Opening Monologue:
"Light is honest. It doesn't fake warmth; it doesn't pretend safety. When a forgotten lantern sparks back to life, it isn't a welcome… it's a warning dressed like hope."
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The deeper Lullaby walked, the quieter the world became. Not silent—silence was clean.
This was different.
This was listening.
The orb hovered close, tiny pulses flashing like nervous breathing. Every step Lullaby took, the faint golden veins along the walls dimmed behind him and brightened ahead of him, like a guiding heartbeat.
The lantern in his small hand remained cold. Empty. Dormant.
But it wasn't dead.
The ramp leveled out into a long, narrow passage. Murals continued along the walls—less celebratory now, more solemn. The Galabies kneeling. Lanterns held high. Children pressing handprints into the Door.
A ritual. A promise. A pact.
Lullaby swallowed.
"These murals… why show me this now?"
The orb emitted a soft chime, unsure.
Then the passage opened into a circular chamber much smaller than the last. This one felt… personal. Like a room meant for teaching or gathering. Tiny stone stools arranged in a ring. A central pedestal made of carved obsidian.
And above the pedestal floated—
Nothing.
Just a hollow imprint of light, the shape of something missing.
Lullaby stepped closer. His lantern reacted immediately.
A soft glow flickered inside it.
The orb jolted back in alarm.
"Wait—why now?" Lullaby whispered, holding the lantern up.
The hollow shape above the pedestal pulsed. Slow. Rhythmic.
Almost like it was breathing.
The glow in Lullaby's lantern grew brighter.
Warmer.
It felt comforting… and wrong.
Because the murals didn't show lanterns burning down here.
They only burned outside.
In the village.
In the rituals.
Never in the heart of the Door.
The warmth turned hot.
Too hot.
Lullaby flinched and nearly dropped the lantern. The orb darted forward, its glow expanding protectively, shielding him with a translucent dome of light.
The pedestal cracked with a sharp, splitting sound.
A voice whispered from within the hollow imprint above it—not one voice, but layered, trembling, desperate:
"Why did you come back?"
Lullaby froze.
He didn't know the voice, but it knew him. Knew his presence. His breath. His fear.
The orb chimed in a panicked stutter, pushing him back.
The chamber lights flickered violently. Golden veins bled into black for a fraction of a second.
Not a vision.
Not a memory.
A glitch in the Door.
Something had gone wrong here.
Something once meant to teach… had become something abandoned.
The voice repeated, louder this time:
"You weren't supposed to return."
The lantern in Lullaby's hand flashed—then went completely dark.
The orb grabbed his sleeve with light and pulled him toward the exit.
The chamber trembled.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
And just as Lullaby stumbled into the hallway, the hollow imprint above the pedestal collapsed inward, swallowing itself with a muffled roar—like something waking up from centuries of forced sleep.
The rumbling stopped.
The orb steadied him.
Lullaby looked back at the ruined chamber, heart pounding.
"That wasn't a memory," he whispered.
The orb chimed low, agreeing.
"That was something alive."
He tightened his grip on the lantern.
It was dark again.
Lifeless.
But warm.
Warm in a way it should not be.
Lullaby exhaled shakily and stared down the deeper path ahead.
The Door's history wasn't just ancient.
It was broken.
And something inside it had just realized he was here.