Their steps halted at the mouth of the cave—gaping open like a wound in the body of the world.
No sign, no sound, only darkness greeted them beyond the cracked and timeworn stones.
The storm had passed, but the silence that followed pierced even deeper.
One by one, they entered, bowing beneath the collapsed arch that resembled a door,
as if they were passing through the stomach of the earth.
Inside, the air shifted—colder, heavier.
The breath of wind did not reach this place.
Only stillness, and the scent of ancient soil,
carrying the aroma of a forgotten age.
In the depths of the cave, they found it.
A stone altar rose to waist height, crudely carved,
yet clearly not made by ordinary hands.
Atop it, an irregular-shaped stone glowed faintly in the dark,
radiating an aura like whispers—not heard by ears, but felt through the veins.
The stone was similar... no, identical to the one at the first site,
the one where their world had first cracked apart.
But now, upon this altar, the stone was linked to a pattern.
A magic circle etched around it, glowing faintly in dull gold.
On the stone wall behind the altar, rows of text were engraved
in a language unknown.
But to Cael, some of the symbols... spoke in a way beyond logic—
a form of understanding that defied explanation.
"It's... calling," one student whispered, his voice hoarse, barely audible.
Cael stepped closer. His fingers touched the edge of the altar,
and his soul felt a subtle vibration.
The compass at his waist shifted slightly, pointing to the stone
as if acknowledging something older than time itself.
"This isn't a tool," he murmured.
"This... is a gate."
One of the boys let out a bitter grin.
"If it's a gate, then where does it lead? Hell?"
No one laughed.
Cael didn't answer.
His eyes were fixed on the ancient text.
In his mind, the echo of the guardian spirit he had met before returned—
about 'a direction that is not a direction',
about 'a fortune that belongs to no one'.
He tried to decipher the symbols.
They curled in circles, spun in illogical geometry—
as if time and space themselves bowed to the design.
Then suddenly, his thoughts were pulled into a flicker of vision.
A sky burning. A world torn apart. Unknown bodies falling.
And this altar—repeating, again and again,
in different forms, in different worlds.
He staggered back, breath heavy.
"This is not the only place…
There are many altars.
In other worlds."
"How do you know?" someone asked, suspicious.
Cael looked at them. His gaze deep, calm,
yet full of futures that could not be explained.
"I don't know... but I feel it."
Silence wrapped them once again.
One of the girls, trembling since the beginning,
stepped toward the stone, as if called.
But before her hand could touch it, Cael pulled her back.
"Don't touch it carelessly.
This isn't just a stone.
It's a part of a will."
"Whose will?"
Cael stared at the ancient symbols once more.
His voice low, almost speaking only to himself.
"Maybe no one's.
Maybe... it's the will of the world."
Cael knelt before the altar,
examining the runes carved like ancient rivers across the stone.
Each line felt alive,
like the pulse of a creature long asleep.
He tried to connect one pattern to another,
seeking to assemble a puzzle with no beginning and no end.
But all of it felt like a dream,
too incomprehensible for a boy from another world.
"What does all of this mean...?" he thought.
He had seen magic on the battlefield,
had felt the whispers of lingering souls—
but this was different.
These runes did not merely hold power—
they contained a structure of logic beyond his grasp.
"The language of this world… it's not ours," he whispered.
"It's not meant to be understood, but to be felt."
The compass in his hand quivered slightly.
Its needle pointed to the far side of the room,
toward a narrow passage behind the altar.
"That way," Cael said, rising.
"Where to?" someone asked, still dazed.
"I don't know...
but maybe there's something that can help."
They stepped into the tight corridor,
guided only by the faint glow of the compass.
The air grew damper.
A metallic scent mixed with an unnatural freshness reached their noses.
Then… a sound.
Dripping water.
Moments later, the corridor opened into a natural chamber,
lit by soft crystal light sprouting from the walls.
At its center—a pool of clear water, still and gleaming like glass.
A fine mist rose from its surface,
bringing a gentle coolness that soothed their weary chests.
One student ran forward, kneeling,
drinking greedily.
"Water...! Real water...!"
The others followed,
washing their faces, some sitting down,
even laughing softly though their voices remained heavy.
Cael simply stood there,
gazing at his reflection in the water.
"This place… can't be a coincidence," he whispered.
He stepped slowly to the far edge of the pool,
and there—half-buried in the earth,
he saw a small triangular stone,
etched with finer runes than before,
as if written by an invisible hand.
He approached, touched it.
In an instant, visions flooded his mind.
Altars in other worlds.
Worlds burning, freezing, floating among stars.
In each—
the same symbol.
These runes were not merely spells.
They were path-markers—
like nodes in a vast net.
Like…
...a map.
Cael froze. His hand clenched.
Though he did not fully understand
how these runes worked,
he knew one thing:
If they wanted to survive—
if they wanted to find a way out—
places like this would be the key.
"For now," he whispered to himself,
"we must survive.
And learn."
He returned to the group,
letting his thoughts settle
in the flow of water and crystal light.
Their first night in this world—
perhaps only the beginning of many uncertain nights.
Yet for Cael,
each symbol, each breath of wind,
each whisper of stone...
...was starting to form something far greater.