When the Two Worlds Collide (Part 1)

As Brad's eyes fluttered open once more, he found himself ensnared in a shroud of impenetrable darkness. It engulfed him, a bottomless abyss. His mind throbbed with a persistent ache. Initially, his faculties of hearing guided him through this obscure realm. Despite the absence of solid ground beneath his feet, he could discern the ethereal trickle of water, a feeble symphony that whispered in his ears. He inhaled deeply, allowing the damp air, heavy with the scent of age and decay, to fill his lungs. Alas, his olfactory senses failed to grasp any other fragrances.

Bereft of the guidance of scent, he sought to apprehend his surroundings through the delicate art of touch. Though denied the solace of direct contact, the chill of the stone sent ripples of apprehension down his spine. With cautious steps, he ventured forth in every conceivable direction, meticulously exploring the contours of his enigmatic confines. It was in that moment he realized he occupied a vast expanse, a cathedral of sorts, adorned with intricately sculpted stones that spoke of a craftsmanship beyond mortal hands.

He found himself amidst a meticulously arranged parade of colossal pillars, standing in perfect alignment. Gradually, he became aware that the sensations he experienced wove together into a vibrant tapestry of imagery. Like the elusive creatures of the nocturnal realm, his perception unveiled a remarkable spectrum of blues, greens, and whites that enveloped his surroundings.

The cylindrical columns ascended towards the graceful arching ceiling, each reaching a soaring height of no less than ten meters, converging to create grandiose arcades. He extended his hand, yearning to touch the monumental pedestals upon which the columns rested. Although his grasp eluded them, he discerned the presence of their tiered structures. Intricate inscriptions adorned their surfaces, mystical symbols etched upon the very fabric of each column, embellished with ancient runes.

"Do you recognize this place?" a voice resounded from above.

Brad lifted his gaze, fixating his eyes upon the suspended form of Ilberius. Desperately, he yearned for this surreal tableau to be naught but a fleeting nightmare. With a determined shake of his head, he conveyed his answer through silent resistance, vehemently denying any familiarity.

"The sands of time are slipping away, noble knight. I perceive it. As you acclimate to this realm, your connection to reality wanes," Ilberius cautioned.

"Do you revel in this predicament?" Brad inquired, his words dripping with sarcasm.

Ilberius emitted a piercing, derisive laughter that scraped at the knight's nerves. "Do you genuinely believe I am your adversary?"

Brad found himself in a quandary, his thoughts tangled like a thorny vine. While the knowledge of reaching Charlotta and the assurance of her partial safety brought him solace, an unsettling feeling lingered, stirred by the presence of the elf he had glimpsed at the sorceress's side. All he grasped was the dwindling of time.

"I surmise you hold me captive against my will. Perhaps because you find your own solitude rather wearisome," Brad probed the ethereal being.

"That notion is preposterous, knight. Trust me, if I possessed such capabilities, I would have ensnared Caleb instead. He, at least, is more garrulous and congenial than you," Ilberius retorted.

Brad's jaw clenched with determination. "Had you provided me with proper answers to my inquiries, I would have extended you more sincere treatment."

Ilberius surveyed his surroundings. "Very well, as you wish. I shall aid you to the best of my abilities on this deranged odyssey," he declared. "As long as my captive mind permits," he added, his voice fading into frailty.

When Brad heard those parting words, a flicker of doubt danced in his eyes, yet he refrained from probing further.

"Pray tell, where have we found ourselves?" Brad inquired, casting his gaze upon the elderly apparition.

"We stand within the depths of the Sunken Palace," Ilberius answered, his voice carrying an air of ancient knowledge. "A place whose legends may have graced your ears through the tomes of yore. 'Tis an archaic cistern hidden in the very heart of the hill that harbors the White Fortress. In ages past, it underwent a metamorphosis, becoming a grand necropolis. For a span of fifteen centuries, the denizens of New Barnachia reveled in their noble creation, placing the entrances to the enigmatic passageways leading to the Royal Tombs at the mouths of these enigmatic corridors."

"Aye, but what brings us to this place?" questioned Brad.

"Verily, my gallant knight, the answer resides deep within your being," Ilberius responded, his voice tinged with mystique. "In the recesses of your mind, a concealed solution beckons. 'Tis the sole cogent explanation that springs to mind."

Faced with a silence that belied any reply, Brad embarked upon a journey, propelled by vexation, drifting northward above the earthly plane. The knight had ventured some fifteen meters from their initial position when Ilberius discerned a peculiar phenomenon—the ground beneath them swathed in ethereal mists that swirled and ascended. "Halt!" he exclaimed, his voice resounding through the mystical haze.

Brad obeyed the command and cast a backward glance at Ilberius. His gaze traversed the ordered arrangement of catafalques nestled amidst the interstices of the columns. Each one radiated a delicate luminescence, casting a pallid gray glow. "What is occurring?" he inquired, his mind clouded with bewilderment.

"It seems you have disturbed the dormant ones," Ilberius responded, towering higher as he distanced himself.

"Damn it!" Brad erupted, his eyes scanning the encroaching phantoms. He reached for his sword, only to find it unresponsive. "Why am I unable to unsheath my blade?" he interrogated Ilberius.

"Because your sword lacks the enchantment," Ilberius retorted. "In the realm of the threshold, mundane weapons hold no sway," he appended.

"Then how shall I engage in combat with these entities?" Brad pressed on.

