thief of fate-Chapter 55: Warning

In the great temple of Tofana, night had already cast its heavy veil upon the city, but the prayer hall still throbbed with the whispers of souls and the tremble of hearts. The candles lined along the tall walls sent their flickering flames dancing silently, while the scent of incense rose in transparent spirals, as if writing a prayer not spoken, but inhaled.

Dozens of believers knelt on the cold ground, their heads bowed, hands pressed to their chests, and their breaths echoed in a unified rhythm. Men and women of all ages, their voices rising and fading in soft supplication, each trying to make Tofana hear something of their pain, something of their hope.

Young priest "Lioriel" stood at the front row, raising his hands to the sky, while the echo of his deep voice lingered through the stone columns:

"O Tofana, O you who hold balance in your hand, pour your tranquility upon this fractured world. Our hearts fall into chaos every day, chaos we do not understand, and we need your light not to illuminate our path, but to give us a reason to walk it..."

His voice slowly faded, as if he were not merely praying, but searching among the words for an answer he hadn’t received in a long time.

Slowly, one after another, the worshipers began to withdraw from the hall. Their steps touched the ground cautiously, as if they feared breaking the sacred silence left behind by the prayers. The incense still hung in the air, like a trace of a call that had not yet been answered, and the candles continued to burn with patience.

In another wing of the temple, High Priest "Aldar" sat behind his desk made of black cypress wood. A man past two hundred, his face bore the trenches of time as if etched into stone, and his eyes shone with a heavy wisdom that denied him peaceful sleep.

He was reading an old scroll, running his trembling fingers over the words as if feeling a trace from another world. Before him sat a cup of cold tea he hadn’t touched, and a window overlooking the temple courtyard, where the wind toyed mercilessly with the tree leaves.

His stillness was broken by the sound of hurried footsteps, then the door burst open, and the face of priest "Ilmar" appeared a man in his mid-thirties, usually composed, but now his eye trembled with silent worry.

"My lord... you must come."

Aldar slowly lifted his gaze, didn’t speak, merely nodded in acknowledgment.

"In the western hall, where we keep the remains of... that thing, the stone... it began to glow. One of the priests saw it flicker, then... then writing started to appear on it."

Aldar didn’t move for a moment. He kept looking at him, as if his mind refused to believe what it had heard, or needed to rearrange the words in a way that would make their truth digestible.

"Are you sure?" he finally asked.

"Yes, my lord. I saw it with my own eyes. It’s... it’s not random light. There’s a pattern, and there’s... something being written."

Aldar stood slowly and took his ivory cane, adorned with religious symbols. He took a deep breath and said without looking at Ilmar:

"Take me to it."

The path to the western hall wasn’t long, but it felt eternal. The temple walls, once familiar, now seemed to watch them in ancient silence, hiding more than they revealed. Every corner, every candlelight cast shadows too large for its source.

When they arrived at the hall, they were met by two priests, one whispering to the other in concern, but both fell silent when they saw the high priest enter. They both knelt instinctively, but he motioned for them to stand.

In the center of the hall was the stone. Not a massive boulder, but an irregular-shaped piece, black, unnaturally smooth, as if cut from a material not born of this earth. It emitted a faint glow not like fire, but more like the pulse of a hidden heart.

Aldar approached it slowly, his eyes never leaving its surface. For a moment, he saw nothing. Then... a flash. A brief flicker, barely noticeable, but enough to raise every hair on his body.

"Look..." one of the priests whispered.

The surface of the stone began to change, as though the light was coming from within, not outside. Slowly, a shape resembling a symbol appeared, then a letter... then a word... and the words began to write no, to be carved slowly, as if an invisible hand was chiseling them into the heart of the stone.

Aldar did not move. He kept watching, then closed his eyes for a moment, as if something inside him stirred. A silent voice screaming within:

Is this an answer? Or a warning?

He had spent decades asking for a sign, yearning for a moment when Tofana would speak to them, grant them a sign that they were still under her care. But he had never imagined the sign would come in this way, in such strangeness.

He felt an unseen weight creep into his heart. He recalled the words of an ancient book:

"When the gods whisper into stone, the world is about to awaken."

He stepped closer, and whispered as though speaking to the spirit behind the light:

"What do you want from us, Tofana? Is this a choice? Or a warning?"

But the stone did not answer.

The words were still being carved... and every letter carried within it a meaning not easily read. It wasn’t a common language, but a blend of symbols and spells not used for centuries.

He turned to Ilmar and said in a quiet voice:

"Bring me the old texts. Everything we have on the time of the first rituals. Everything written about the broken stone... and send a message to Guardian Elin. Tell her we need the council’s permission to access the forbidden archive."

"But... do you think what we’re seeing now is... a return?" Ilmar asked, his eyes trembling with a fear he couldn’t hide.

Aldar did not answer right away. He looked once more at the stone, at the light, at the words that were beginning to take on a terrifying clarity.

"I don’t know, Ilmar... but I know one thing... Tofana does not whisper unless a storm is coming."

The stone continued to tremble. And the words appeared no, bloomed like flowers under an enchanted moon, every letter emerging from nothingness. They weren’t just writing in a comprehensible language, but translated themselves directly into the minds of those who saw them. Everyone around felt the meaning, but Aldar... he alone understood.

He began to read, and read, until his breath halted for a moment. The light from the stone grew softer, brighter, yet lonelier. Then the lines appeared, arranged as if written by a poetic hand, with letters bleeding from embers, not ink:

"Whoever gazes into the abyss, it shall not gaze back,

but open its arms, welcoming him,

and what lies within... shall not remain still.

Terrors stir, and chaos sows its steps,

and a war, from behind the clouds, approaches... 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

The ancient evil has awakened, chosen its avatars,

but only one... shall live.

And by the unity of men, as never before,

you must hurry,

before the light itself fades..."

The hall trembled in silence, as if time itself paused at the reading. No one spoke. Even the candlelight seemed to melt in reverence to the meaning.

"Tofana..." Aldar murmured, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of terror and comprehension.

He raised his head slowly toward the stunned priests, then said in a heavy voice, each word bearing the weight of a prophecy:

"The abyss... something has begun to move. The evil foretold by legend... was not myth. It has already chosen its avatars."

"And what does it mean... only one shall live?" asked Ilmar, his face pale, as if blood had fled him.

"It means those chosen... will fight. An eternal game. A struggle among those who walk in human steps."

Then he wrapped himself in his long cloak, his cane tapping the ground firmly. He paused at the door, looking back one last time:

"We must beware, not just of the words... but the silence that follows them. Because silence is what precedes the storm."

"Where are you going, my lord?" asked one of the priests hesitantly.

"To King Yaram..." Aldar answered without pause. "He must know, immediately. For what we saw here... will not stay here."

He hesitated for a moment, then added in a quiet voice, heard only by Ilmar beside him:

"The final warning wasn’t meant for us alone. It was for all who still believe that balance can remain without being defended."

Ilmar stood at the hall’s door, watching his master’s shadow fade into the temple corridors. Aldar’s steps were confident, but burdened, as if carrying years of silence on his back.

Ilmar felt a prickling in his chest... it wasn’t fear exactly, but something deeper. Something like the sense that time had now split into a "before" and an "after," and that what had passed would never return.

He whispered to himself, the cold creeping into his heart:

"It feels like a farewell..."

Aldar left the hall, behind him the strange light’s reflections dancing on the temple walls. The night was darker, the wind more chaotic.

And within him, there was an increasing certainty...

The abyss had already welcomed someone.