"This… this is the same as the painting outside the castle! How can it appear here?" Michael stared at the parchment in stunned disbelief. The sweat from his clammy hands had seeped into the paper, and sure enough, the faint outlines of an image began to emerge.
The picture depicted a group of masked figures seated in a circle, their ominous cloaks draped like shadows. At the center of the gathering, flames flickered upward, consuming the remains of what appeared to be plague-stricken bodies. One of the masked figures was bent over, scribbling something on the ground.
"What's he writing? Turn the page!" He fidgeted unconsciously, his hand brushing against his forehead—now bare without the familiar headscarf he usually wore to cover his receding hairline. For a brief moment, his self-consciousness distracted him, but the curiosity burning in his chest quickly brought his focus back to the parchment.
The group leaned closer as the sweat-soaked parchment began revealing words on its second page, the faded ink slowly coming to life:
"Only the worthy shall leave, only the clever can cure it all."
"'Only the worthy can leave this place. Only the clever can cure it all.'" Michael read aloud, his voice tinged with confusion. "What does that even mean?"
The room fell into a tense silence. The group exchanged uneasy glances, their gazes finally settling on Orion. The sudden shift of attention made him stiffen, an awkward laugh escaping his lips.
"Why are you all looking at me? I don't know what it means either!" Orion protested, though his voice wavered slightly. Still, his mind raced, trying to piece together the cryptic words.
Before anyone could respond, a sudden bang echoed through the room, shattering the stillness.
"What was that? An earthquake?" Naima yelped, instinctively stepping back and clutching Thomson's arm. Her wide, startled eyes darted toward the source of the noise.
"Don't worry. Stay behind me. I've got you," Thomson said, puffing out his chest and spreading his arms protectively. The confident tone in his voice only slightly masked the unease simmering beneath his calm demeanor.
All eyes turned to the red gemstone embedded in the wall. Flames burst forth from its center, twisting upward like a living torch. The fire grew brighter and more intense with each passing moment, its light casting flickering shadows across their pale, anxious faces.
Orion took a cautious step forward, his gaze fixed on the flames. He glanced briefly at Professor Elton, who stood silently to one side, his expression unreadable. For a fleeting moment, their eyes met, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. A small smile curled at the corner of Elton's lips.
"I think I understand now," Orion said, his voice steady but tinged with awe. "This castle—this place—is where the plague happened. It's all connected. And that gemstone… it represents the fire from the painting."
Orion's words hung in the air, sinking into the minds of the group. Slowly, their expressions shifted from confusion to realization.
"Wait," Michael muttered, stepping closer, "you mean this—"
"Yes," Orion cut him off, crouching down to examine the parchment again. His movements were hurried but purposeful, like a man chasing the tail end of a revelation. "It's all written here."
The others scrambled to his side, their collective curiosity pulling them into a tight circle around the parchment.
"You see this?" Orion said, his finger tracing the newly appeared text. "It's listing all of us—our roles, our identities. It's describing us."
The Fool: "Break free from the shackles within, release the bindings, and only then may you seek sanctity."
Beneath the text, an image depicts a criminal kneeling on the ground, his hands tied to a gallows. His expression is twisted with anguish, his inner turmoil and fear written clearly across his face.
Strength: "The primal force can shatter all things. It must not be unused, nor must it be abused."
Below the words is the image of a strongman struggling to lift a massive boulder. An unseen hand above the stone is adding more weight, layer by layer, though the man cannot see what looms overhead. He strains every muscle in his body, determined to keep holding the weight aloft.
Judgment: "Profound wisdom unlocks divine decrees. But brilliance unchecked invites ruin; words unguarded sow defeat."
Elton studied the image beneath the text: a white-bearded elder engrossed in a game of Go. His opponent? The heavens themselves. The elder's face bore the sharp focus of one locked in a celestial struggle, aiming to win even the smallest advantage against fate itself.
Death: "The keeper of life and death wields the token that seals destinies."
Halia's gaze lingered on the illustration below. A figure cloaked in black, donning the face of death itself, clutched a life-and-death token in one skeletal hand. Before him lay a mountain of skulls, a grim testament to his power over mortality.
Seducer : "Throughout history, beauty has been a double-edged sword. Heroes fall where allure reigns supreme."
Naima's breath caught as her eyes swept over the hauntingly captivating image. A breathtakingly seductive woman reclined on an opulent, golden bed, her radiant beauty marred only by the fox tail curling from beneath her robe. Around her, bewitched men knelt as if bound by an unspoken spell, their devotion absolute, their free will extinguished.
"Traversing countless mountains and rivers, all in pursuit of the ultimate cure."
Ethan peered at the image beneath the words. A lone doctor, carrying a satchel of herbs, trudged through rugged terrain under a sky heavy with despair. His steps were unyielding as he scoured the earth in search of a cure for the Black Plague.
Knight :"Even the tiniest moss flower can bloom as brilliantly as a peony."
Solara examined the image: a delicate moss flower, no bigger than a grain of rice, straining against the unyielding weight of the soil above. Its fragile stem stretched skyward, a testament to resilience and quiet triumph.
Sage:"Lay down the blade and enlightenment shall follow."
Orion's attention fixed on the image of a Buddhist monk seated cross-legged beneath a sacred tree. The monk held an ancient scripture in his hand, his expression serene as the wind carried whispers of enlightenment. As the breeze touched him, his form shimmered, transforming into a golden, incorruptible figure—eternal and unyielding.
The eight individuals silently absorbed the identities laid out before them, each inwardly processing the significance of their assigned role. Orion's gaze lingered a moment longer before he turned, suddenly realizing something—or rather, someone—was missing.
"Where's Granna?" His voice cut through the stillness, breaking the fragile quiet. Something gnawed at him, an unsettling sensation that he couldn't shake.
Elton, the professor, frowned in thought, the dim firelight sharpening the lines of his face. Orion continued, his voice low and measured, "Have you noticed something… off about this place? It looks the same, but it feels wrong. Ever since that fire appeared..." His words trailed off, as if the very air in the room thickened around him.
Michael, rubbing the goosebumps prickling his arms, chimed in, "You're not wrong, pretty boy. It's colder in here. Way colder." He glanced nervously at the flickering ruby flame, his usual bravado replaced with unease. "And what's with this damn chill?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying," Orion muttered, his sharp eyes scanning the room. He set the parchment down, his movements deliberate, and rose to his feet. His footsteps echoed faintly as he approached the glowing gem at the room's center. "I think… I think this isn't the same castle we first entered."
The others exchanged uneasy glances, and Elton stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "What are you suggesting, Orion?"
"Look at the floor," Orion said, his tone urgent but restrained. He pointed at the intricate star chart etched into the stone beneath their feet. "When we came in, the Capricorn sigil was facing forward, toward the entrance. Now look—it's reversed, pointing the other way. Something's shifted."
He straightened, locking eyes with Elton. His voice dropped, tinged with trepidation. "And Granna... she's not here. That doesn't feel like a coincidence."
The professor's gaze followed Orion's, his expression darkening. "Are you suggesting—"
"I think," Orion interrupted, his voice faltering just enough to betray his uncertainty, "I think we're in some kind of… virtual space." His words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. He turned to face the others, his jaw tightening. "But I can't be sure… not yet."
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint crackle of the ruby flame, its glow casting shifting shadows across their faces. The air felt heavy with dread, as if the castle itself was holding its breath.