Early Morning, a Family Estate in Nelson Township
In the early morning, a gossamer mist enveloped the family estate in the South Island, with sunlight filtering through the leaves of silver ferns, casting dappled patterns on the ground. The air carried the earthy scent of soil, damp grass, and the refreshing aroma of a distant lake. Janet walked slowly along a path paved with New Zealand slate, her shoes brushing against moss and producing a faint scraping sound, as if the entire estate awaited her arrival.
In the distance, the lake mirrored the towering silhouette of the Southern Alps. Its surface rippled gently in the morning breeze, occasionally accompanied by birdsong and the low bleating of sheep, breaking the tranquil silence. Janet's fingers brushed against the rough bark of a century-old tree beside her. Closing her eyes, she felt the pulse of the earth beneath her.
At that moment, a deep vibration rose from the ground beneath her feet, like an invisible wave coursing through her spine and spreading to her limbs. It seemed to call to her.
"Do you feel it?" her grandmother's voice came from behind, low and resonant with power.
Janet turned to see her grandmother standing in the morning light. She leaned on a carved wooden staff adorned with intricate Māori totems, as though it told the stories of the land. Her eyes were clear, brimming with piercing wisdom, while the wrinkles on her face resembled a canvas etched with the passage of time.
"What is this power?" Janet asked softly, a trace of unease in her voice.
Her grandmother's gaze drifted toward the distant lake. Slowly, she replied, "It's the call of the Sigil. It has sensed your presence and your inner struggle. The fact that you can hear its voice is both your gift and your burden."
The two continued walking into the depths of the forest, where the slate path gradually gave way to soft, damp earth. The air grew heavier with the scent of mint and sandalwood. In the distance, an ancient stone gate came into view, its surface etched with a blend of Daoist symbols and Māori totems, as though two vastly different cultures converged here.
Her grandmother stopped and turned to Janet, her tone imbued with solemnity. "The power of the Sigil is never meant to provide answers; it is meant to confront choices. It is both the guardian of balance and the lure of chaos. Its purpose is not to help us understand the world, but to teach us how to face ourselves."
Janet lowered her head in thought, her fingers unconsciously caressing the jade pendant at her waist. Her grandmother continued, "Behind this gate lies the Sigil's original secret. It is also what you must truly face. Remember, power cannot answer everything, but it will show you what is worth the price you must pay."
She turned toward the stone gate and gently tapped the carved sigils with her staff. The symbols began to emit a soft glow, and the gate slowly opened, revealing a corridor leading underground.
Mike's Plan
The Manor's Living Room
As evening descended, Mike sat on a wooden sofa in the manor's living room, leafing through the manuscript in his hands. The flames in the fireplace danced, casting a warm glow over the Māori-patterned wool rug. Outside, the setting sun bathed the lush lawn and distant hills in golden light, the fiery sky seemingly foreshadowing what was to come.
The fruit platter on the coffee table exuded the sweet aroma of kiwifruit and goldens, but Mike had no time to indulge. His gaze lingered on a passage in the manuscript:
"When the Sigil awakens, it amplifies everything—hope and fear, balance and chaos. It does not provide answers; it merely guides destiny."
The sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. The butler appeared, respectfully handing him an invitation. "Mr. Mike, the family gathering tonight—Madam wishes for your attendance."
Mike took the invitation, studying its text and design. The paper bore the texture of age, its edges faintly yellowed. At the center was a complex sigil, identical to the mark on his chest.
"It seems the Madam has great faith in me," Mike said with a slight smile, his tone tinged with curiosity.
"She believes you share a unique connection with this land," the butler replied, his gaze momentarily enigmatic. "Perhaps tonight's gathering will answer some of your questions."
After the butler left, Mike leaned back on the sofa, his eyes drifting toward the depths of the forest visible through the floor-to-ceiling window. His mind raced: if this gathering could truly uncover the Sigil's secrets, it would be the key to understanding his predicament. Yet he also sensed that this might be an adventure from which there would be no return.
