The tomb did not wait for them.It called to them.
As they crested the ridge Kaelen had pointed toward, the wind died—not like it had shifted direction, but like it had ceased to exist. Sand halted midair. The horizon flattened into static gray. Every sound became muffled, as if reality itself held its breath.
No birds.No insects.No whispers.
Ren adjusted the hilt of his blade, frowning. "Where's the sun?"
"There's no sky either," Daiki muttered, scanning the heavens. "It's… gone."
The landscape had become a sphere of stillness. Floating monoliths of obsidian twisted in slow, impossible orbits above the ground. Ancient symbols spiraled across them, glowing with a light too old to be called light.
"This isn't just a tomb," Haru whispered. "It's a god's memory."
Kaelen nodded grimly. "We are standing inside Gai'zeran's last thought."
Entering the Unwritten
They walked forward, one by one, into the field of suspended gravity. Their boots did not leave footprints. Time slipped.
Ren turned around once—and found only darkness behind them.
"We've crossed," Daiki said, voice hushed. "There's no going back until we finish this."
Massive double doors stood before them, carved from fossilized bone, etched with scenes of a war so ancient the names had eroded. At the center was a single phrase:
"All who enter shall be forgotten."
Haru rolled his neck. "Yeah, that's not creepy at all."
Still, they pushed.
The doors opened without touch.
The Hall of Echoes
Inside the tomb, silence became a presence. Not just an absence of sound—but a force that crushed every breath.
The boys stood in a long cathedral, lit by suspended orbs of white flame. The floor was made of cracked mirrors reflecting versions of themselves—older, younger, corrupted.
Statues lined the corridor. Giant robed figures with blank faces, holding scales, blades, and hollow books.
"Icarus," Kaelen said, "don't touch the floor directly."
Icarus blinked. "Why?"
Kaelen didn't answer.
Instead, he leapt, flipping from statue base to statue base.
They followed—dodging the floor—and Ren noticed: each time someone's reflection was stepped on, the mirror cracked… and bled.
Daiki murmured, "This place records memory. Then consumes it."
Political Tensions Back Home
[Scene shift – Vatican Inner Sanctum]
Cardinal Vireon paced before the stained glass of the Chapel of Control, the shadows of ancient popes dancing across his robes. He stood before the rest of the Twelve—those who led the Holy See's Dominion Division.
"They've entered the Ashlands," Vireon reported. "And breached the gate of Gai'zeran."
A woman cloaked in veils responded coolly. "Let them. The god's tomb will erase them as it did the last generation."
"No," Vireon growled. "They are not them. These boys… they are prophecy forged in flesh."
Another voice, older and raspy, joined: "Should we prepare the executioner? The Ministry will not stay quiet."
"Let them scream," Vireon spat. "Let them howl at the injustice. When the Four fall, the world will thank us for the silence."
Back in the Tomb
Ren's group descended down spiraling stairs into a dome-shaped chamber filled with floating rings of text—each line made of moving light. Some words changed mid-sentence. Others flickered between languages.
In the center was a sarcophagus of black iron, chained with red vines that pulsed like veins.
A voice boomed—without sound.
"One of you must die to ask a question."
The boys froze.
Haru loaded a flare. "I vote we skip the Q&A."
Daiki raised a hand. "Wait."
He stepped forward. The foresight screamed. The future twisted. For one flash of a moment, Daiki saw himself lying dead on the floor—only to snap back.
"No," he whispered. "It's a bluff. It can't force us."
Kaelen unsheathed one of his curved blades. "This place is a test. Not of strength—but will. Gai'zeran was a god of forgetting. If we forget ourselves… we become his."
Icarus stepped toward the sarcophagus. "So what do we do?"
"We give him something he's never had," Ren said softly.
He reached into his coat—and pulled out the Ministry's sigil. The badge they had been given as children. It was old, bent, blood-stained. A token of all their pain.
He placed it on the sarcophagus.
"Take our fear," he said. "But not our names."
The Response of the Forgotten God
The vines loosened. The air warped. And a figure rose—tall, faceless, clothed in an endless scroll of shifting language.
It didn't speak. But the boys felt something shift.
A single phrase appeared in the air above them:
"The one who hides the truth is already dead."
Daiki blinked. "What does that mean?"
Kaelen exhaled slowly. "The Vatican."
Then—chaos.
The tomb shuddered. Runes flared. Every statue outside collapsed. From above, screeches echoed as the Dominion's elite army descended via aerial drop—blades drawn, angels twisted into monsters, a full extermination squad.
Ren turned to the others, eyes aflame.
"This is it."
"Let's make them remember who we are," Haru said, cocking his pistols.
The fight for their names—and for the truth of the world—had begun.