Inside a chamber carved from what seemed like ancient rock, two void archaeologists stood in silence. The room was dimly illuminated by torches, yet it wasn’t the pair who lit them. The flames had been burning long before their arrival, guiding them to this forgotten place. The light they cast was ghostly and sickly pale, producing no warmth even when approached.
Shadows, which should have flickered and danced along the walls, instead remained eerily frozen, as if caught in a moment outside of time.
One side of the chamber led to the upper levels of the ancient, abandoned castle from which the void archaeologists had descended. But opposite that path was a door — black, foreboding, and cold. A shiver ran down their spines whenever their eyes met its surface, as though it existed solely to keep them out, or to keep something else in.
Their king, the Crimson King, had commanded almost everyone to explore the area, declaring it an underground network of strategic importance. Yet, none of them could fathom what drove him to make such a declaration.
The black door had been closed after Grandmaster Malcolm and the others ventured through, leaving the two void archaeologists behind.
Why did they stay?
The answer was simple:
money!
They were willing to risk their lives for the fortune promised to them, and remaining under the Crimson King’s protection felt safer than being at the mercy of lesser lords.
At the moment, the two were hunched over a wall covered in ancient runes — void language, complex and daunting. Deciphering it was extremely painstaking, but not impossible.
Humanity had come a long way, and understanding such runes was part of a void archaeologist’s skill set.
As they worked, the chamber began to tremble. The stone walls quaked, and when they blinked, the Crimson King himself stood before them, a frown etched across his face.
“What is going on?”
His presence exuded authority, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. Just standing in his presence made them want to fall to their knees or flee, their bodies quivering under his gaze.
One archaeologist swallowed hard, managing to stammer out,
“M-My king! W-we have no clue…”
Their words trailed off as the shaking subsided, and all eyes turned to the black door, the apparent source of the disturbance.
Before they could react, the door creaked open.
Wide-eyed, the archaeologists watched as Joaquin’s brow furrowed. A figure emerged, stepping out into the dim light. Clad in a crimson military uniform, covered in dirt and dried blood, the figure’s crimson eyes locked onto Joaquin’s.
The archaeologists froze, confusion and dread mingling in their expressions. But the silver-haired figure’s lips curled into a grin.
“My luck is finally turning around!”
Nol’s voice broke the tension, his arms spreading wide in an almost joyous gesture.
Joaquin’s eyes, for once, showed surprise.
“Nol? How are you here?”
The two archaeologists stared, barely breathing as the scene unfolded. Nol bowed slightly, a gesture of both respect and mischief.
“Your Majesty. I found myself in a dark square that led to a maze. After wandering for some time, I stumbled upon this black door and ended up here.”
Joaquin studied him for a moment, eyes narrowed, before nodding.
“Makes sense.”
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The archaeologists felt a wave of disbelief at how calmly their king accepted the situation.
Who was this boy to be so casually familiar with their ruler?
“Does this mean Azriel is here as well?”
Joaquin’s question sliced through the silence.
Nol nodded.
“Of course. I wouldn’t be here if my master wasn’t.”
Joaquin pressed a finger to his chin, thinking aloud. The room seemed to hold its breath.
‘So, Nol hasn’t encountered Malcolm yet, and he arrived here alone. That must mean… the void tunnel I found earlier must have separated them.’
“Was it difficult to get here?” Joaquin’s voice broke the quiet again, his gaze fixed on Nol.
Nol shrugged.
“Lady Mira was with us, but we split up when an unknown void creature appeared. It matched her strength, and we lost twelve men. Nearly died ourselves. The maze, though, wasn’t difficult — just abandoned.”
Joaquin nodded, seemingly unfazed by the news of casualties. Instead, his thoughts turned inward.
‘If something happened to Azriel or Jasmine, Nol would have said so. They must be alright. Or, if Nol is keeping quiet, Azriel likely ordered it.’
A sigh escaped his lips as he walked past Nol, drawing curious glances from everyone. But before reaching the black door, he stopped.
Nol’s brow furrowed, puzzled by Joaquin’s sudden pause. The two shared an unspoken understanding that even surprised Joaquin when they first met. It was rare for anyone to comprehend him so intuitively.
A sinister grin crept onto Joaquin’s face, unseen by the others. His voice dropped to a chilling murmur.
“Tell me, Nol… has my son suffered?”
The question hung in the air, heavy and dark. Nol’s eyes shifted, hesitation flickering before he replied.
“He’s been tired, here in the void realm. No real harm, just exhaustion. Though master did lose his right hand in the void dungeon… but he’s fine now.”
Joaquin’s grin twisted further.
‘He lost his hand, but he’s alright now. So, he did suffer, at least a little.’
“Heh.”
“…!”
A low chuckle escaped Joaquin’s lips, sending a shiver down the spines of the archaeologists.
‘Karma is a bitch, isn’t it? You think I forgot about what happened when your mother almost killed me because you went to [White Haven]? I haven’t!’
Cold sweat broke out on their skin as they stepped back, even Nol moving warily.
“…Hehehehe…”
It wasn’t a sound of relief or joy; it was madness given voice. The king trembled as his shoulders quaked with the sound, his hand pressed against his face as if trying to contain it.
“Heheheheheheh! Serves you right!”
The archaeologists backed into the far wall, terror painted on their features.
“….”
The chamber fell silent, eyes wide with terror.
Then, in the blink of an eye—
Joaquin was gone.