The floor trembled beneath them. At first, it was a faint vibration, barely distinguishable from the ever-present hum of the room. But the sensation grew stronger, sharper, until the entire chamber seemed alive with movement. Startled cries echoed off the seamless walls as the vibration intensified. People stumbled back instinctively, their movements frantic and disorganized. The air itself felt charged, heavy with static, as though the room was preparing for something monumental.
At the center of the group, the floor began to shift. A circular section, indistinguishable from the rest of the room moments before, started to rise. It moved soundlessly, emerging with an unnatural fluidity, as though the material itself was alive. Light embedded in the walls subtly adjusted, casting the dais in sharper relief. Its polished, black-stone surface gleamed under a pale, even glow, creating an otherworldly presence. The motion felt deliberate, as though the room was waking from a long slumber.
The group recoiled, scrambling backward. Some dropped to their hands and knees, while others stood frozen, their eyes wide with panic. "What is that?" someone shouted, their voice high-pitched and trembling. Another muttered a curse, raising their hands defensively as though the dais might attack. Each of them felt exposed, as though the rising platform was appraising them.
The man's breath hitched as he watched the dais rise. His heart pounded, his body tense, every instinct screaming for him to flee. Yet, his legs felt as though they were cemented in place. The vibration in the floor seemed to concentrate beneath the dais, pulsing outward in rhythmic waves that resonated in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. His mind raced with possibilities, but none of them settled into anything concrete. The sounds of the group faded into a dull murmur, muffled by the pounding of his blood in his ears.
And yet, beneath the fear, there was something else. A pull. An inexplicable compulsion emanating from the dais itself, wrapping around his thoughts and dragging them forward. As the platform completed its ascent, standing waist-high, he saw its surface unmarred except for the objects resting atop it, their presence commanding.
Eight weapons.
Seven of them were immediately visible, commanding attention with their craftsmanship and presence. A shield, polished to a mirror-like shine, emitted a faint golden aura that pulsed in time with a low, resonant hum. Its center housed a gem-like structure, seamlessly embedded as if born from the material itself. Beside it, a massive hammer rested on its side, its head etched with glowing crimson runes that vibrated with a deep, rhythmic pulse. The hammer's aura shimmered like flickering flames, its presence fiery and menacing.
A sleek sword with an impossibly fine blade balanced perfectly on its hilt. A sharp, icy blue gem embedded in its crossguard cast an ethereal glow along the blade's edge, its hum chilling and precise. Nearby stood a spear, long and elegant, its tip gleaming like a shard of starlight. A violet gem below the spearhead radiated a soft, melodic vibration that felt soothing, almost hypnotic. Then there was the axe, brutal and raw, its weight drawing the eye. Its deep green gem flickered with shadowy hues, emitting a low, growling hum. A bow and quiver of arrows lay near the edge, crafted from a dark material that absorbed light. The gem at the bow's center shimmered with a faint silver glow, its vibration almost imperceptibly soft, like a whisper.
Finally, at the center of the dais rested a set of sleek, form-fitting armor, its design both imposing and inviting. The white gem at its chest pulsed with radiant light, its hum steady and calming, as though offering reassurance amidst the chaos.
The group stared in awe and confusion, their earlier panic momentarily giving way to tense silence. But as the man stepped closer, he noticed something that had been hidden until now. Slightly apart from the rest of the weapons lay an eighth item: a pair of gauntlets. Unlike the others, they lacked immediate grandeur. They didn't shimmer or command attention with bold auras. Instead, they radiated a quiet, potent energy that seemed to wait patiently for discovery. The gems embedded on the backs of the gauntlets—one on each hand—gleamed faintly, their light subtle yet undeniable. They pulsed gently, as though aware of his presence.
His breath quickened, his hands trembling as he fought the tide of emotions rising within him. There was fear, yes, but it wasn't fear of the dais or the weapons. It was something deeper, primal, a terror that seemed to bubble up from within rather than from his surroundings. And yet, even as his pulse raced and his chest tightened, he felt an undeniable pull toward the gauntlets.
The others whispered nervously, their voices blending with the hum of the room. "Why is it glowing?" someone asked. "Don't touch it," another said, their voice tinged with alarm. The group exchanged wary glances, their fear palpable. They muttered about the danger of touching anything, as though the weapons were sacred or forbidden. "What's he doing?" a woman whispered. "Why is he going toward it?"
He had no answer for them. He didn't even have one for himself. All he knew was that he couldn't stop. Each step brought him closer to the dais, closer to the gauntlets, closer to something unnameable yet certain. His hand twitched at his side, fingers curling involuntarily as though preparing for what was to come.
When he reached the dais, his gaze settled on the gauntlets. They were smaller and less ornate than the other weapons, yet their design was flawless, the metal impossibly smooth and streamlined. The gems embedded in them pulsed faintly, shifting hues like trapped light. His fingers hovered over them, his fear giving way to acceptance—or perhaps inevitability.
The moment he touched them, the room shifted. The vibration in the floor surged, resonating through his body and settling deep in his chest. The gauntlets responded immediately. Segmented plates unfolded along their surface with fluid precision, extending from his fists to his elbows. They adjusted seamlessly to his arms, the inner surfaces cool yet pulsing with an organic warmth. The hum of the weapons grew louder, merging with the rhythm of his heartbeat.
He lifted the gauntlets from the dais. Their weight surprised him—light, almost weightless, yet solid and grounding. They fit perfectly, the edges sealing around his wrists as though they were alive. For the first time since waking, the pull that had driven him forward vanished, replaced by an eerie calm. It settled over him like a heavy cloak, silencing the chaos within.
Behind him, the murmurs of the group rose again, tinged with renewed panic. But he didn't hear them. His focus was entirely on the gauntlets. As he slid them on fully, they hummed faintly, aligning with his movements as though they had always been part of him. Each plate gleamed under the soft light, their design intricate yet impossibly sleek. He flexed his fingers experimentally, feeling a surge of energy ripple through his arms.
For the first time since waking, he felt... whole.
He turned slowly, his gaze sweeping over the stunned faces of the others. They stared back with a mixture of fear and awe, their confusion mirrored in their wide eyes. But he didn't speak, didn't try to explain what he couldn't fully understand himself. Instead, he let his hands fall to his sides, the gauntlets humming softly.
And as he stood there, their rhythm matching his heartbeat, a peculiar clarity settled over him. It felt like a half-remembered dream, a scene he had watched in a movie but couldn't quite place. He instinctively knew what to do, even if he couldn't explain why. The tension in the room hung thick, but one thought rose unbidden in his mind:
This was just the beginning.