A cool wind drifted in from the outside, slipping through the narrow cracks of the stone corridor. The faint scent of dust mingled with the fragrance of pine, floating gently through the air. Within the long silence, only the soft sound of two sets of footsteps echoed against the wooden floor — step after deliberate step, steady, unhurried — until the sound itself seemed to be swallowed by the shadows cloaking the corridor.
Small wall lanterns cast a dim orange glow that quivered like breathing light. The flickering glow stretched the shadows of the two figures forward across the ground — one tall and poised, his white hair reaching his shoulders and catching the dim light like strands of moonlight; the other, a woman walking just ahead of him, her long black hair swaying slightly with every step. Her eyes were calm yet clouded with something that felt like memory, or perhaps a quiet ache that lingered deep within her heart.
Eventually, she stopped before a wooden door. Her slender fingers reached out, touching the cool metal of the handle. A soft creak rang out as the mechanism turned, and the door opened slowly. A faint, aged scent of wood spilled out from within, mingled with the smell of time itself. Inside, a single candle burned atop a small wooden table, its flame wavering gently in the draft that slipped in through a crack in the wall. The golden light flickered and danced, throwing moving shadows across the room — as if the room itself were alive, breathing slowly in rhythm with the flame.
The space was simple, unadorned — no sign of luxury or excess. A modest bed stood in one corner, beside a small table and a lone chair. The window, half shut, allowed a sliver of moonlight to cut through the gloom. The silver light pooled on the floor, merging with the golden glow of the candle, blending warmth and coolness into a delicate harmony. The balance between gold and silver made the entire room appear suspended between dream and waking — a quiet refuge caught between night and memory.
The woman stood still for a while, her gaze slowly sweeping the room. Her fingertips brushed lightly across the surface of the table, leaving faint lines in the thin layer of dust. She inhaled softly, as though trying to capture the scent of this place and keep it within her heart. In her eyes flickered the reflection of something distant — the shape of a memory, perhaps of someone who once sat at that very table. A gentle smile appeared briefly on her lips, fragile as candlelight, before fading into the stillness.
"Then… rest well," she said at last.
Her voice was soft, steady — like the wind rustling through trees, gentle yet carrying a quiet strength that warmed the air it touched.
After she spoke, she turned and left the room. Her long hair flowed behind her as she moved. The shadow of her figure glided over the wooden floor, stretching, then vanishing into the dim corridor beyond. Her footsteps echoed briefly, then disappeared, leaving behind a silence so complete it seemed the world itself was holding its breath.
The man stood motionless for a moment, his golden eyes following her retreating figure until the last trace of her presence was gone. Then, slowly, he turned back toward the room. His gaze roamed across the simple furnishings — the bed, the table, the lone chair — each one marked by time yet still standing firm. There was a quiet warmth hidden here, an invisible residue of life that lingered in the air. The scent of old wood and memory hung faintly, calming yet lonely.
He stepped forward. The wooden floor creaked softly beneath his weight, a small whisper breaking the stillness. He moved slowly, deliberately, letting his fingertips trace along the edge of the table, feeling the dust gather faintly under his skin. In one corner, an old book rested — its cover worn and faded, its pages yellowed with age. He did not open it; instead, he simply gazed at it for a moment. The candlelight reflected in his golden eyes, gleaming briefly before dimming again like a pulse of thought passing through him.
His gaze drifted toward the bed — a simple wooden frame covered in an old, clean sheet. It smelled faintly of dry wood and time. He approached it, lowering himself carefully to sit upon its edge. The frame groaned softly under his weight, a fragile sound that seemed to echo with the breath of the past. He leaned back slightly, resting his shoulders against the wall, and let his eyes fall upon the trembling candle flame.
The flame danced, fragile yet alive. It swayed with every breath of air that touched it, shaping and reshaping the shadows across the room. In that flicker of light and dark, the room seemed to shift — no longer a space of emptiness, but a place filled with the whisper of something unseen. The air carried the rhythm of an unspoken memory.
He sat there for a long time. His breathing was quiet, blending into the faint murmur of the wind outside. Gradually, the vigilance within him loosened, replaced by a heavy calm that sank into his bones. Fatigue crept through his body like a soft tide. His eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment, until finally, he lay down fully upon the bed. One hand rested over his chest, the other near his head upon the pillow.
Outside, the wind rose. It pressed against the windowpane, making it rattle faintly. The candle flame fluttered violently, throwing distorted shadows against the wall — moving, bending, and stretching until they seemed to have lives of their own. The man's body remained still, his breath even, his face calm. The world around him faded, its edges dissolving into the blur of dream. Slowly, quietly, his consciousness sank into sleep.
In the dream, everything was dim and veiled in mist. Yet amidst that haze, light shimmered faintly — pale, ethereal. He saw a vision: mountains rising against a silver sky, valleys blanketed in fog, and wind that bit cold against his skin. The air was heavy with the scent of earth and the faint trace of blood. From somewhere far away came the clash of steel upon steel — sharp, ringing, and distant, like echoes from another time.
The image sharpened. He stood among a circle of pursuers. Flames raged in the distance, devouring the ground until it turned to ash. Shouts filled the air, mixing with curses and the thundering of footsteps. He could not tell where his wounds were, only that his entire body throbbed with heat and pain. His golden eyes reflected the light of fire — fierce, unwavering, like the last glimmer of will refusing to die.
