The behavior of the tomb guardian had transformed noticeably, becoming not just polite but almost reverential in his interactions with Vanna. This palpable change in the air did not go unnoticed by her peers, who threw puzzled looks her way as if questioning what could have elicited such a shift in the guardian’s demeanor.
Vanna herself was equally mystified. While she sensed that something significant had transpired, she couldn’t quite articulate what exactly had caused this strange alteration. She had an inkling, but it was too vague to put into words.
She lowered her gaze as the towering guardian extended his massive hand, offering her a scroll of parchment. With a moment’s hesitation, Vanna accepted it and took a discreet breath to calm her nerves.
“I’ll return shortly,” she informed Bishop Valentine hurriedly before following the tomb guardian towards a pale, distant structure that loomed ahead.
As she entered, the weighty stone door creaked closed behind her, sealing off the ancient, mystical tomb once more. To her surprise, the guardian did not vanish into the ether as she had anticipated. Instead, he assumed the role of a guide, leading her further into the labyrinthine depths of the tomb. Their footsteps echoed in the otherwise silent space, amplifying the sense of isolation and gravity of the situation.
As they ventured deeper, Vanna mentally reviewed the various taboos and customs she needed to be aware of within this mysterious domain known as Vision 004. Her eyes remained vigilant, observing the guardian’s every move. She thought back to her last venture into the tomb and how the guardian had behaved then, even though her memories were clouded due to Vision 004’s constraints.
She couldn’t remember specific events from her previous visit, but a faint recollection of the guardian’s altered attitude gnawed at her. She hadn’t paid it much heed back then, but now, a barrage of theories and conjectures began to flood her mind uncontrollably.
Caught up in her whirlwind of thoughts, she was jolted back to reality by a deep, gravelly voice that shattered the engulfing silence.
“Is there something you wish to ask?” The guardian had unexpectedly initiated conversation, stunning Vanna.
Was this looming, typically reticent figure really starting a dialogue with her, the “Listener,” as she ventured into this sacred tomb? Quickly rifling through her accumulated knowledge about Vision 004, she composed herself before carefully wording her inquiry, “Why are you showing such friendliness towards me?”
“Because you are the Messenger,” the guardian responded immediately, “A Messenger who has ascended beyond mere mortals and is thus worthy of respect.”
Confused, Vanna hesitated, “Messenger? What does that mean? Am I not a saint to the Storm Goddess Gomona? But everyone outside in the square is—”
“The Leviathan Queen has no living messengers. All perished before the First Long Night,” the guardian interjected, his voice remaining eerily neutral whether he was discussing divine beings or otherwise, “You are the messenger of the Fire Usurper.”
Vanna felt her heart tighten, her mind erupting in a chaotic frenzy, and her breathing halted involuntarily. Astonishment anchored her in place; the revelation she had just received surpassed anything she could have imagined. It was as if a mental storm had swept across her consciousness, leaving in its wake an overwhelming cascade of guesses, realizations, and new understandings.
She recalled the title “Leviathan Queen.” Captain Duncan had uttered this mysterious name in a conversation with her and Morris not long ago, and now, its significance took on a new, startling dimension.
After having read the “Book of Blasphemy,” Vanna recalled Mr. Morris mentioning the term “Long Night” several times. According to this forbidden text, the ancient “Kings” had attempted to create the world not once, but during three distinct periods known as the Long Nights. Similarly, there were three corresponding cycles of world creation.
As her mind drifted back to the conversation about the Fire Usurper, a sudden realization sparked within her.
“Could the Fire Usurper be Captain Duncan?” she blurted out, almost instinctively.
She knew that discussing the master of the tomb or its inner secrets was taboo within the realm of Vision 004. However, conversations about the external world were not subject to these restrictions. Mustering courage, she directed her question at the enigmatic tomb guardian. Deep inside, her intuition assured her that this line of inquiry wouldn’t bring harm upon her.
To her surprise, the guardian did not respond at once. There was a long, uncomfortable pause before he finally turned his head and looked directly into her eyes.
“Any secrets learned within these walls will be forgotten upon your exit. Your questions, therefore, are futile,” he stated gravely.
The words doused Vanna’s flaming curiosity like a sudden downpour. She was reminded that Vision 004 had a way of erasing memories once one left its confines. Even if she penned down what she learned, these forbidden notes would ultimately be destroyed.
Afraid to probe further into the “forgetting mechanism” of Vision 004—since such a question could be perceived as referring to the tomb itself and thus invite peril—Vanna had no choice but to press on, albeit with a heavy heart, towards the innermost chamber of the tomb.
Just as she took a step, the guardian’s voice echoed once again, “The Fire Usurper is not Duncan.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. Before she could ponder why the guardian had suddenly decided to answer her earlier question, her instincts prompted her to ask, “And the Leviathan Queen? You mentioned she is connected to the storm, so—”
“We have arrived,” the guardian interrupted abruptly, his deep voice quashing her inquiry.
Lifting her gaze, Vanna saw that they had reached the end of the lengthy corridor. A grand door stood before her, leading to the central chamber of the tomb. Flickers of pale firelight from within beckoned her to step inside.