"By harnessing the object that rests upon your chest, naturally," Ilberius pointed out.

Brad beheld the resplendent medal, radiating brilliance upon his chestplate. As the specters, clad in ceremonial armor, hoisted their ceremonial swords and closed in on Brad, the medal quivered with anticipation, emitting an intensified luminosity. Brad seized the medal firmly, raising it aloft.

"Under no circumstances should you gaze upon the light," Ilberius cautioned, shielding his own eyes with his hands.

Brad mirrored the gesture, and in an ephemeral moment, a tremendous burst of light erupted, transmuting night into an ephemeral day. The specters were forcefully propelled towards the distant walls. Despite Brad's lowered head, the arcane radiance dispersed in all directions, engulfing his sight in blinding brilliance.

"Guard that medal vigilantly, noble knight, for it seems you shall require it on numerous occasions," Ilberius remarked, his countenance filled with delight as he beheld the specters strewn across the ground.

In due course, the specters reconstituted themselves, rising from the ground, and the mirthful expression upon the aged sage's face faded.

Brad clutched the medal tightly, his mind racing with possibilities. "What course of action should I take now? Should I brandish this medal like a formidable weapon and charge forth?" His gaze fixated on the emblem, weighing his choices.

Ilberius quivered as he observed the knight's intense stare and unwavering determination.

"Nay, do not deviate from your path. Direct your focus towards the tangible truths before you. Had those been infernal entities, they would have been repelled and devoured by the sanctified radiance. They are but vengeful spirits," Ilberius cautioned.

Though Brad yearned to embrace the wisdom of the aged specter, the shrill cries echoing through the expansive chamber unsettled his resolve, instilling a seed of doubt within him.

"This place serves as a juncture between two realms. Your presence here must be driven by the search for someone recently lost, a soul you mourn deeply. Delve into your past, noble knight," Ilberius pressed on.

"I cannot recollect," Brad confessed, his throbbing temples receiving the soothing touch of his hands.

Ilberius furrowed his brow, his mind immersed in contemplation. The knight's ethereal essence bore the marks of scorching wounds, testament to the potent enchantment of the medallion that had exacted its toll upon Brad. The burns resembled crevices in arid soil, multiplying with each fleeting moment. Ilberius discerned fractures manifesting in Brad's once unassailable astral integrity, reminiscent of the very trials the aged specter had weathered in ages past.

It mirrored the ceaseless tumult of a disordered spirit ensnared within an eternal vortex, a realm foreign to his nature.

The elderly apparition couldn't help but be consumed by a sense of empathy for the plight of this young man.

"In accordance with the wisdom bestowed by the renowned sage of my time, Dadallius; When all other paths have faded, follow the course of flowing water. Hasten towards the alternate gate!" Ilberius offered guidance, gesturing towards the northern direction. "And amidst this tribulation, concentrate unwaveringly on the resonance of your inner voice, noble knight," he beseeched.

With his thoughts scattered and no alternative but to rely on instinct, Brad surrendered himself to the cadence of the water's flow, stumbling forward in a northern direction, his sight impaired. The furious murmurs of the encroaching horde resonated behind him, their relentless advance unabated. "How many funerary crypts dwell within this accursed realm?" he questioned.

"Hundreds, maybe thousands" Ilberius replied. "These hallowed grounds do not reserve their embrace solely for monarchs. Countless nobles, revered priests, and theocrats lie interred here. Not all were men of virtuous intent."

"How utterly delightful," Brad retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

At long last, the duo arrived at an arched passage that descended to another level adorned with intricate balustrades. The course of the water became clearer at this juncture, its melody resonating through the air. Peering down from his vantage point, Brad struggled to discern the secrets veiled beyond the passage.

As Brad descended the semicircular staircase, poised to enter the passage, he abruptly halted upon witnessing Ilberius's wavering resolve. "Why do you hesitate?" he inquired with a furrowed brow.

Ilberius shook his head, his expression filled with uncertainty. "A peculiar sensation overtakes me. This threshold must not be crossed by me. It is too late for my journey. This is a path meant solely for your feet."

Caught in a dilemma, Brad shifted his gaze towards the gathering specters above the passage. It was the first time he beheld their decaying countenances, their timeless faces now unrecognizable. Oblivious to Ilberius's presence engulfed by their ethereal essence, their malevolent stares fixated solely upon the knight. They defied him.

In that very instant, Brad realized that they assaulted him because their eternal slumber had been disrupted. He was still among the living, an existence he mustn't forget. He had arrived at this place, though uncertain of the precise answer he sought, he would uncover it in due time.

He turned his gaze and beheld the ethereal stone bridge, slender and delicate, gracefully stretching beyond the passage's confines. On the distant side, a delicate beam of light emerged, its radiance calling out to him.

Lifting his eyes heavenward, he engaged in a silent communion, offering a prayer to the unseen forces. It was in this moment of reverie that his attention was drawn to the meticulously sculpted figures of a masculine and feminine winged angel, their forms adorning the apex of the arch with an enchanting smile playing upon their countenances.

"Surely, this is a fortuitous omen," he contemplated, infused with a hesitant but burgeoning sense of optimism.

With a deep breath, he closed his eyes, summoning every ounce of resolution within him. Stepping forward, he embarked upon that decisive stride, teetering between certainty and uncertainty, his belief unwavering that this path would lead him to the other side.

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