He clenched his hand tightly. Power stirred around him, unseen yet tangible, twisting the air with a deep hum. The wind screamed; the ground trembled. A blinding flash cut across the sky — lightning tearing the clouds open as if the heavens themselves roared in answer to his defiance. The world shook, trembling between destruction and silence.
Then — just as the chaos reached its peak — everything began to fade. The orange of the flames dimmed, swallowed by encroaching darkness. One by one, the sounds died until there was nothing left but the steady, muted rhythm of his heartbeat.
In that darkness, something touched his cheek — warm, gentle, fleeting. Like the breath of someone standing close. He reached out instinctively, but his hand found only emptiness. The warmth vanished. Only the silence remained. It was as if the dream itself was trying to whisper something to him — a message without words, buried too deep to understand.
Before the last of his awareness slipped away, a soft light appeared — faint, distant, like a narrow opening in the endless dark. He moved toward it without hesitation. The light widened, surrounding him in stillness. The world dissolved completely, leaving only the quiet of his breathing, deep and even, wrapped in peace.
Outside, the night wind continued to flow. Leaves rustled against each other in a soft, rhythmic susurration. The candle in the room had burned down nearly to its base, the wick short and glowing faintly. The final glimmer of light reflected briefly on his closed eyes, as though he were dreaming of something far beyond the reach of waking.
In that small room, the last sounds of the night slowly faded away. Silence filled the air once more — pure, unbroken, and absolute. Time itself seemed to have stopped, allowing him to rest fully, untouched by the weight of the world.
The night was long, yet gentle — a night woven with the quiet breath of memories that lingered softly in his heart.
Across the boundless ocean that stretched endlessly beyond sight, the surface shimmered in deep indigo hues. Gentle winds stirred the water, shaping slow undulations that rolled outward like whispered breaths from the horizon. Waves met one another in rhythmic collisions, their sound echoing softly across the open sea — a calm, endless hum that seemed to conceal the ancient pulse of the world beneath. The horizon, where sky and sea fused into one endless line, glowed faintly beneath the dim sun above. But beneath that serene surface lay a very different world — silent, cold, and crushing in its weight.
Deep within that darkened realm, a man descended into the abyss. Around him, the pressure grew heavier with each movement, wrapping around his body like invisible chains. Air escaped from his lips in small silver bubbles, rising upward like fragile stars in an infinite night sky. They shimmered and disappeared one by one into the void above. His heartbeat resounded in his ears — thump… thump… — slow, deliberate, and heavy, echoing the struggle of a soul trying to resist the pull of the sea.
He opened his eyes.
Darkness surrounded him entirely, an endless expanse of shadow and depth. The cold sank through his skin, into his bones. Yet, within that suffocating blackness, a faint light flickered far away — orange and red, glowing weakly, like embers still burning after the end of a great fire. The light shimmered again, growing brighter, expanding. He began to swim toward it, drawn by its presence, unaware that each stroke brought him closer to something vast — and alive.
As he neared, the light resolved itself into form — not a rock, nor a reflection of sunlight, but a single, enormous eye.
It blazed with a molten red glow, like a flame burning in the void. From it radiated an overwhelming force, pressing down on the sea around him, heavy and suffocating, yet ancient and commanding. He froze instantly. Fear crawled through his limbs. That eye did not merely look at him — it knew him, as though it had seen countless souls before and judged them all.
Then, from the darkness, the creature emerged.
It was a fish — yet no fish born of nature could be this colossal. Its body loomed like a mountain beneath the waves, its shape vast enough to blot out the light from above. Scales covered its form like plates of volcanic rock, black and gleaming, as if forged in the heart of a dying world. Through those scales ran glowing lines — rivers of red and orange light that pulsed like molten lava. Heat emanated from it, faint but real, even here in the frozen depths.
Its head was enormous, its structure thick and unyielding. Two eyes burned with the intensity of twin suns, their light cutting through the ocean darkness. Its mouth, a massive cavern of serrated teeth, opened slightly, revealing row upon row of blades sharper than metal. A low grinding sound rumbled as it moved its jaws. The water vibrated; the pressure shifted, and the sea itself seemed to tremble before its might.
Its fins spread wide, like wings forged from fire and shadow. Along the edges, faint orange light glowed, tracing intricate patterns that danced through the water like living flames. Every motion stirred violent currents — the sea twisting, roaring, and reshaping itself around the creature's will. The sound of the water's force filled the void, a thunderous rumble echoing from every direction, swallowing all other noise.
The man stared, transfixed.
He could not comprehend whether he was witnessing a being of the natural world or an echo from some divine abyss. The creature's sheer presence defied reason — powerful, terrifying, yet mesmerizing. Every motion carried weight, each ripple of its form shaking the ocean like an earthquake beneath the waves. Even in the crushing depths, he could feel the vibrations pulse against his chest, as though the sea itself bowed in reverence.
The red and orange glow reflected in his eyes, flickering like a living fire. He felt its energy pressing into his very soul — a force raw and untamed, neither good nor evil, but simply absolute. It was the essence of destruction and creation intertwined — the living embodiment of an ancient world's wrath. The faint scent of sulfur and salt filled his senses, strange and unnatural beneath the water, hinting at the elemental fury that this being carried within.