Chapter 2 – The Book and the Cell
The sound of dripping water woke him.
Cael opened his eyes slowly. The ceiling was low, made of damp, cracked stone. A sharp smell of mold and old iron filled his nostrils. He was lying on filthy straw, surrounded by worn stone walls. A single beam of light entered through a small opening far too high to reach.
He was in a cell.
He sat up with effort. His clothes were strange — a dark, heavy coat, boots, gloves. And on his back… something weighed him down. A book. Black as coal, bound to him by a thin chain of aged metal.
He tried opening the iron door, but of course — locked.
He stood, trying to understand. The last thing he remembered was the alley. The knife. The blood. The warmth draining from his body. And now, here. Alive. Or something close to it.
Is this a hospital? A madhouse?
But no. None of it made sense. The architecture was old, medieval. And everything felt… wrong. The proportions, the moisture, even the silence felt alive, as if it breathed alongside him.
His eyes were drawn to an inscription carved into the opposite wall, right above the door.
"Birth comes through death. Leave, or rot."
The book on his back gave off a faint warmth, as if reacting to the message.
He took a step. The floor creaked.
And then — a sound. Metal against metal. Footsteps, slow, heavy. Something was approaching from the hallway outside.
Cael froze. The cell door remained locked, but beneath it, a shadow stretched… and a key slid across the ground to his feet, pushed by invisible hands.
He stared at it for a moment.
The book on his back pulsed softly.
[...]
He picked up the key.
The door opened with a dry crack.
On the other side, the corridor awaited him. Dark, cold, and full of echoes that belonged to no living thing.
But before he could take the first step, Cael felt something vibrate on his wrist.
He looked.
The watch.
The same one he had worn on the day he died. Still with its cracked glass. It was there, on his arm, though he could've sworn he hadn't noticed it before. The hand didn't move. And yet, something inside shifted.
"Finally awake, hero?"
The voice echoed in his mind. Soft, almost mocking. As if someone was bored, watching everything from a balcony seat.
Cael stepped back, looking around. No one was there.
"It's just me… or what's left of me. Relax, I'm not an enemy. Let's say I'm your… 'guide.' Or maybe the chatty menu. Depends on you."
"What the hell…?" he muttered.
"Language. We're in a new world, remember? Swearing during the tutorial is rude. But I get it. Confusing, scary, sweaty walls… Welcome to Black Souls, Cael."
The name hit with weight. Familiar. Like a buried memory clawing its way upward.
"This is… a game?"
"It was. For you, now it's reality. And this reality loves watching people like you get screwed over. But with a little luck… and with my help, maybe you won't die right away. Want to give it a go?"
Cael closed his eyes. Took a deep breath.
"This is a delusion. I died."
"Yes. But death isn't always the end. Sometimes it's just… a new save file."
The watch flickered. And, for a moment, Cael saw a screen floating in his mind — [Status / Inventory / Memories].
The black book behind him glowed briefly.
"Come on, hero. Your story has begun. And I want to see how far you get before you break for good."
Cael took a step. Then another.
The corridor swallowed him.
And the watch began to count, even without hands.