The Door of Promise
At long last, Xarath stood before the great stone door. It was massive, towering over him like an ancient sentinel. The intricate runes carved into its surface seemed alive, pulsing faintly with an eerie, rhythmic light. The air around it was thick with power, heavy and oppressive, but to Xarath, it was a beacon of hope.
His heart swelled with relief, and despite his battered body and near-crippling exhaustion, a smile tugged at his lips. He let out a shaky laugh, his voice raw from days of silence and strain.
"I made it," he whispered, the words feeling both surreal and triumphant. "After everything… I made it."
The faint, golden glow of the final healing potion coursed through his veins, keeping him upright. He felt as though every step had drained his very soul, every trap and trial testing not just his body but his resolve. Yet here he was, standing on the threshold of victory.
Xarath took a step forward, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch the door.
The Final Trap
The moment his fingers brushed against the cold stone, the air shifted. A faint click echoed through the chamber, barely audible over the sound of his ragged breathing. Xarath froze, his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach.
No. No, not now.
He tried to pull back, but it was too late.
The runes on the door flared with a blinding light, and a blade shot out from the side, swift and merciless. It sliced through the air with a deadly hum, too fast for Xarath to react.
There was no pain, no time to even register what had happened. One moment, Xarath was standing; the next, his headless body collapsed to its knees. His lifeless hand remained outstretched, fingers brushing the surface of the door as though in a final act of defiance.
The chamber fell silent once more.
The Merchant's Disappointment
Far away, in a hidden corner of the world, the mysterious merchant sat in quiet observation. Before them hovered a shimmering orb, its surface displaying Xarath's last moments in vivid detail.
The merchant leaned back, their expression unreadable. A flicker of frustration passed over their features as they watched Xarath's headless body slump to the floor.
"What a waste," they muttered, their voice low and cold.
For days, they had monitored Xarath's progress through the tomb, their spell silently tethered to him. They had watched him struggle, falter, and rise again, using the precious healing potions to claw his way through the endless trials. They had hoped to see something extraordinary—something that would justify their investment.
But now, at the threshold of victory, Xarath had fallen.
With a wave of their hand, the merchant dispelled the orb, its glow fading into the shadows. They rose from their seat, their cloak trailing behind them as they turned away.
"I expected more from you, Xarath Ellucia," the merchant murmured. Their voice carried no anger—only a deep, cutting disappointment. "You were supposed to be different."
They began to walk away, their steps echoing faintly in the darkened chamber. But just as they were about to vanish into the shadows, something caught their attention.
A Vanished Corpse
A strange sensation washed over the merchant, stopping them mid-step. They turned sharply, their eyes narrowing. The spell they had used to monitor Xarath—it was gone. Not fading, not disrupted—gone entirely, as though severed from existence.
The merchant raised a hand, conjuring another orb. Its surface shimmered to life, revealing the chamber where Xarath had fallen.
Their eyes widened.
The body was gone. The bloodstained floor remained, but Xarath's headless corpse had vanished without a trace.
The merchant's lips tightened. "This… This isn't possible."
They waved a hand, refining the image within the orb. For a fleeting moment, a silhouette appeared—faint, distorted, and cloaked in shadow. It stood tall and whole, as though untouched by death.
The image flickered and disappeared, leaving the orb empty.
The Merchant's Curiosity
A slow smile spread across the merchant's face, their earlier disappointment giving way to intrigue.
"Perhaps I underestimated you after all, Xarath," they said softly. Their voice carried a new tone—one of curiosity, and perhaps even anticipation.
The orb dissolved into mist as the merchant extinguished it, plunging the chamber back into darkness.
Somewhere, deep within the tomb, the runes on the great stone door pulsed once more, their glow brighter than before. The chamber trembled faintly, as though awakening to something new.
Xarath Ellucia's journey was far from over.
A complaing soul
Xarath slumped against a moss-covered boulder, his shoulders weighed down by the unseen burden of failure. The dim light filtering through the dense canopy of Blackhood Valley seemed to mirror his own dimming hope. He clenched his fists, his battered body trembling with frustration as his thoughts churned like a storm.
"How am I supposed to change anything?" he muttered bitterly, his voice hoarse and edged with despair. "No matter how much I try, no matter how much I give, this world doesn't want to change. They don't want compassion, honesty, or peace. They want power. They respect power."
He slammed his fist into the ground, ignoring the sting of pain. "I tried to show them that strength isn't everything. I thought I could lead by example, that I could prove there was a better way. But what did that get me? Disgrace. Exile. Humiliation. Even my own family—my own blood—looked at me like I was a fool."
Xarath's voice broke, and he dragged a hand through his sweat-matted hair. "How can I change a nation built on dominance and cruelty when they see kindness as weakness? How can I fight a system that crushes anyone who doesn't conform?"
He tilted his head back, staring at the swaying treetops with hollow eyes. "Maybe they were right. Maybe I'm the weak one. Maybe this world can't be changed."
But even as the words left his lips, a faint ember of defiance lingered in his chest, refusing to be snuffed out.