After his temporary escape, Reno succumbed to a deep slumber. Upon awakening, he carefully assessed his injuries. His right knee bore the brunt of the damage, yet his left leg remained operational. This realization ignited a newfound resolve within him.
Bracing himself on a crutch, he ventured deeper into the ice cave, descending into a long vertical shaft where the icy walls gradually gave way to rugged rock. Pushing forward, he eventually stumbled upon a formidable door, embellished with a dial bearing a blank space etched with a yellow symbol reminiscent of a clover.
This was undeniably a sacred site.
As a seeker of treasures, Reno had traversed many forgotten sanctuaries. While some remained well-preserved, most were beyond his reach, and ancient ruins were reserved for royalty and scholars.
The artifacts he unearthed were typically mundane, yet occasionally he stumbled upon relics and depictions of deities. Whenever he encountered them, a singular question reverberated in his mind: "Why do the gods so closely resemble us?"
Seeking answers about how these sacred sites could be entombed in ice proved futile. The responses varied, ranging from apocalyptic judgment to divine retribution, and even wars among the gods.
But were these mere tales?
Frustrated by these enigmas, people would dismiss his inquiries, saying, "What does it matter to you? Have you found anything of value?"
Over time, he refrained from delving further into these matters. Nevertheless, he maintained a fundamental reverence for the divine, recognizing that their relics were adorned with astonishing designs and unfathomable purposes.
He would claim the treasures, yet he would never defile the remnants or use them for warmth. Instead, he would bow in deference.
But this time was different.
The air was warm and dry, devoid of any hint of ice or snow. What lay concealed behind this colossal door? Could there be a living deity within?
Standing before the door, he paced back and forth, taking deep breaths. An array of terrifying thoughts besieged his mind, causing beads of sweat to form on his brow. Leaning against the cool rock, he rubbed his temples, reminiscing about his mother, sister, and Vivie.
Alive or deceased, only unlocking the door would unveil the truth. Did he have any other choice?
Calming his nerves, he began to attempt to open the door.
At last, he succeeded in parting the imposing entrance.
Nothing occurred. Only a warm, arid breeze brushed against his cheeks, as though carrying salutations from another realm.
Intermittently, a series of lights illuminated above, stretching endlessly into the distance.
It was a lengthy corridor, flanked by towering compartments on either side, each housing imposing cabinets. Mechanical arms dangled from the ceiling. Regrettably, the glass doors remained resolutely sealed, resisting all his efforts to breach them.
He had no option but to press on. Eventually, at the corridor's terminus, he encountered a door that expanded and retracted automatically.
Inside, two passageways unfolded before him.
The left led to a luminous, circular chamber.
The room was expansive, furnished with six plush beds arranged in a circle. Each bed boasted an assortment of mechanical arms of varying sizes and colors affixed to their headboards. Adjacent to the beds stood cabinets of different dimensions, stocked with enigmatic tools such as knives and drills, reminiscent of the surgical theatres at Salem Hospital.
The door on the right was locked, prompting him to pry it open.
Within, darkness enveloped the space, revealing a carpeted floor and a seat for changing shoes—a clear indication of a living area.
Was this where the deity resided?
His heart swelled with excitement, yet his past experiences had instilled in him a sense of restraint. Concealing a knife within his sleeve, he activated his headlamp, cautiously traversing the area, inspecting the walls.
He stumbled upon a kitchen, a bathroom, a cluttered hallway, and a bedroom. Finally, only one room remained. He reached for the doorknob, but an invisible force seemed to hold him back. It felt as though someone was urging him not to open it. The voice, though soft and subdued, resonated with remarkable clarity, as if whispered directly into his ear.
His hand froze on the knob, inexplicable thoughts flooding his mind, as if he were on the brink of unveiling not just a room, but an entirely different world.
What recourse did he have? Was he not meant to live?
Creak.
The door cracked open.
The small room lay bare before him.
Against the wall stood a bookshelf laden with books. At the room's center sat a desk, adorned with scattered white bones and a complete skull.
The two dark eye sockets seemed to fixate on him, exuding a profound, almost lingering luminescence.
More bones and decaying garments lay strewn behind the desk, while the floor was blanketed with papers bearing letters and drawings.
He stood transfixed at the threshold, his hand still on the doorknob. His breathing quickened, his mouth dry as if filled with dust. Strangely, he wasn't afraid, but rather felt a profound sense of desolation and disappointment.
Many years later, as he stood on the gallows, observing the jubilant crowd below, cheering and jeering as if it were a festival, he suddenly recalled this moment. Regret surged within him. Would his fate have been entirely different if he had stepped into the room and read what was written on those papers?
However, at that time, he had departed and never returned.
He retraced his steps through the corridor, searching tirelessly, yet found no way out.
Time slipped away from him.
A morbid lethargy overtook him, swallowing all his senses. He didn't feel hungry, didn't desire sleep, and even the pain from his torn knee seemed distant. He simply didn't want to move; he didn't even want to twitch his fingers.
In a daze, he made his way back to the circular room and climbed onto one of the beds.
He lay on his back, resembling a lifeless body.
...
Suddenly, searing pain tore through him, as if someone were relentlessly hammering his head, and he heard distinct, cracking sounds.
Who was trying to shatter my soul?
Reno abruptly opened his eyes. He was lying on his narrow bed, swathed in thick bandages.
No one was attacking him; there were only the sounds of street vendors outside, children at play, and a woman's scolding.
A beam of light filtered in through the basement's ventilation, dividing his small world in two.
Tiny dust particles shimmered and danced in the light, like ceaseless fish in water. He reached out to grasp the light, but no matter how hard he tried, his fingertips could only brush against the black and white division line.
Suddenly, the excruciating pain returned, and he cried out, losing consciousness instantly.
His hand fell like a stone, plunging back into his own darkness.
Thus, he didn't hear the hurried footsteps outside his door, nor the futile attempts to unlock it with a key.
YOU ARE READING
Crossing Souls
Fantasy"Crossed Souls" is a gripping post-apocalyptic novel that tells the story of two contrasting characters, the treasure hunter Reno and the princess Selena, and how their paths intersect in the pursuit of their respective goals, leading them to a forg...
