He took the stone dagger out of his pocket he had taken from the sarcophagus earlier. With the image of the blood river still vivid in his mind, he hoped the same thing would not happen again. Taking a deep breath, he slowly pressed the blade into his left hand. It was painful. Despite the pain, he continued to carefully carve the pattern onto his skin with the dagger. First, he drew a circle. Then, inside the circle, he carved seven crescent-shaped lines. He repeated the same shape in reverse on the outside of the circle. Finally, in the middle, he drew a star-like figure made up of seven intersecting lines.
When he finished it. he looked at the disgusting bloody wound in his hand. He didn't feel anything different and also wasn't sure if he should feel something. He placed everything in his pocket again, drank a sip of alcohol and went to the entrance of the well.
How can he know if the symbol works or not? He stretched out his hand toward the hole he had just dug and widened. "Open," he shouted.
Of course, the hole remained exactly as it was.
He tried again, shouting "Open!"… nothing happened. It was embarrassing. Even though he was by himself there, it was still embarrassing.
It couldn't be said that he was disappointed. As he ran his hand tiredly through his hair, he murmured, "Isn't there any way out of here?"
In that moment he felt a pain in his hand, and within seconds the pain suddenly reached his heart. He collapsed to the ground, curling up in pain.
…
There were two symbols in darkness. One of them wasn't very bright—it gave off only faint, flickering rays of light. The other, however, was brimming with golden light. He recognized one of them as the symbol he had just drawn on his hand, but he had no idea what the other one was.
After a while, they lost their shape, and only light remained. The lights clashed with each other. They seemed to reject each other, but after a moment, the faint light faded, and the two lights intertwined in harmony, becoming a single golden light.
When Arsh opened his eyes, faint lights were shining from his hand and his chest. As the glow in his chest dimmed, the pain slowly faded away.
Golden lights continued to emanate from the wound on his hand, transforming into threads that began to spread outward from the crescents. Some were bright, some were pale, each of them extended towards holes on the wall. One of the threads was especially bright.
He followed the most bright one instinctively. It was rather small one, so he didn't even try to look through this one. He picked up the pickaxe and began to dig the hole. Soon he noticed that the hole was starting to widen.
With his last strength he dug continuously. Eventually the hole came to a size a person can fit. He tucked the pickaxe into his waist, took the oil lamp in one of his hands, and curled up inside the tunnel. It was pretty wide. He moved slowly for a while. He didn't even want to think about how he would get back out of here if he got into a dead end.
Still, he was lucky. Even though the tunnel narrowed in some places, he could still move forward. The golden thread emanating from his hand continued to float ahead of him. He was certain that this symbol or the siunian the way Will call it — was somehow working. But he was too focused on getting out of this water well to be surprised by it or to think about it. Soon, the hole opened up into a cave. He had to walk with his head bowed, and kept following the golden thread.
The walls were damp. As he walked deeper inside, he began to hear the sound of dripping water. The ground was wet beneath his feet. After some time, he noticed a faint light ahead. There, on a small altar, stood a tiny statue of a goddess with a few sticks of incense beside it. Just behind the altar, there were stairs. Arsh rushed over there and saw that the stairs were leading up to the surface. Somehow, the place felt sacred to him, but he went up without giving it much thought.
When he climbed up, he found himself in a marble pavilion. It didn't take him long to realize that he was in the garden of the temple — the one connected to the lake that was the very reason for the village's existence. But the priests had never allowed anyone to come here, yet he had known exactly where it was.
He ran toward the temple. If he could inform the priests right away, they might be able to gather the villagers. However, when he entered the marble temple, he couldn't see anyone inside. Normally, at least one of the four priests of the village would always be praying at the main altar. Even when he went to the priests' quarters, there was no one there.
He stepped outside and looked up at the sky. The sun was beginning to set. When his father had been shot, the day was just breaking. Considering he had been in that well for more than half a day, the villagers had probably already learned about what had happened. Someone must have found it strange that everyone had been gone for so long and gone to check on them. At the very least, a few people would usually come back to the village to get food when they worked for long hours — but no one had returned since yesterday. Trying to calm himself, he started walking toward the village square.
Everyone in the town knew each other. The number of people in the town was just a little over 300. Whether they wanted to or not, it was inevitable that they wouldn't know each other. So, he ran out of the temple and into the streets. He entered through the gardens of a few houses. However, the doors of some houses were wide open, but no one was inside. Since he was in the well, he kept hearing the same ominous voice inside him, even though he didn't want to admit it.
He finally turned towards the square. He thought that maybe, after people realized no one was coming, they might have gathered together to wait for the news. Still, it was giving him an uneasy feeling that there was no one in the streets he passed. There was no sign of the village children who were usually in the streets, nor of the women chatting with each other. The village had fallen into such a silence that it seemed as if no one had lived there for centuries. On the other hand, the voice inside him was growing louder and louder.
As he hurried toward the square, the smell in the air forced him to slow down. The scent of blood was so strong that he hesitated to go on. He moved forward with heavy steps. The smell grew increasingly sharp.
He was out of breath from running, but with every deep inhale, the blood scent filling his lungs made it even harder to breathe, and he felt like vomiting.
When he reached the corner leading to the square, he realized that after turning this corner, nothing in his life would ever be the same again. A few steps later, he came upon the square that had once been filled with people celebrating, holding weddings, sharing meals, and offering prayers together. But now, his whole body shook uncontrollably at the sight before him.
The square looked like a lake of blood, with a small island of human bodies in the center. With every step, his feet sank deeper into the pool of blood.
Once again, Arsh heard that voice inside him. This time, the voice was sharp and clear.
"No one is coming to save you. Because they are all dead."