Sometimes, our actions set grand events into motion, shaping destinies beyond our understanding. Yet we remain unaware, never realizing that even the smallest action carries its own reaction.
The gates creaked open in a slow, deliberate motion, stirring the dust that had long settled upon them. Noah stood in awe, mesmerized by the massive mechanism before him. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. Seconds stretched into eternity before the gates fully opened, revealing what lay beyond.
What awaited him inside was even more astonishing—something out of a dream, or perhaps a film. He stepped forward cautiously, barely taking in the sight before the gates shut behind him with a resounding finality, sealing him off from the dark tunnels outside.
The chamber beyond was nothing short of magnificent. It bore the grandeur of a cathedral, yet felt impossibly vast compared to the narrow tunnels that led to it—like a pocket dimension hidden within the earth. Vaulted ceilings disappeared into darkness above, supported by towering obsidian pillars etched with glowing runes, similar to those adorning the gate. The scale of the place felt inhuman, as if built for beings far larger or stranger than mankind.
Some parts of the chamber seemed to defy the very laws of physics. Floating platforms hovered in midair, while a central dais, suspended by an unseen force, cradled a massive spherical machine.
The machine pulsed with a familiar, shimmering blue light—an eerie, almost sentient glow, as though it were alive. The architecture was both alien and divine, its design a paradox of the ancient and the futuristic.
Pulsating veins of blue energy snaked across the chamber walls, casting jagged, shifting shadows. As Noah moved, the light reacted to his presence, flickering and shifting in response. Carved into the walls, statues of seven unknown figures loomed over him—beings that appeared human, yet were undeniably otherworldly.
Three were female, four male—at least, that was how they had been sculpted. They wore intricate armor, both regal and mystical, as if forged for divine warriors. Unlike the cold, enigmatic runes of the gate, the aura radiating from these statues was warm, almost peaceful. Each figure struck a different pose: the females cradled orbs of light, protectively shielding them, while the males wielded weapons—swords, hammers—like gods of war.
Noah couldn't shake the strange familiarity of it all. He had never seen these figures before, yet something about them resonated deep within him, stirring a memory just out of reach…
But what truly held Noah's attention was the massive machine at the center of the chamber. It was an intricate and complex piece of machinery—far beyond his understanding, yet utterly
mesmerizing. He stepped closer to the dais, his eyes tracing the glowing conduits and shifting mechanisms.
"Wow…" he muttered under his breath. "I guess words can't do this technology justice. Who—or what—built this? Just when I think I've seen it all, this place mocks my knowledge."
As he stood there, marveling at the ancient construct, his gaze drifted to the floating platforms scattered throughout the chamber. Each one held towering shelves filled with thousands of books, forming what seemed like an endless library suspended in midair. His curiosity flared. Carefully, he approached one of the platforms, and to his amazement, it began to descend, lowering itself just enough for him to step onto it.
Noah browsed the collection, running his fingers over the ancient tomes, but as he flipped through the pages, he quickly realized he couldn't understand a single word. The language was intricate—far more complex than even the structures within the chamber. A lost script from an ancient civilization. He had expected as much, yet the realization still stung.
"What a loss…" he murmured. "I could learn so much from this civilization."
Still, he refused to be discouraged. He had faith in his linguistic abilities. Given enough time, he could decipher at least fragments of this mysterious language. As he analyzed the symbols, something caught his eye—certain characters bore a resemblance to Earth's ancient Latin script, while others mirrored familiar Nordic runes.
"Fascinating…" he whispered, his excitement growing. "Similarities across the universe? Could our languages back home be a distant branch of this civilization's? That would change everything we know about history."
The thought sent a thrill through him. His inner scientist was practically leaping with joy. Every new discovery in this place seemed to challenge everything he thought he knew. And if there was one lesson he had learned so far, it was this: in a universe as vast and mysterious as this, anything was possible.
The Cathedral's vast reservoir of knowledge stretched before him—so immense that it could take centuries, perhaps even millennia, to fully comprehend. But Noah knew he couldn't afford to be greedy. Survival came first. He needed to recover, strategize, and take things one step at a time.
"This place is a paradox," he mused, glancing around. "A civilization this advanced, with such profound knowledge, was wiped out by just five figures? That thought alone is terrifying. If they still roam the cosmos... then what am I truly up against?"
The weight of it settled in his chest. He had stepped into something far greater than himself, a conflict spanning eons, and he had yet to grasp the full scale of what he had become entangled with.
Pushing those thoughts aside, he turned his focus to his immediate concern—whether he was safe from whatever lurked in the tunnels outside. He skimmed through a few books, but the script was beyond his understanding. Frustrated, he continued exploring the chamber, studying its intricate structure. Every corner left him in awe, the craftsmanship a testament to a civilization that had once thrived with unimaginable prowess.
"Whoever built this… I can't help but respect them. This lost civilization was something else entirely."
Then, something caught his attention—a door beside the statues. Unlike the rest of the chamber, this one seemed carved seamlessly into the stone, its edges barely visible. Searching for a handle, he traced his fingers along the brickwork. A faint draft seeped through the gaps.
"A hidden chamber."
