By the time Damien stopped trembling from the cliffside mishap, the group was already moving again.
No introductions nor explanations. Just footsteps scraping against the worn stone of the Hollow Mountains.
Apparently, he was expected to keep up.
And thankfully, despite the altitude, the nightmares, and the bruised ego from being called a moron, Damien did.
Hours passed. The sun, if it was a sun, never moved. The sky stayed that burnt orange shade it always wore in the Nightmare Realm, casting long shadows that didn't quite match the bodies that made them.
Eventually, the group found what they were supposedly looking for.
Nestled in a narrow valley surrounded by jagged peaks, a hidden plain stretched out like a wound in the earth.
At the center of it all: a sanctum.
Half-buried under broken statues and sloped rubble, a circular structure sat embedded into the base of the largest mountain in the range. It almost felt like it was radiating faintly with a power Damien didn't recognize. It was just raw and wrong. The moment he saw it, he knew one thing for sure:
They weren't supposed to be here.
But the crew didn't hesitate.
"This is it," said the woman, the one who had barked at him earlier. Her voice was quieter now. Not out of respect, Damien thought. More like caution.
They approached.
The entrance to the sanctum was just wide enough to admit one person at a time. The walls were made of some kind of dark stone etched with unfamiliar glyphs. Damien felt them tug at the corners of his mind.
Funnily enough, despite climbing and traveling with the group for hours, he still had no idea what exactly they were even here for. Whatever it was, he had a feeling that the nightmare creature he had to fight and kill would be right in there.
How kind of the nightmare spell to give me an entire cohort to fight against whatever it is I have to fight!
Damien pondered about his "luck" and realized the flip side of the coin.
On second thought, that might just mean the nightmare creature is overwhelmingly powerful... Ah crap.
Inside, the air felt thick—dense, like it had weight. Every step Damien took felt heavier than the last.
The deeper they moved, the more it became clear: this wasn't a ruin. It was sealed.
Probably for good reason too.
The crew split into formation. The man with the greatsword stayed back to guard the rear. The stocky one moved ahead, scanning for traps. Damien stuck near the woman—not because he trusted her, but because she seemed to know what the hell she was doing.
They reached the inner chamber in eerie silence.
At its center stood a singular pedestal. Upon that pedestal... Damien couldn't really tell.
"The Divine Luneborne Sigil... It really exists!" the woman exclaimed.
The men seemed fairly excited too.
A little too excited...
"No one touches anything until I give the signal, this is a divine artifact we are dealing with." the woman warned.
So naturally, the bulky man ignored her.
"Can't wait. I feel it," he muttered, reaching for the memory with shaking hands.
He grabbed it.
And screamed.
It wasn't the kind of scream you hear from pain. It was raw unraveling—like his soul was being peeled off layer by layer. Blood leaked from his nose, ears, eyes. He turned to the others, mouthing something.
Then burst.
Just—exploded.
Flesh hit Damien's face. He dropped to the floor, eyes wide, breath caught.
There was only silence.
After the silence, chaos ensued.
The greatsword man roared and rushed forward—maybe to avenge, maybe to escape. Damien couldn't tell.
Didn't matter.
Something moved swiftly in the shadows.
The swordsman swung wide.
And struck air.
Then he froze mid-motion.
His head hit the floor with a wet thump, rolling a few feet before landing near Damien's boots.
Damien looked at the woman.
Her face was pale. Hands trembling. Eyes locked on something in the dark corner of the chamber.
She whimpered:"T-That's not a g-guardian. That's a Void Servant."
Something shifted.
Damien turned.
And he saw it.
A figure stood in the shadows. Humanoid in shape, but stretched, wrong. Cloaked in shredded fabric, face hidden beneath a veil of dripping black ink, and no eyes.
Just an open mouth.
Smiling.
It didn't move like a monster. It didn't growl or charge.
It just waited.
Like it knew time was on its side.
It possessed intelligence.
The woman stepped forward. "Run, Damien."
He didn't move. "What about—"
"I said run!"
And so he ran.
The woman tossed something—a dagger covered in runes—then sprinted toward the figure.
Her scream lasted longer than the others.
But it still ended.
Now Damien stood alone.
In a sealed temple.
Surrounded by dead men's greed.
Something in the darkness was hunting him. It didn't make noise. Didn't breathe. Didn't rush.
It just watched.
He had no clue what artifact they'd disturbed. No idea what it meant. Only that this was his first trial.
And it didn't seem like a fight.
It felt more like a lesson.
He suddenly remembered an old saying his father used to tell him:
"You don't take from the forgotten. Or you'll be forgotten too."