17's eyes snapped open, and for a moment, he thought he was still dreaming. The world around him was too vast, too quiet, too wrong.
Water spread out as far as he could see—black, glassy, motionless. When he tried to move his feet, a ripple spread, distorting his reflection. The surface barely stirred, almost like he wasn't even there.
He looked down—bare feet on the water, but no sensation of wetness. His heart pounded, but the sound seemed to travel through his ribs, muffled and heavy, as if the air itself were waterlogged.
He turned to his left and found nothing, then to his side, still nothing, he turned around at what awaited his sight and it sent him staggering back.
"Ick," he involuntarily choked out.
It really couldn't be helped, before him were statues, they all looked different, they were lined up, some to the left, some to the right, like some kind of assembly.
Some were male and some were female but they all had something in common, they were holding a musical instrument, and they were all gigantic looking.
He stared, half expecting one of them to blink or twitch. They didn't. Each giant stood rooted, hands curled around violins, harps, even a battered-looking horn. Their faces were blurred, smeared out like someone had wiped a thumb over a painting right before it dried. Even the details of their hair seemed to blur if he looked too long.
"Where is this place?" He breathed out, his heart racing very fast.
As if the creep factor wasn't high enough, suddenly a serene loud sound emitted, the words, the words made a coiling chill creep up 17's spine.
O Nahluxith, Lord at the Drowned Throne,
Hear our voices, cast in stone.
"Hah," He choked out, feel cold wash over him, suddenly the water felt even colder, his body so heavy he could hardly handle his own weight.
Sleeper, Monarch of the Endless Deep,
Watcher where the lost ones weep.
His finger trembled as the song came from nowhere, he could hardly even breathe at this point.
Crown of the blurred, the faceless King,
All-Perceiving, we rise and sing.
The tone was too serene, he had never heard such beauty voices in his entire life, and for some reason he found that unnerving.
Returner of time, Rewinder of fate,
Open the doors no soul can break.
He tried to dig his heels in, but his body wouldn't listen. It was like his feet moved on their own, step by step, closer to the giants and their haunting song. Each note pulled at something deep inside him. He didn't want to move, but he couldn't stop.
Feed on the secrets the river has known,
Hunger that gnaws at flesh and bone.
His breathing came fast and shaky. The air felt colder with every step. He wanted to turn around, run, do anything but keep going, but the path ahead seemed to tug at him, almost gently. Like it was waiting for him. Like it needed him.
Let your gaze consume our sight,
Bear us under the veil of night.
The song wrapped around him, too soft and too strong at the same time. His arms felt heavy. He tried to steady himself, but even his thoughts started to drift, pulled along by the music and the steady rhythm of his own steps.
Nahluxith, Monarch of Silent Choirs,
Drown us in longing, stoke our fires.
He looked down, watching his feet move across the glassy water, one after the other. The sound of the choir got louder, brighter, so pure it almost hurt.
Judge of the outcast, eater of lies,
Waken the throne where the sleeper lies.
It was like sleepwalking. He wanted to resist, but something kept telling him to move forward, forward, forward, until he reached the throne waiting up ahead.
O Nahluxith, open the gate—
Crown the forsaken, reforge their fate.
Someone it felt like the voices were even more smoother, much more louder!
He drifted forward, carried by the music and that strange pull in his chest. The giants lined the path on both sides, but up ahead, there was something even bigger—someone. A figure sat on a huge throne, so tall his head almost touched the sky above. Even from a distance, 17 could see that the figure's face was a blur, impossible to focus on no matter how hard he tried. A crown rested crooked on its head, looking heavy, like it had been worn for too long.
Monarch of Forgotten Time, Father of the Second Death.
On either side of the throne stood two more giants. These were different. Both wore long cloaks with hoods pulled low, so deep he couldn't see anything of their faces. They each held a massive sword in one hand, blade tip resting quietly on the water's surface. Something about them made his nerves buzz. They didn't move, at all.
Our Lord, the Black Reflection.
Closer to the throne, kneeling in front of it, was another giant. This one was bowed low, forehead nearly touching the water, arms stretched out and holding a thick book in open palms. The book was huge, old, its cover marked with strange symbols that made 17's eyes ache just from looking. The kneeling giant didn't move either, but something about the way it stayed bowed, never lifting its head, made 17's own neck feel stiff.
