I walked for what felt like hours, maybe days. The forest never ended, only deepened — darker, older, hungrier. Each step sounded heavier, as if the earth itself wanted to hold me back. I no longer looked for paths; I just moved, hoping the trees would one day stop repeating themselves.
Then I saw it– movement between the trunks.
A shape.
A beast.
It stood in the clearing ahead. Its body was like that of a tiger, though leaner, sharper, its fur streaked with faint blue light that pulsed like veins. Its eyes fixed on me – calm, unafraid.
Instinct made my hand go to my sword.
But before I could even draw it, the creature turned and ran, not away, but deeper into the forest. It did not flee in fear. It wanted to be followed.
And I did.
Something deep inside told me that if I ignored it, something worse would happen. That this beast was a thread, and I had no choice but to pull it.
So I followed.
Hours passed. The forest grew stranger, the air colder. Shadows stretched longer than they should, bending unnaturally across the ground. My legs burned, my breath came ragged, but I could still see flashes of blue between the trees – the beast's faint light, always just ahead.
Then, suddenly, it was gone.
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the wind seemed to stop.
And then I heard something whispering.
A whisper, faint and distant, like a ritual spoken by a thousand forgotten voices.
"How you raised the sea of our kind…
Let this era burn…
For the sake of a new one…"
I froze. The words wrapped around me like cold air, half-comprehensible, half-nightmare.
I moved toward the whisper. The forest opened into a small clearing bathed in gray light.
At its center stood an old man, his body buried halfway into the earth, as if the forest itself had swallowed him. His robes were torn and heavy with dirt. His hands trembled, but his eyes — pale and steady — met mine as if he had been waiting.
"You shouldn't be here, traveler," he said. His voice was dry, brittle, like a page about to crumble.
"I… lost my way," I answered. "Do you need help?"
He shook his head slowly. "No. I've lived long enough to see what I shouldn't. Let my fate end here. I've walked too far to fear death now."
His words fell like stones. But there was something in his tone – a sadness, or maybe pity.
"I can still help," I said. "I can—"
He raised a hand. "No. My time is sealed, as the pact foretold. But before the end comes… would you share your story with a dying man? A story is all I ask before I fade."
I hesitated, then nodded. "Alright, old man."
And I spoke.
I told him everything, or nearly everything.
The cave, the taste of the red berry, the cliffs, the tree and their absurd height, my fight with the wolf, the empty city and the silence that followed me out of it.
But I left out the truth I feared:
The man with the golden eyes,
the reflection in the lake,
the whispers that knew my name,
the painting that moved when I was looking.
Those secrets I kept buried.
When I finished, the old man watched me for a long while. His eyes seemed to pierce through me, reading the unspoken words behind my silence. Then he said softly,
"You are cursed, young one. Not by sin or chance– but by knowledge itself."
I said nothing. My throat was too dry for words.
He continued, his voice growing steadier, almost ceremonial.
"I will tell you mine, in return. I am what remains of an Ergic — a forgotten order, erased by time and flame. We were seekers of balance, fusing magic and knowledge. We studied life and magic through the lens of reason, and reason through the rhythm of life. To the world, we were heretics. To the crown, we were blasphemers. They called us corrupters of creation."
His eyes darkened.
"We built things they feared. We learned to weave the unseen with the known. From our hands came a ring – the Scriptum. A circle of knowledge, forbidden and absolute. Through it, matter and thought became one. From it, the first Underlich was born — a creature not of flesh or spirit, but of knowledge undone."
The name made my blood run cold.
"Underlich…" I whispered.
"Yes, the unfed vestige of the fallen king. A being made from our blasphemy, our understanding of the legend."
He coughed, blood dark and heavy spilling between his lips, but he smiled faintly through it. "The beast you saw – that was its echo. It follows what it cannot yet devour."
He reached beneath his torn cloak, pulling out a small book and a folded document, sealed with black wax.
"These," he said, placing them in my hands, "are my legacy. The book, my life's work, and the fragments of our knowledge. Within it are notes on monsters, on lost kings, and the truth of the Scriptum. The document is your protection, an identity, forged from the ashes of what was once true. Use it when you reach the city, for they will not welcome what you have become."
I held the items carefully. The book was warm, the document heavier than it should be.
"Why give these to me?" I asked.
He smiled weakly. "Because you are the last one who will listen. Because stories should not die with their tellers."
He pointed toward the horizon, where mist clung to distant peaks.
"There. Beyond the forest, the mountain sleeps. At its foot lies a city. Go there. It will not be kind to you, but it will be necessary."
I bowed my head. "Thank you, old man."
He nodded, eyes closing briefly. "Go now."
I turned, stepping away from the clearing. But before I could leave, a sound split the air, a deep, low growl that came not from throat or beast, but from the very earth.
I looked back.
The tiger-beast had returned. It stood before the old man, body trembling, eyes glowing like molten silver.
The old man looked at it calmly. "So, it is time," he said. "You've come, Underlich. Born from my sin… and his shadow."
The beast roared — but no sound came out, only light.
A blaze erupted, silent but violent, fire without smoke, flame without heat. It grew upward, a tower of fire, devouring the air, swallowing the man and the beast in the same breath.
I stood frozen, eyes wide. The forest lit up like dawn.
And within the burning light, I heard the old man's voice, not with my ears, but somewhere deeper, like memory itself was whispering.
"May you find what you seek.
May your curse despair.
Live long enough to see a new era.
Let this one burn."
The flame rose higher, pure and silent.
"Underlich, abomination of my ring –
return to the Scriptum.
Let the old world end."
The light pulsed once, twice… then vanished. The clearing was empty. The old man was gone. Only blackened earth remained, and the faint scent of something that was not quite smoke.
I stood there for a long time, unable to move.
When I finally looked up, the sky had turned gray.
The forest seemed to exhale, as if relieved.
Then I turned toward the mountains, clutching the book and the document. The fire still flickered behind my eyelids when I closed them and I knew that, somehow, the old man's soul had not vanished completely.
It had simply moved somewhere deeper, somewhere within me.