Closing the manuscript, he murmured to himself, "Whatever the answer may be, I have to find out."
The Underground Passage and the Altar
Janet followed her grandmother into the underground passage, its walls adorned with murals chronicling the history of their family. The illustrations depicted the origin of the Sigil:
The Sigil's Discovery: Centuries ago, a family ancestor discovered a piece of amber radiating golden light deep within the South Island. Encased within it was a partially closed "eye." The Power of the Sigil: The ancestor brought the amber back to the manor, only to find it capable of guiding fate but also sowing chaos. A ritual gone awry devastated the entire valley, leaving only the manor unscathed. The Family's Mission: From then on, the family bore the responsibility of guarding the Sigil, sealing its power with charms and an altar, awaiting the right person to unravel its mysteries.
At the end of the passage stood a massive stone door. Janet's grandmother retrieved a talisman and pressed it onto the center of the door, chanting an incantation. The talisman emitted a golden light, and the door slowly opened, revealing a vast underground space with an altar at its center.
The altar's stone platform appeared to grow naturally from the earth's depths. Its surface, smooth yet weathered, was carved with intricately intertwined sigils, resembling the pulse of the planet etched over eons. Suspended above the altar was a massive piece of amber, its transparent golden hue glowing vividly in the dim blue ambiance.
Inside the amber, a single "eye" rested, its glassy surface glinting with an almost crystalline quality. Within the iris swirled an energy that seemed alive. The eye opened slightly, emitting a soft yet profound light that flowed through the space like a living entity. It seemed to observe, to call, to evoke a sense of awe and unease, making it impossible to look away.
The sigils on the walls began to resonate, emitting a faint blue glow. These blue pulses, like rhythmic heartbeats, intertwined with the amber's golden light, creating an eerie yet harmonious tableau. The blue light coursed along the walls and into the ground, forming a vast network like veins in a living body. Each pulse carried a low, resonant thrum, shaking the very core of anyone who stood within.
The air was thick with the mingled scents of pine, metal, and freshly turned earth, a lingering echo of the collision between nature and the spiritual. Occasionally, faint flashes of light shimmered within the amber, as if countless stars were being born and extinguished within, evoking the vast origins of the cosmos.
The golden light from the amber caressed Janet's face, its warmth like an invisible hand gently knocking on the door to her soul. With each step closer to the altar, her chest burned more intensely, as though the Sigil within her yearned to merge with the power encased in the amber.
A faint breeze seemed to arise from nowhere, skimming the edges of the stone platform and carrying with it barely audible whispers. These murmurs, like fragments of voices from another dimension, were laden with emotions—grief, rage, compassion, longing. They tugged at Janet's soul, pulling her toward an endless abyss and lifting her to unattainable heights simultaneously.
"This… it feels alive," Janet whispered, her voice trembling with reverence.
Her grandmother stood behind her, her gaze steady. "It is not just alive; it is the deepest observer of the world. What you see is not merely the Sigil, but the echoes from the depths of destiny itself."
At that moment, the "eye" within the amber trembled as if acknowledging her grandmother's words. A beam of golden light shot from it to the altar, illuminating the space like an ocean at sunrise. Within the golden brilliance, the pulsating rhythm of the sigils and blue light quickened, creating a symphony that resonated between Janet's mind and the cosmos, shaking her to her core.
She clenched her fists, feeling an inescapable power engulf her—a power that seemed to probe and guide her simultaneously.
Her grandmother's voice turned low and distant, as if echoing from beyond time: "Janet, this is no mere altar. It is a convergence point for the currents of destiny. It can create or destroy. Every soul that stands here is forced to confront the truth within themselves."
In that moment, Janet felt her world laid bare. Both the Sigil in her chest and the amber before her seemed to pull her toward an inevitable revelation she could neither escape nor ignore.