In the depths of Rune's mind, three voices stirred, their questions echoing like a haunting refrain: "Do you believe yourself to be the key?" The words, faint yet piercing, sent shivers down his spine, an unwelcome intrusion that clashed against the walls of his thoughts. They've been ricocheting here and there for about a year. The voices had been growing stronger lately. Not loud, but more persistent. Starting off as a distant whisper just beyond comprehension. Now though, most like a nagging bee flying in his mind. He shook his head slightly, trying to dispel the lingering unease as he normally would.
Just as the weight of the voice threatened to consume him, the familiar cadence of his teacher's end-of-week address cut through the classroom chatter and released Rune back to reality. "Now, before the bell rings," the teacher announced, "I'd just like to remind you to stay safe, have a good weekend, and if you face any troubles regarding monsters, then call the N.A.F immediately." The bell chimed, signaling the end of class. As his classmates erupted into a symphony of farewells and laughter, Rune stood apart, standing at 5 '7, his striking appearance a stark contrast to their carefree demeanor. His half-white, half-black hair enhanced by his silver-colored eyes, framing a slim but toned physique that spoke of hidden strength and a haunting past. "Stay safe, yeah right, if only it were so simple," he muttered, his words a somber reflection on a world where safety was a fragile illusion with and without magic in it. Along with his work his eyes constantly scanned the classroom - a habit born from years of survival, not teenage aloofness.
Just as he was about to leave, he noticed Sarah, a classmate always buried in her notes, struggling to gather her scattered papers. With a sigh, he knelt down, helping her without a word. "Thanks," she whispered, flustered. Barely pausing, he gave a quick nod and replied, "anytime," already drifting back into his thoughts, knowing his help wasn't kindness. It was muscle memory: assess, assist, disconnect. "People always get in the way," he mused internally, "clear the path, and then I can go home."
As Rune left the school, he took his usual path home, only to find his way blocked by a gate. Its raw energy pulsed outward, contained by a perimeter of vigilant hunters ready for entry. As Rune passed, one voice, seemingly from the gate itself, resonated in his mind, beckoning him, "Are you willing to die for your dreams?" The words hung in the air, heavy with an unspoken promise and a dire warning. Rune felt his heart jump as he continued to walk on. He was used to the sounds at this point, a different voice persisted, "Are you willing to be tortured for their sins?" A shiver ran down his spine, his heart began to race faster, as he played with this memorable feeling, he pressed on. "Do you believe yourself to be the sigil this world needs to survive?" The final voice questioned. "Sigil? Key? The words changed this time" as Rune spoke he started to notice the world begin to flip.
Suddenly, the world around him dissolved into shades of gray, the color around him began to bleed out, and time seemed to grind to a halt. The voices echoed, louder now, "Do you believe yourself to be worth his sacrifice? "Without hesitation, Rune approached the gate. Who is "he"? Rune questioned himself. Though Rune's heart was audibly pounding and echoing through the silent grays he declared, "I do." The moment the words left his lips, he stepped through the threshold, and the world twisted around him. He found himself in what appeared to be an ancient temple, utterly devoid of light.
He took a step. A hall of flames flickered. A memory attacked Rune, he was a child in a cage. Bandages, scares, this memory being played by his 12 year old body that was chained to the room. A voice demanding he fix himself up before midnight. "Why did I just remember that?" Rune asked himself. He got to the end of the hall. A door. He opened it. Another step. Another parade of flames. A slap to the face from his mother. Rune at age 6 fell and hit the floor. "You're a monster," his brother and sister screamed as they hid behind their disheartened father. A tear gliding from his eye. With a painful voice Rune suggested a thought" So with every step through a door I'll be reliving my life then" with clear acceptance he pushed forward again.
Another door. He was 17. A grave to his right. A deep breath. . . Rain stampeding which camouflaged with his tears. A grave to his left. The resting places of his grandparents, the only ones who cared.