His fingers brushed against an oddly shaped brick at the center. Pressing it, a deep click echoed through the air, and the door slid open, revealing the workings of an unknown mechanism within.
Beyond it lay a smaller, more intimate chamber—a bedroom of sorts. An old bed sat against the wall, accompanied by a wooden desk. Unlike the grand chamber outside, this space felt almost ordinary, yet remarkably well-preserved.
On the desk rested a book, pristine compared to the decayed tomes outside. Its leather cover gleamed with golden inscriptions, a stark contrast to the ruins around him. What shocked him most was that he could actually read the title.
"The Sibylline Book."
The moment the words left his lips, an icy chill crawled down his spine. A strange familiarity stirred deep within him, like an echo of something long forgotten. He flipped the cover open—only to find its pages blank.
"What the hell? Something isn't right here. Then again… when is it ever?"
He glanced at his shadow, flickering against the stone walls. "Do you see this? Can you read anything?" he muttered. But the shifting darkness offered no reply.
Sighing, he placed the book back on the desk, his focus now shifting to the bed. It was ancient, covered in dust, yet still intact. Right now, all he craved was sleep.
"Whatever is out there… just give me one night of peace. I'll deal with the rest later."
He dropped onto the bed, surprised by how well it supported him. The moment his head met the pillow, exhaustion claimed him, and he plunged into a deep, soundless sleep.
The night was deceptively peaceful—a luxury Noah had forgotten.
Five years of razor-edged vigilance had trained him to sleep like a trapped animal: muscles tensed, ears sharpened for threat. But tonight, the darkness offered no ambush. Only the ghosts he carried within.
As always, the nightmares came.
Judy's neck snapping backward.
Lucy's voice, raw as an open wound—"Why couldn't you save us?"
The same hellish reel, night after night, burning into his skull like a brand. He'd grown accustomed to waking drenched in sweat, his lungs heaving as if he'd been drowning.
Five years.
The truth struck him fresh each dawn:
"Everything's gone."
He sat up, fingers digging into the mattress. The chamber's bioluminescent veins pulsed along the walls, casting jagged shadows. No windows. No clocks. Just the endless, blue-tinged dark.
"How long was I out?"
The twin suns could already be rising, baking the wasteland above. Not that it mattered. Time had stopped meaning anything the day he'd lost them.
His gaze snagged on the book lying open on the pedestal. Still blank. Still taunting him.
"Enough."
He rose, rolling his stiff shoulders. The cathedral chamber loomed ahead—its obsidian walls whispering secrets older than grief itself. He would unravel them all, even if it took an eternity.
Or at least until the twin suns finally consumed this damned world.
"Time to dig through the archive again… to fully grasp this place." His voice echoed off the vaulted ceilings. "After all, the only good is knowledge—and the only evil is ignorance, right?"
He glanced at his shadow, still flickering quietly behind him. It remained unresponsive, as always—but he knew it was with him now.
With a final glance at the hidden chamber, Noah turned and made his way back to the vast central hall.
The sheer volume of books stacked upon the floating platforms made him exhale in disbelief. The massive, suspended machine still pulsed silently above, its presence heavy in the air.
"Oh God… I don't think there's a mind alive that could absorb all this," he muttered. "This'll take a while. Better get started."
Approaching the same platform he'd used before, he watched as it descended on its own, responding to his presence. He stepped on with a short leap.
The moment he was surrounded by the ancient tomes again, that strange, unshakable familiarity crept in. It was as if he'd spoken this language once—long ago, in another life.
He dug through book after book, searching for anything that could explain what had happened to this world. The symbols—foreign, yet eerily familiar—blurred together as he worked.
Time lost meaning as he continued sketching his primal index, one word at a time, pushing closer to the truth this dead civilization had left behind.
It took a while before he finally leaned back, eyes wide with satisfaction.
"Finally…" he exhaled. "With this index, I think I can actually start deciphering the language. I can understand it."
That strange familiarity—the one that had lingered since his arrival—had guided his hand more than he wanted to admit. It felt… unnatural, like the knowledge was already embedded in him. The speed at which he built the index was beyond normal learning. It was as if something inside him remembered.
He shook the thought away, for now, and turned his attention to the books around him, hungry to unlock what had been hidden for millennia.
The first volume he picked up bore the title: "Azyloth's Records."
He paused, analyzing the word.
"Azyloth," he whispered. "Could it be the name of this place?"
He couldn't yet decipher the name's exact meaning, but he knew—instinctively—it was a proper noun. Perhaps a place. A person. Or worse, an unknown entity.
As he opened to the first page, something shifted in his expression. His curiosity hardened into something more solemn.
At the top of the page, a single sentence was etched in ornate glyphs. His eyes traced the characters slowly, carefully, confirming each letter. He didn't misread it. Not a single word.
We have sinned—thus we deserve.
The Seven forsook us, and the Five deceived us.It was we who invited Chaos.
We who welcomed the Void.
Can we ever atone for our wrongdoings?
The words hit him like a physical blow—heavy, damning, final.
Noah reread them, slower this time, but they didn't change.
They felt like a confession from a ghost.
A civilization whispering its last regrets into the silence.
He let the book rest on his lap, staring into the pulsing light around him.
A new question echoed through his mind: "What did happen for someone to write such heavy words?"