I stir the campfire's embers and watch the sparks rise into the mist. Small comforts matter here. Lynn sits nearby, knees drawn up slightly, arms folded over them, as if protecting some silent secret. Her eyes have softened since the last journey. She studies me while trying not to let me notice, and I pretend not to see. In this hush of enforced silence, every small gesture feels like a conversation.
The objects we've gathered lie before me: the amulet easing the sight of runes, the soldier's brooch, the bone token, and the parchment filled with twisted ink. In the dim light, I attempt once more to read the runes. The amulet's cool metal calms my mind, letting me discern subtle patterns. I can't understand them fully, but I see hints of purpose: instructions or rites, something that once guided souls or guarded a place of reverence. A temple's code or a knightly order's creed, perhaps. A puzzle piece, waiting for its mates.
Lynn shifts, leaning in slightly. Her hair falls over her shoulder, and she nods at the cards, as if to say: We must continue. I know. Each venture into the fragments of this world brings me closer to understanding who I was—and who I must become.
I open the leather box and shuffle the deck. The choice is never mine alone; the cards all but choose themselves. Three emerge as if lifted by invisible hands, slipping into my grasp:
Location: Inverted Cathedral Lobby.
A grand place twisted upside-down, where chandeliers hang from floors and pews cling to ceilings. A broken echo of faith, mocking or challenging my understanding.
Event: Fungal Bloom.
Bioluminescent mushrooms spreading gentle spores. They calm and stupefy foes, robbing them of aggression—but perhaps also making them unpredictable or strange.
Enemy: Siphon Witch.
A gaunt figure who steals vitality with a whisper and a gesture, draining life at a distance. Without aggression stirred by hunger or malice, what will she be under the Fungal Bloom's subtle spell?
I hold these cards, uneasy. The Inverted Cathedral Lobby promises confusion, the Fungal Bloom a surreal calm, and the Siphon Witch a silent threat. Still, if the world wants me to see this place, there must be a reason. Perhaps I'll find more clues in that twisted sanctum. Perhaps the unusual calm will let me study without constant strife.
Lynn stands. Her eyes meet mine, and I see both caution and encouragement. I rise too, sliding the cards into my pouch and gripping the axe's shaft. My arm still bears a faint ache from previous wounds, but I'm learning to live with these marks. They prove I'm not dreaming. I nod to Lynn, and we step into the mist's edge.
The transformation is seamless. One moment we stand by our fire, the next we enter a strange hall. The Inverted Cathedral Lobby stretches before us—a wide chamber that should have a vaulted ceiling above and tiled floor below, but here it's reversed. Pews and benches cling overhead, chandeliers bloom from where a floor should be, and shattered stained glass windows line the opposite end, though they appear upside-down.
I feel dizzy, my senses rebelling. Lynn steps closer, steadying me with a light hand on my shoulder. A thousand candles reflect in mirrored surfaces, giving an eerie glow to this impossible architecture. At the center of the lobby sprouts the Fungal Bloom—clusters of pale mushrooms with caps that glow faintly. Their spores drift through the air, smelling faintly of sweet rot. I breathe slowly, feeling a gentle languor seep into my limbs.
There, at the far end, stands the Siphon Witch. I expected a snarling hag or a hunched predator, but what I see is a tall, emaciated figure in tattered robes. She stands very still, one hand raised as if reaching for something lost. Her eyes gleam a dull amber. Under the influence of the spores, she does not rush to attack. Instead, she sways lightly, as if dazed. I tighten my grip on the axe, uncertain.
Lynn points silently to a section of wall—or what would be wall if the room made sense. There, I see faint carvings. They resemble the runes on my parchment, but larger and more structured. If I can study them, maybe I can piece together more meaning. But to reach them, I must pass near the Witch.
I take a careful step forward. The mushroom spores swirl, making each breath feel thick and heavy. The Witch's head turns slowly toward me, and I feel a gentle tug on my vitality, like a hand brushing the edges of my spirit. She is testing me, drawing a thread of life force without lunging. I clench my teeth and push forward, unwilling to show weakness. The amulet presses reassuringly against my chest.
As I approach, I raise my free hand, palms open, no threat implied. The Witch tilts her head, curious. The spores must cloud her aggression. Instead of shrieking or casting spells, she watches me, empty eyes flickering. I pass within arm's length, heart hammering. Lynn stays behind, ready to intervene if needed.
At the carvings, I hold the amulet close. The runes here are larger and clearer. I can see patterns that echo the parchment's script: a repeated symbol that might mean "oath" or "charge," lines that suggest protection and fealty. I remember the brooch's crossed blades beneath a shield—these runes might form the creed of an ancient order, knights sworn to guard something sacred. My chest tightens. This is my past, isn't it? I was part of something that demanded loyalty and strength.
The Witch sways closer, humming softly—a wordless tune that tugs at the edges of my mind. She draws a sliver of strength from me, and I feel my knees weaken. I mustn't let her drain too much. Gritting my teeth, I step back. She doesn't follow aggressively, just tilts her head as though puzzled.
Behind me, Lynn's quiet presence bolsters my courage. If I cannot fight without cause, maybe I can escape without violence. I've learned what I came for. The carvings confirm my suspicion: I was once a soldier-knight, sworn to protect ideals etched in runes I'm only now decoding. The Witch's indifference under these spores might be a rare mercy. I bow slightly to her, as one might acknowledge a wary creature in the wild.
I signal to Lynn. We ease away from the Fungal Bloom, careful not to stir the spores too vigorously. The Witch remains behind, humming faintly. Perhaps, in another time, she would have been a fearsome foe. Today, she is more like a half-forgotten memory drifting in a world of illusions.
As we step back, a soft crunch underfoot draws my attention to a fallen shard of stained glass. I pick it up. On it is painted a crest similar to my brooch's—two blades and a shield, rendered in faded blues and golds. Another piece of the puzzle. I tuck it away with the parchment and tokens, determined to bring these fragments together.
We find the threshold to the Eternal Campground easily this time, as if the world is growing accustomed to our comings and goings. One step and the cathedral's impossible hall vanishes. The campfire welcomes us, steady and warm.
I lean against a stump, breathing hard but victorious. Lynn comes close and reaches out, laying her hand lightly on my arm. Though no words pass, I sense her relief and pride. I learned more today—about my oathbound past and the nature of these runes. The silence persists, but it does not feel empty. We have built trust through shared trials.
As I rest, I think of the Inverted Cathedral's runes, the Witch's gentle hum, and the calm granted by those strange fungal spores. In a world where cards shape reality and memory hides in shards of glass and inked parchment, I walk forward one careful step at a time. Now I know more firmly: I walked as a knight of some order, keeper of vows and protector of what lay sacred.
I close my eyes and let the campfire's warmth ease my fatigue. Another piece of myself reclaimed, another step closer to understanding. Tomorrow I will take up the deck again, and who knows what truths will emerge from the mist next?