[General POV]
Within a hidden cave carved deep into the rocky heart beside the royal castle of Muwatalli, there lay a monument of terror and reverence. The tomb, hewn from pure obsidian, gleamed with a menacing black sheen under the flickering torchlight. No mortal hand dared to touch it directly; ancient inscriptions, runes, and symbols circled it, pulsing with a forgotten energy.
The silence within the cave was near absolute, broken only by the rhythmic drip of moisture trickling down the stone walls. The air smelled of damp earth and the faint, metallic tang of old blood. In the shadows, human forms could barely be made out—guards in ceremonial garb stood vigil at the entrance to the crypt, their faces rigid as stone, hardened not merely by war, but by the terror of what they protected.
At the center of the tomb rested a colossal black stone coffin, etched with symbols so ancient that human tongues could no longer name them. It was a sarcophagus heavy not only with a body, but with entire eras of hunger and death.
And there, untouched by the passage of time, slumbered the First Hunger — a being older than civilization itself, a nightmare imprisoned by the sheer force of human will and the last hopes of ancient kings.
[Muwatalli POV]
I approached the ancient tomb my ancestors had sworn to protect—the tomb I had guarded since the day I took the throne—with heavy steps, my crimson cloak trailing lightly over the dusty cavern floor. With each step, the cold seemed to intensify, as though the tomb itself was draining the warmth from my body.
When I reached the entrance, I found two guards standing firm. Their eyes wavered when they saw me approach; their devotion was evident, something I had grown accustomed to after decades of reign. Yet unlike other servants, they did not feel compelled to bow; they remained in place. I noticed their ceremonial armor, engraved with protective symbols, clinking faintly as they tensed.
I stopped before them and spoke in a voice low but as sharp as a blade:
— "You know what you guard. You know the price that will be paid today," I said, scrutinizing each of them with a severe gaze.
The battle against Ramesses, this time, had a hidden motive: we needed blood to bring about the rebirth of the great hunger. Since ancient times, my ancestors had guarded and worshiped it as a god — a thought that gnawed at the back of my mind.
The guards exchanged a brief glance before one answered:
— "We know, my lord. And we are ready to give our lives if necessary."
I nodded grimly. The preparations had been completed. A shadow passed over my face.
— "The First Hunger must awaken," I murmured, more to myself than to them, then added:
— "Our enemies' armies are already marching through the valley. Our time is running out."
Another guard nearby, a younger one with traces of fear in his eyes, stepped forward:
— "My king... the scouts report that enemy troops have crossed the Iron Pass. They will reach the gates before the next sunrise."
The news made me close my eyes for a brief moment. I felt the crushing weight of my decision. War was a means to awaken the First Hunger, but I had never thought Ramesses' forces would advance so quickly. It was the Cold Ones' fault — they had driven us to this desperate point. There truly was no alternative. Our own men would not be enough. The walls would not survive another siege.
— "Then we can delay no longer," I said, my voice becoming a frozen whisper. "We open the seal now."
— "But, sire, the preparations are not fully complete. I fear we won't be able to control what's about to be unleashed," said one of the guards stationed before the tomb.
I moved forward slowly, the dense scent of mold and ancient iron saturating the air. Each step echoed like a funeral drumbeat against the damp stone. The torches clinging to the walls flickered uncertainly, casting grotesque shadows that danced around me.
The interior of the tomb was even darker than I remembered. The walls were adorned with low-relief carvings depicting long-forgotten scenes—sacrificial rituals, blood-bound pacts, monstrous figures feasting on entire crowds.
Symbols on the ceiling radiated a silent, oppressive energy, like ancient eyes still watching.
My guards held their position at the chamber's entrance, their faces pale but their bodies immovable as statues.
I recalled the guard's warning: we cannot control the First Hunger. In part, I agreed.
What rested there was something even my lineage, protectors of this secret for generations, could no longer contain. But the advance of Ramesses' armies was too swift. We had to halt their march—no matter the price.
The tomb dominated the chamber's center, made of pure obsidian, reflecting only the red flicker of flames—as if darkness itself refused to touch it.
A reverent silence fell as I drew closer.
I ran my hand over the inscriptions sealing the sarcophagus. The stones beneath my fingers vibrated with an ancient hunger.
The air grew thick, nearly suffocating, as the runes flared to life, glowing a deep blood-red, pulsing like a starving heart.
— "Guard the doors," I commanded, my voice slicing through the oppressive stillness. "No one enters or leaves unless I permit it."
The guards pounded their fists against their chests in salute, their eyes avoiding the tomb as if even looking upon it was a sacrilege.
I positioned myself before the stone lid.
I placed both hands on it, feeling a current of cold energy surge through my arms and into my bones.
Drawing a deep breath, I began the ritual.
The words were old, forbidden, passed down by my bloodline on moonless nights:
— "Sakhrat al-mawt... iftah lahu al-abuab... 'awid al-ju' al-awwal!"
The incantation reverberated throughout the chamber like distant thunder.
The structure quaked, and shards of stone rained from the ceiling.
A muffled, monstrous roar rumbled from within the tomb, as if the earth itself protested what I was about to unleash.
I closed my eyes briefly, remembering all the blood it had taken to bring the ritual to this point: thousands of prisoners, entire villages sacrificed in hidden chambers.
It was more than a price—it was the kingdom's very soul sold to feed this hunger.
And even then, I knew deep down, it might not be enough to control it.
I continued the chant:
— "Al-qudama' yadribun, 'awid! Bism al-dam, bism al-ju', bism al-mawt!"
The runes exploded into crimson flames.
The chains wrapped around the tomb snapped and broke in a shower of golden sparks.
A deep thud resounded—like the first beat of a long-dead heart.
My hands trembled as I pushed the heavy lid aside.
The stench that burst forth was indescribable: earth, coagulated blood, and ancient hunger.
Before me lay the First Hunger.
Its body was vaguely humanoid but grotesquely deformed.
Its skin, a sickly gray-white, appeared cracked like broken stone.
Bones protruded beneath the nearly translucent flesh.
Its limbs were long and misshapen, its black claws curled hideously.
Its mouth—a jagged slit lined with razor-sharp fangs—seemed poised to rend reality itself.
Its eyes were endless voids, glowing with an unnatural light that paralyzed me in place.
A chill ran down my spine.
This was no mere creature.
It was the pure embodiment of hunger, of a brutal, insatiable need.
I whispered under my breath:
— "May the gods have mercy on us..."
The creature stirred slightly—a barely perceptible shudder that made the entire cavern vibrate in response.
The First Hunger... was waking.
Without wasting a moment, I stepped back, bracing myself for what was to come.
The war outside might still be distant, but I knew that the true battle began here, now.
And no preparation could ever be enough.
The First Hunger... was awakening.
And with it, the world would never be the same again.
To be continued…
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[N/A] If you've read this far, thank you! And since I'm terrible at handling compliments, please, insult me instead!