The Decision That Could Not Be Made
Larz stared at the blood-stained letter lying in the grass.
The Gate to the Overworld had slammed shut, sealing itself once more, as if nothing had ever happened. The bloodied figure that had delivered the message lay motionless, its purpose fulfilled, its fate uncertain.
And yet, the words still rang in his ears.
"He...lp... help..."
The voice had been filled with something Larz could not ignore. Not just pain, not just suffering—but desperation.
But was it a plea for aid?
Or was it a warning?
He took a step forward, then stopped. His hands clenched into fists.
What was this?Why now, after twenty years of silence?Was this truly meant for him?
His instincts told him to leave it, to walk away, to pretend he had never seen it. The blood that covered the parchment was not just a stain—it was a message itself, a sign that whatever lay within this letter was not meant for mortal hands.
And yet…
If this was a warning, who else would understand it?If this was a cry for help, who else would answer it?
The weight of indecision crushed him.
Larz stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring down at the letter, waiting for an answer that would not come.
And then, without another word—he turned and walked away.
A Week of Silence
For seven days, Larz remained at the edge of the mountains, but his mind never left the gate.
The bloodied letter had remained where it had fallen, untouched, as if waiting. And yet, no wind carried it away, no rain washed it into the earth.
It simply remained, a dark presence against the grass, its message unread.
Each night, Larz found himself staring toward the place where it lay. He tried to ignore it, tried to convince himself that it was not his burden to bear.
But the voice of the dying figure haunted his thoughts.
"He...lp... help..."
Who had sent it?What was on the other side of the gate?Had something been trapped beyond the Overworld?Or had something escaped?
The questions twisted inside him, unrelenting.
And on the seventh night, Larz could bear it no longer.
The Opening of the Letter
At dawn, he returned to where the letter had fallen.
It remained exactly as he had left it—untouched, unmoved, waiting.
His hands hesitated over it, fingers trembling slightly. He had seen wars, death, and the rise and fall of kingdoms, yet something about this terrified him in a way nothing else ever had.
Slowly, he reached down.
The moment his fingers brushed the parchment, a cold shiver ran through his entire body.
This letter was not just bloodstained—it was wrong.
The blood had not dried, as if it had only just been spilled. The texture of the parchment was coarse and unnatural, as though it had been forged from something other than paper.
And as he unfolded it—
The wind screamed.
A deafening wail tore through the mountains, a sound like a thousand voices crying out at once. The skies darkened, and the air around him felt thick and suffocating, as if the very world recoiled from what he was about to read.
Larz's breath came in sharp gasps. His hands clenched the letter tightly as he forced his eyes to the first line.
And what he saw should not have been possible.
The ink shifted and twisted on the page, as if the words were alive, writhing like shadows trying to escape the parchment.
And then—
The first word burned itself into his mind.
A single name.
A name that should have been forgotten.
A name that had not been spoken in over twenty years.
Luden.
Larz's heart stopped.
And then—
The ground beneath him shook.
The Letter's Warning
Larz's breath caught in his throat as he stared at the words.
"Luden, the world you had protected shall fall into my hands now.For 20 years, you sealed me off when you came here,but now the seal has weakened—I can break through."
His hands trembled as he looked at the bottom of the page.
A date.
12/12/1212.
He whispered the numbers under his breath, feeling their weight settle deep into his bones. He did not need to be told what this meant.
This was not just a threat.
This was a promise.
And so, he named it.
Doomsday.
His mind reeled.
Who had written this?Who had been sealed away?And how had the seal begun to weaken?
Larz swallowed hard, feeling an unshakable dread settle in his chest.
The world had forgotten Luden, but whoever—or whatever—had written this had not.
Something had been waiting beyond the gate.Something that had been trapped by Luden himself.Something that was about to return.
And Larz was the only one who knew.
But then—a realization.
There were still 50 years.
50 years to prepare.50 years to uncover the truth.50 years to stop what was coming.
Larz clenched his fists.
The world had forgotten Luden, but he had not.
The battle had not yet begun.
And Doomsday could still be prevented.