In that moment, it dawned on her: the window for questioning was now closed. Regardless of her mysterious status as the “Messenger,” there were limits to the degree of courtesy or information that the tomb guardian could offer. Whether these limitations were quantitative or topical, she couldn’t tell. Worse, her inability to retain memories from within Vision 004 meant she wouldn’t have the chance to refine her understanding through repeated visits.
A sense of loss and curiosity, mingled with resignation, washed over her as she steeled herself to enter the central chamber, letting go of the questions that would remain, for now, unanswered.
A whirlwind of thoughts spiraled through Vanna’s mind as she stood at the threshold of the innermost chamber. Finally, she drew in a slow, calming breath and turned to the tomb guardian, wrapped in age-old bandages, his presence wavering between the realms of life and death.
“Thank you for your patience,” she whispered in gratitude.
“Please enter. I will escort you out later, although you won’t remember,” the guardian responded, his voice as enigmatic as ever.
Nodding, Vanna crossed the threshold into the tomb chamber. As she did, the guardian silently faded away, melting back into the shadowy corridor from whence he came.
Inside the chamber, a sense of timelessness engulfed her. There sat the headless Nameless King upon an ancient, solemn throne. A basin of pale fire flickered softly in a corner, filling the room with a somber, tranquil ambiance.
As she approached the throne, Vanna’s eyes fell upon a plush armchair positioned as if specifically for her, the Listener. A small table stood in front of the armchair, laden with a bowl of fruit, assorted pastries, and even a steaming cup of hot tea.
She halted, nearly losing her composure. Though she knew her memories from this chamber wouldn’t make it past Vision 004’s mysterious barriers, she was fairly confident that such luxuries had never been described in the fragmented accounts occasionally smuggled out on parchment. No records of “listening” had ever mentioned such treats.
Yet, after a brief moment of disbelief and an almost reflexive urge to voice her astonishment, Vanna regained her focus. Her gaze turned steely, and she began to scrutinize her surroundings with a professional eye.
The chamber itself was carved from cold, unyielding stone, a place that logically couldn’t house a pantry or a kitchen. The guardian, while perhaps capable of brewing tea, was unlikely to engage in the delicate art of pastry-making.
She studied the items on the table more closely. The fruits were undeniably fresh, the tea was still sending up curls of steam, and the plate of pastries sat on an intricately crafted wooden platter inlaid with silver. The design hinted at the artistic flair of the southern city-states—possibly even of elven origins, like those from Wind Harbor or South Harbor.
Tentatively, she picked up a biscuit, feeling the warmth that indicated it had recently been baked.
Had this pastry been in an oven in some distant city-state just an hour ago?
This led her to a series of rapid-fire questions: Did the tomb guardian have the ability to travel to the material world? Or were there devotees in the real world who were obedient to the tomb guardian, making offerings to this shadowy realm known as Vision 004?
The southern style of the offerings suggested they were sourced from elven territories. The elves were a race steeped in mystery and longevity, and their religious practices differed significantly from the doctrines of today’s Four Gods Church. Could there be ancient elven scriptures that offered commentary on Vision 004?
Just as Vanna was sinking deeper into her thoughts, carried away by her inquisitive professional instincts, a soft, scraping noise resounded through the chamber, jolting her back to the present and effectively breaking her train of thought.
As Vanna turned her attention toward the source of the noise, she saw the headless king’s arm slowly lifting as if he were about to rise from his ancient throne. Before she could fully process what she was witnessing, her surroundings shifted abruptly.
Her eyes snapped open wide to reveal a very different scene: towering, ancient pillars framing a grand square, punctuated by the erratic dance of dim lights streaking across the night sky. Ethereal projections of saints were converging from afar, while in her peripheral vision, a pale, enigmatic structure was sinking into the earth, accompanied by a cacophony of deep, rumbling sounds.
Had her mission inside Vision 004 come to an end?
Confusion washed over Vanna. She shook her head to clear it, realizing her memory was fragmented, frozen at the moment she and the courteous tomb guardian had entered the mystical realm. This sensation of memory disruption was not new to her, for she had entered Vision 004 as the “Listener” before. But this time was different—something felt off. Residual, inconsistent impressions lingered on the edges of her now blank slate of a memory, like faint echoes of something she couldn’t quite place.
Before she could delve deeper into this curious sensation, however, her focus was drawn back to the present. Her fellow members of the clergy had gathered in the square; Bishop Valentine’s spiritual projection was prominent among them. Further away, the often tardy Pope Helena stood at the edge of the square, observing the scene with a silent, watchful gaze.
“Vanna,” Valentine was the first to break the silence, “How do you feel? This is your third time entering the tomb. Has it had any effects on you?”
Caught off guard by the question, Vanna furrowed her brow as if mentally sifting through her emotions and thoughts to provide an answer. But before she could articulate her feelings, she let out an involuntary burp.
The assemblage of saintly projections on the square fell into an awkward, stunned silence.
Even Bishop Valentine, who had known Vanna since she was a child, seemed at a loss for words. After a moment of hesitation, the seasoned cleric finally managed to utter, “Did you gnaw on a rock inside?”
The question was absurd, but the atmosphere had already shifted from solemnity to something slightly more bewildering.
