Ronan's blood ran cold as he realized the murmurs were in a language he didn't know, yet the words translated themselves in his mind as if whispered directly into his thoughts.
He fought to keep his breathing steady, resisting the urge to bolt.
Just as he neared the gap in the wall, the figure suddenly stood up, its elongated limbs stretching unnaturally, and turned its head toward his direction.
Ronan froze, his heart pounding so hard it felt as though it would burst.
'He can't see very well?'
Ronan thought, noticing the figure's head tilting as if trying to locate him. The realization sparked an idea.
Concentrating, he activated [Whisper].
Sending a faint, phantom sound to the opposite corner of the room. The sound mimicked the soft scuff of footsteps, subtle yet enough to draw attention.
"I'm over here..."
The figure twitched violently, its glowing lines flickering erratically, before it turned toward the noise.
With a sudden, jerky motion, it launched itself upward, vanishing through the broken roof in a flurry of unnatural speed.
Ronan exhaled shakily, his legs trembling as he struggled to regain composure.
'That was too close.'
He muttered in his mind, gripping his makeshift weapon tighter as he cautiously approached the window once more.
Just as he was about to step through the opening, his foot landed on something brittle and papery.
Looking down, he noticed an old, weathered piece of paper, its edges frayed and yellowed with age.
Intrigued, he bent down to pick it up, brushing off the fine layer of dust that clung to its surface. The paper bore a written language he couldn't recognize, but as he stared at the text, the words began to translate in his mind as though whispered directly into his thoughts.
"To all survivors, head east," it read.
Ronan's grip tightened on the paper, his breath catching in his throat.
'East?' he wondered, his mind racing with the possibilities.
As he turned the fragile paper over, more writing revealed itself on the back, written in the same strange language that automatically translated in his head.
"Dear Padre Bernet,
From the letters I've sent you before, I am now even more certain that this world is ending. The signs are everywhere—the sky fractures, the earth quakes, and the shadows grow restless. If you are alive, please head to Dusknest with any survivors from your village. Follow the direction of the curving trees, for they will lead you to safety. May the gods forgive us for what we have unleashed."
Ronan's chest tightened as he read the ominous letter. "From the letters I've sent you before," he murmured, the phrase sticking in his mind.
That meant this wasn't the only letter—there were likely more scattered around.
Each one might hold pieces of the puzzle, clues about what had happened here, or even how to survive.
Driven by this thought, he scanned the room, his eyes darting over the debris and forgotten relics.
He began searching with renewed urgency, overturning broken furniture, brushing aside layers of dust, and sifting through piles of rubble. The silence pressed in on him as he worked, broken only by the soft rustling of his movements.
After what felt like an eternity, Ronan's trembling fingers finally brushed against something solid, hidden beneath the heavy weight of a fallen beam.
With a grunt, he managed to pull it free, the debris clattering to the ground with a soft thud.
What he held in his hands was a worn, leather-bound book, its cover marred with deep scratches and the distinct marks of age and neglect. It looked out of place in this ruined world, like a forgotten relic from another time.
With a sense of unease creeping up his spine, Ronan carefully flipped open the book. The first page was yellowed, the paper fragile under his touch.
He could barely make out the faded scrawl that marred its surface. The handwriting was jagged, as if the author had written in haste, perhaps under duress.
His heart skipped a beat as he read the first entry:
"Entry 1. Something strange has been happening lately. I was praying one night, and suddenly, I found I couldn't remember my God's name. It was as if the word slipped from my mind, vanished without a trace. I tried to dismiss it as a fleeting moment, a trick of my tired mind, but this has happened too many times now. It's starting to unsettle me."
The words seemed to echo in the stillness of the room, each letter heavier than the last. Ronan felt a chill creep down his spine, a subtle yet growing sense of dread.
The next line of the entry, however, was even more chilling.
"I am writing my God's name here, just in case I forget again. His name is..."
Before the sentence could finish, a dark smudge marred the paper, splattering across the ink and obscuring the name. Ronan's brow furrowed as he traced the blot with his finger, feeling a knot form in his stomach.
There was something wrong with the very essence of this place, something that disturbed him deeply.
He turned the page with a shaky hand, unable to stop himself from reading more.
The second entry began, but this one was different—more frantic, more aware of the growing strangeness in the world around the writer.
"Entry 2. My earlier suspicions were right. There is something wrong, not just with me, but with the whole village. I remembered there being a massive bronze statue in the park, a monument that stood as a symbol of pride for our people. But one night, it was gone—vanished without a trace. And the most disturbing part? No one seemed to notice. Not the villagers, not even me, until I began to reflect on it. It's as if we all collectively forgot it was ever there."
The words were strange—almost detached. Ronan's pulse quickened as he read further.
"As I write this, I can't even bring myself to feel that it's strange anymore. It doesn't feel out of place. It feels... normal. But I know, Padre, that I am only writing it down because that is what I do. You know how I am. I always write everything down, even the most trivial things. But this... This isn't trivial."
Ronan closed his eyes for a moment, his breath shallow. The eerie calm in the writer's tone sent an unsettling ripple through him. There was something more to this than just the disappearance of a statue.
He didn't dare comment on the entries, not yet. With a sense of urgency, he flipped through the remaining pages, his eyes scanning for any more clues. His fingers trembled as they brushed against the delicate pages.