuffs were cold and unyielding, biting into my skin as they secured my arms and legs one by one. I felt the weight of the metal pressed down onto my flesh, tightening until there was no room to move, no space to resist.
Then they left, the sound of their heavy boots fading into the distance. The door was left slightly ajar, allowing a sliver of light to spill into the room. Minutes passed, each one dragging like an eternity, until the elderly woman who had sentenced me to this fate stepped through the narrow opening.
She looked frailer than before, her once commanding presence diminished in this dark room. It was as though the weight of my sentencing had taken its toll on her, deepening the lines on her face and making her appear even older.
Her steps were slow, almost hesitant, as she moved into the dim light of my new prison.
I wrestled against the chains that bound me, each clink of the metal echoing in the oppressive silence. My movements were restricted, the unyielding pull of the chains keeping me firmly in place, no matter how much I strained against them.
I tried to speak, to plead, to demand an explanation—but nothing came. My voice, like my freedom, had been taken from me.
Once again, I was left voiceless, defenceless, with no way to argue my innocence, even if I had the words to do so.
I finally gave up, the struggle proving as futile as I had feared. These chains anchored me to the room with the same inescapable finality as gravity binding primitive societies to the confines of their home planet.
So I just stood there in silent defeat.
"All men are created equal—that is the belief our society has upheld for epochs," she said, her voice calm but firm. "An ideal we hold dear, one that has shaped the foundation of our culture. Yet, in truth, not all are equal. Some are born with a purpose greater than others, their place in the cosmic order more significant."
"The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were something else. Something special. As you grew, so did your powers—powers that sent waves of fear through both allies and enemies alike. These weren't powers meant for humans, especially not for a mere boy. But you? You burned brighter than the stars themselves. Yet, like the brightest star, you seemed to burn out under the weight of your own abilities."
Her voice grew heavier, tinged with regret. "Which has sadly brought us to this moment."
"I wish I had been there for you in your moment of need. If only I had seen the signs sooner... Maybe things could have turned out differently. I searched tirelessly for evidence to support your claims—I wanted to believe you. But I found nothing. And in the end, I had to make the hardest decision."
Her voice trembled, growing heavier with sorrow. "Many are unhappy with my choice. Some even wanted you…"
Her words faltered, and a tear slid down her cheek. "It's not right for a mother to outlive her son."
Her breath hitched, and she paused for a moment, her shoulders trembling under the weight of her words. "Some say I went easy on your punishment, but the truth is... this is worse. I couldn't let you go. I couldn't face the reality of losing you. So, I condemned you to a fate worse than death—to keep you close, even in your suffering."
She took a deep, shaky breath. "I realize now that I failed you in so many ways, and it's too late to right the wrongs. Just know... I still love you."
With that, she turned away, her footsteps echoing in the stillness.
A loud bang echoed through the chamber as the door slammed shut, taking away the faint light that had barely illuminated my prison, leaving me in a suffocating, pitch-black void.
I wrestled with the chains, but it was a futile effort. They clung to me like an unyielding grip, refusing to relent no matter how much I struggled. I could feel the flesh beneath them growing raw, the relentless friction only deepening my frustration as each attempt to free myself proved fruitless.
The sharp tang of iron filled the air, a constant reminder of my confinement as the chains gripped tighter and tighter around my limbs. Each attempt to struggle only seemed to provoke them further until they pulled so tight that I was left immobilized, every inch of my body locked in an unyielding vice with no room for even the most minor movement.
Locked away in this suffocating darkness, I felt truly hopeless. The dreams I once held for my future were swallowed by fear, and my resolve eroded, by the very chains that bound me.
I let my emotions spiral out of control, no longer caring to rein them in. The situation felt utterly hopeless. Tears streamed down my face until there were none left to shed, and my fury flared briefly—only to flicker out like the final gusts of a dying storm.
I prayed to Aurea as I never had before, desperately seeking guidance or even the faintest glimmer of hope within this dreary prison. But there was no answer, no sign. Nothing.
Deep down, I had always been somewhat of a heretic. For reasons I couldn't fully grasp, we clung to the belief in gods despite their absence, worshiping unseen figures whose presence had never truly been felt.
So, as the silence stretched on, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of shame. Praying now in the face of despair felt like a cop-out like I was betraying my own skepticism.
And it wasn't something I was proud of.
Even if the gods were indeed real, why would they answer the call of someone who only turned to them when it was convenient?
Someone whose faith flickered only in the shadows of desperation.