[Welcome to the Fable: World in Eternal Black]
[World Level: Memory]
Ronan's senses were assaulted by an abrupt shift in the air, a sudden tension that clung to the space like a heavy fog. The world around him felt... wrong.
The ground beneath his boots was no longer the smooth, cool stone of the academy's underground passage. Instead, the earth was soft, damp, and uneven, as though it hadn't felt the warmth of sunlight in centuries.
His instincts screamed to find the thief, but as he spun around, the darkness greeted him—impenetrable, endless.
There was no sky above him. No stars, no moon, not even the faintest glimmer of light from beyond the horizon. The heavens had been swallowed whole by a deep, oppressive blackness that stretched endlessly in every direction.
The air, thick and stagnant, felt as though it were holding its breath, too heavy for the lungs.
A shiver ran down Ronan's spine, unease crawling across his skin.
He looked around, trying to adjust to the dim, otherworldly light that seemed to bleed from nowhere and everywhere at once. His surroundings began to take shape—ruins, though so ancient they could have been lost to time itself.
He stood amidst what appeared to be a village, though it was unlike any place he had seen before.
The buildings were made of cobblestone, their once-proud structures now sagging and broken. Crumbled wooden beams jutted out like the skeletal remains of something long past. The roofs had caved in, and the windows were shattered, jagged edges like teeth from a beast's maw.
Doors hung loosely on their hinges, rattling faintly in the unnatural wind, giving the place an unsettling, ghostly feel.
Silence dominated the scene. There were no voices, no scurrying of animals, no rustle of leaves. The very air seemed to press down on him with the weight of ages, suffocating in its stillness.
It was as if this place had been abandoned long before Ronan was ever born—forgotten by time itself.
Ronan took a careful step forward, his boots clicking softly against the uneven cobblestones. The sound of his footfalls felt unnaturally loud in the silence, amplifying his own heartbeat.
The air was thick with decay—mildew, damp earth, and the faint scent of something long dead.
The streets wound in strange, looping patterns, no end or beginning in sight, just a maze of crumbling stone and shadow.
'What is this place?'
Ronan thought to himself, though he wasn't expecting an answer. The only response was the whisper of wind through shattered windows and the soft groan of buildings settling in their ruin.
'This should be the world inside the fable that the professor had mentioned...'
He continued walking, his eyes scanning the forsaken village. One door creaked as he nudged it open, the musty smell of rot filling his nostrils. Inside, the remnants of a long-forgotten home lay frozen in time.
A fireplace, long cold, sat at the far wall, and dusty furniture lay in disarray as if someone had been interrupted mid-activity. Old candles, their wax now brittle and hollow, littered the space, remnants of a time when light and warmth might have still reached these forsaken walls.
Breathing in the damp, musty air, Ronan couldn't suppress the furrowing of his brow. His hand rested against the crumbling stone wall, his fingers tracing the rough texture as if searching for some clue, some answer hidden in the dust.
The stone was cold and worn, its surface chipped and scarred by time. Dust clung to his skin, the years of abandonment evident in every crevice.
Yet, despite the decay, something was off. The air was thick with age, but there was an odd, faint glow—barely perceptible, yet undeniably present.
'An abandoned village?' Ronan thought to himself.
'No sources of light… yet I can still see... faintly.'
He squinted, trying to pinpoint the source of the luminescence. There was no obvious fire, no flickering lanterns or torches.
Yet the air itself seemed to shimmer in a soft, ethereal light, an unnatural glow that clung to the walls and the air like a forgotten secret.
Ronan moved cautiously, stepping lightly over the uneven cobblestones, each footfall barely a whisper. He didn't want to disturb anything—didn't want to attract attention from whatever might be lurking in the shadows.
His instincts were on edge, his senses stretched to their limits as his mind raced for any explanation.
As he passed through the narrow corridors, he slipped through the debris of forgotten lives—old furniture, decayed belongings, relics of a time long past. His fingers brushed against a small wooden table, its legs warped and uneven.