Whiplash back to reality picking himself up from the floor. Rune noticed a difference in this hall. With each step he took, candles danced to life, illuminating the path ahead. They were held by statues of angels, fallen angels, and demons, their faces frozen in silent observation. "I guess the third door was the charm," Rune quipped. Finally, he reached a throne room, and the voices echoed once more, resonating with power, "So you believe yourself to be worthy? Maybe you believe yourself deserving? Is death what's needed for answers to be rewarded?" The questions hung in the air, waiting for Rune's answer, the fate of the world seemingly resting on his shoulders.
As the voice echoed, Rune looked around, questioning, "Who's there? Where are these voices coming from?" Immediately, three statues seated on imposing thrones began to stir.
The statue on the rightmost throne animating to life. No longer still and lifeless, the towering, warrior-like female angel, sculpted from dark grey stone, sat up. Her wings, extensions of the very throne itself, shifted slightly as she turned her head. Her face, a study in strength and kindness which matched her halo that was etched with a profound sadness, her dull red eyes adding to the melancholic effect. Yet, her voice, when it came, was soft but resonant, a feminine power that echoed through the chamber. Empty-handed, mirroring the demon on the opposite side, she posed the question that hung heavy in the air: 'Are you willing to die for your dreams?'"
"I am," Rune answered. Instantly, the angel's eyes glowed ruby red.
Then, the statue on the leftmost throne shuddered, dust cascading from its dark grey form. A towering male demon, hewn from the very stone of the ancient temple, lurched to life. A pointed stone tail winding chaotically towards the floor of the temple. Twisted horns framed a face of cold, ageless malice, with his dull blue eyes as a powerful, deep masculine voice echoed through the chamber. "Are you willing to be tortured for their sins?"
"I do," Rune replied once more. Immediately, the demon's eyes glowed sapphire blue.
Finally, the statue enthroned in the middle stirred to life. He towered slightly over the others, a fallen angel sculpted from brooding, dark stone. Two dull green eyes, like moss in the dark, were framed by a pair of horns – both straight like daggers though, the right one, broken in half. Being held by both of these horns was a shattered halo, tilted at an angle. His features were a mask of cunning and primeval. A creepy, machiavellian, masculine voice, amplified by the chamber's acoustics, reverberated around them, each word a deliberate blow. "Do you believe yourself to be the key this world needs to survive? Do you believe yourself to be a Sigil?" As the chilling questions echoed, he unfolded his great height, rising from the stark throne with a disturbing grace. He descended to stand alongside the other statues.
"I believe myself to be," Rune answered again. That instant, his eyes ignited with an unsettling, otherworldly glow of emerald green.
Then, all three spoke in unison, "Only the worthy are capable of becoming a key!" As they spoke, all the statues holding candles began to kneel. Wondering what would happen next, Rune answered one last time with confidence, "I've survived this long by being only me. So if I need to be some key or Sigil so I can keep on living then I'll be what you need."
"We will see," all three replied together.
As the words echoed through the chamber, an icy chill descended, thick with a palpable sense of horror. Rune's gaze snapped down to see his left arm severed, lying grotesquely on the floor. A scream tore from his throat, cut short as a fresh wave of agony engulfed him – his right leg was ripped away with brutal force. He crashed to the ground, a horrifying thought forming in his mind: *Was this a test? A gruesome validation of his oath? I did not survive just to die here!" Swallowing the bile of pain, he clamped his remaining hand over his mouth, desperately stifling the screams that threatened to erupt. With a fury of blows his body was chopped into bits. In a blinding flash, his head was gone. As his severed head tumbled through the air, his fading vision captured the grotesque spectacle of his body collapsing, a disassembled marionette with its strings cut. His final sight before darkness claimed him was the chilling smiles of the three statues.
Even as oblivion beckoned, their voices resonated in his mind, laced with cruel satisfaction: "Another candidate has been chosen. Prove to the others who shall stand at the pinnacle. Become the key."