He took the stone dagger that he had taken from the sarcophagus earlier out of his pocket. 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 symbol into 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, he looked at the disgusting, bloody wound in his hand. The stone dagger hadn't cut his skin cleanly. It had torn it. Aside from the pain, he didn't feel anything different. He wasn't even sure if he was supposed to feel something.
He placed everything back in his pocket, took a sip of alcohol, and leaving his father in the burial chamber, he made his way toward the well.
How could he know if the symbol worked or not? There was only one way to understand.
He returned to the opening he had just dug and waited for a moment. He was aware that he needed to do something, but he didn't know what. After a while, he stretched out his hand toward the hole.
"Open!" he shouted.
Of course, the hole remained exactly as it was.
He tried again, shouting "Open!"… but nothing happened. It was embarrassing. Even though he was all alone, 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 agony.
…
Two symbols appeared in the darkness. One of them wasn't very bright—it gave off only faint, flickering rays of light. The other, however, was brimming with a radiant golden glow. 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 two lights clashed, seeming to reject one another. But after a moment, the faint light faded, and they intertwined in harmony, merging into 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 light continued to emanate from the wound on his hand, transforming into threads that began to spread outward from the crescents. Some were bright, while others were pale, each extending toward the holes in the wall.
But one of the threads was brighter than the others.
He followed that thread instinctively. The golden thread stretched toward a tiny hole. It was so small that Arsh hadn't even thought to look at it before.
He picked up the pickaxe and began to dig. Soon, he noticed that the hole was starting to widen.
...
With his last strength, Arsh dug without stopping. Eventually, the hole reached a size that a person could fit into. He tucked the pickaxe into his belt, took the oil lamp in one hand, and crawled into the tunnel. It was fairly wide. He moved slowly for a while, not even wanting to think about how he would get back out if he reached 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 siuni, as Will called it—was somehow working. But he was too focused on getting out of this well to be surprised by it or to even think about it.
Soon, the hole opened up into another tunnel. It was so narrow that he had to walk with his head bowed. The golden thread continued to flow ahead of him, and he followed it deeper into the darkness.
The walls were damp, and the ground was wet beneath his feet. As he moved deeper inside, the sound of dripping water began to echo around him.
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. Although the place felt sacred to him, he climbed the steps without a second thought.
His only thought was to get out of this hole and find the villagers.
When he climbed out, he found himself in a marble pavilion. It didn't take him long to realize that he was in the temple garden—the one connected to the lake that was the very reason for the village's existence. The priests had never allowed anyone to enter this place, yet he had known exactly where he was.
It is better this way,' he thought while running toward the temple.
If he could inform the priests right away, they might be able to gather the villagers. And maybe they would be able to catch the people who had done this to his father and the other men.
However, when he entered the marble temple, he couldn't see anyone inside. Normally, at least one of the village's four priests 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 what happened. Someone must have found it strange that the men 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 long hours—but no one had returned since yesterday. So, he was sure that someone must have realized something was wrong. Trying to calm his racing heart, he started walking toward the village square.
Everyone in the town knew each other. With only a little over three hundred people living in this desert village, it was impossible to be a stranger. Everyone was either a friend or a relative. Whether they wanted to or not, knowing one another was inevitable.
He ran out of the temple and into the streets, checking every house he saw. He entered through the gardens of a few homes, only to find the doors standing wide open with no one inside.
Ever since he was in the well, there was an ominous voice inside his head. Although it stopped for a little while after he got out, now it was back, repeating the same things again and again.
Trying to calm his mind and heart, he finally turned a corner onto a street that led to the square.
He thought that maybe, after realizing no one was coming back, the people had gathered together to wait for news. Still, the empty streets he passed gave him an uneasy feeling.
There was no sign of the children who usually played in the streets, nor of the women chatting with one another. The village had fallen into such a silence that it felt as if no one had lived there for centuries.
As he walked, the voice inside him grew louder and louder.
He hurried toward the square. But then, a smell in the air forced him to slow down.
The scent of blood was so strong that he hesitated to go on. Still, he moved forward with heavy steps.
The smell was becoming unbearable with every step.
He was out of breath from running, but with every deep inhale, the scent of blood filling his lungs made it even harder to breathe. He felt like vomiting.
And then, he came to the corner.
At that moment, 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. Here, he used to dance, eat to his heart's content, and laugh with his friends. This square was the only place in his small world where his most beautiful memories had been made.
But now, his whole body shook uncontrollably at the sight before him in the same square.
Now it looked like a lake.
A lake from 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."