He glanced down to see an old, cracked porcelain cup, its delicate handle chipped as if it had been dropped in haste. Beside it, an empty shelf lay covered in a thin layer of dust, the surface marred by the imprint of something that had once been placed there—perhaps a book or a trinket long forgotten.
He moved on, his footsteps light, almost tentative as if the village might spring to life at any moment. The next room he entered was darker still, the light seemingly thinning out the further he went, but that same strange luminescence persisted.
A rocking chair sat in the corner, rocking ever so slightly, though no breeze stirred the air.
'Nothing like an unsettling creak to remind me how much I hate places like this,' he thought, eyes narrowing as he glanced at the chair.
'It would be just my luck if it started moving on its own.'
Ronan turned his attention to a tapestry hanging from the wall. It was faded, torn in places, and seemed barely attached to the stone. The figures depicted on it were nearly unrecognizable, as though time itself had tried to erase them.
As he moved deeper, he stepped lightly over a few old belongings—a set of broken picture frames and a few discarded objects that might once have had meaning. A single boot sat beside an overturned dresser, the leather cracked and stiff, the stitching worn.
'It looks as though someone was rushing to leave...'
He thought, crouching down to examine the boot.
'You'd never leave a single shoe behind unless you were in a rush—or something chased you out.'
Ronan straightened, his eyes scanning the abandoned home. There were more things—a half-open drawer in the dresser, revealing the remnants of worn clothes.
He lifted the lid of the drawer, and the stale scent of fabric mixed with the musty air around him. Inside, tattered shirts, worn trousers, and a frayed scarf lay, as if they'd been hastily discarded after years of use.
'Could've been a farmer. Or maybe someone who once had a family,' Ronan mused.
In the corner, a small, warped journal lay open on the floor. Its leather cover was cracked, the pages yellowed with age, and the ink bled out in streaks, rendering it unreadable.
'Can't even read this. Probably someone's last thoughts... or a record of their failure.' Ronan's fingers lingered over the cover for a moment.
'If it was important, they'd have taken it with them, wouldn't they?'
He sighed softly, pushing the journal aside. It wasn't useful, and there was no point lingering here too long. Yet, his eyes flicked over a tarnished candlestick on the shelf beside the journal. It was missing its wick, the metal corroded and dull.
'Candles. Why would you leave a candle behind?' Ronan's thoughts churned. 'It's not like this place was abandoned last week. How long have these things been here?'
As Ronan continued stepping cautiously over the old floorboards, one of his feet suddenly sank a little too deep, catching on a loose plank.
CRUNCH.
He froze, listening to the sound of the wood groaning under pressure. His gaze shifted down, only to find an odd glowing stone wedged beneath his boot. The faint light it emitted was eerily similar to the odd luminescence that filled the rest of the village.
"Is this what's causing the glow around here?" Ronan mused quietly to himself.
"Does it even make sense? A stone that lights up without any visible source of power..."
He crouched down, lifting the stone to eye level, his fingers brushing lightly over its surface. The stone was smooth, almost unnaturally so, with an ethereal glow that pulsed like it had a heartbeat of its own.
He studied it for a moment, but something else caught his attention—a faint glow spilling from the corner of the room.
His instincts kicking in, Ronan moved toward the source, lifting the stone higher, the glow casting long shadows across the cracked walls.
As he approached the wall, his eyes narrowed. His breath caught in his throat as he traced the faint symbols carved into the surface.
He pressed the stone against the wall, and as if guided by some strange force, the glowing stone seemed to react, revealing more of the writing.
The symbols were unlike anything Ronan had ever seen, their forms alien and impossible to place. Yet, as his eyes traced the markings, something strange happened—each symbol seemed to shift in his mind, instantly translating into words he could understand.
A shiver ran down his spine.
The message echoed in his head, clear and unsettling:
"Everywhere I look, they always seem to be watching me."