Raise us to your throne, O Lord of the Abyssal Choir.
He slowed, not sure if he was meant to keep going, but the music behind him pushed him on. Everything here seemed frozen, but nothing felt dead. Every figure—even the ones hidden under those hoods—seemed to be waiting for him to do something.
"This can't be real," He couldn't believe his eyes, he wasn't sure there was anyone he would tell who would believe this.
Woosh! The sound came fast, and so did what came next, a low, wide seat rose from the water—a throne, his size, so dark it seemed to eat the dim light around it. It sat directly before the gigantic seat, as if waiting for him.
17 stopped short, toes curling against the slick surface. "No way," he whispered. "I'm not sitting in that."
As he got closer, he saw a smaller throne still waiting there for something. It wasn't as grand, just big enough for him to sit. He stopped in front of it, heart pounding. "No," he muttered, shaking his head. "I'm not sitting there. I can't."
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, out of nowhere, both cloaked giants by the larger throne turned their heads—slow, silent, in perfect sync. Their hoods stayed low, but deep inside the darkness, a sharp red glow flickered to life, staring right at him.
The sight made his knees buckle. He stumbled back, lost his balance, and hit the water hard. Cold splashed up his arms. He scrambled to get up and only then noticed something warm sliding down his cheeks. Blood. Thick, wet, and bright against his skin.
A crushing pressure pressed down on him from all sides. He tried to breathe, but it felt like the world was folding in, pushing him lower, making his head pound. He looked back, hoping to run—but the path was gone. There was nothing behind him now, just endless black water and the circle of silent giants. No escape.
His vision blurred. Panic and pain twisted in his chest. He crawled toward the throne, feeling like he was about to be smothered. He grabbed the armrest, hauled himself up, and dropped into the seat. Instantly, the crushing pressure vanished. The pain in his skull faded. The blood stopped dripping from his eyes.
Crown of the blurred… Crown of the blurred…
Watcher where the lost ones weep… Take what you are owed!
The song was getting unbelievably louder!
For a few long moments, he just breathed, shaking all over. Then he glanced down and caught sight of his reflection in the water.
He froze.
Crown of the blurred… Crown of the blurred…
Watcher where the lost ones weep…Take what you are owed!!
It wasn't his own face looking back. It was the giant—the one on the massive throne behind him. He moved, and so did the reflection, matching every motion, but the face stayed blurred, impossible to see. His throat tightened. He shot to his feet in a rush, stumbling backward.
But when he looked behind him, the giant was still there, sitting tall and unmoving in its throne.
His heart hammered. He stared between the water and the giant, not sure which was worse.
He staggered back, attempting to get far away from the throne as possible and ended up on the water covered floor.
He looked into his blurry reflection on the water, the blood that had come out of his eyes earlier sticking to his skin.
The thought of being trapped in this strange occultic looking place left him ruffled. He thought about his little sister who would only have herself to depend. His sick little sister… does this mean he would never see her again?
'Six…' the thought was too better to even linger on.
He tried to scrub the blood from his face, but his hand froze. The water beneath him—something moved. It wasn't his reflection. It wasn't him at all.
He blinked hard, heart jerking in his chest. The surface of the water rippled again, and suddenly—impossibly—he saw it: a tiny, crooked table, a blurry kitchen, a flicker of yellow light.
There, right in the middle, was his sister.
Six was sitting at the table, legs swinging, laughing at something a kitchen maid had said. Her hair was messy, her smile big and real. She looked alive. She looked happy.
He flinched so hard he nearly toppled backward. The air rushed out of his lungs. "No. No, that's not—" He scrambled on the floor, hands shaking, eyes wide.
He tried to reach out, but the picture smeared, then sharpened again—Six, right there, surrounded by kitchen maids, a bite of bread in her hand, her shoulders shaking with laughter.
He stared, horror prickling down his back. Was she really there? Was he seeing her through the water—or was something else looking back at him?
'Calm down 17,' he tried to calm his breathing, glancing at the singing giants.
O, gaze anew! The water parts,
The veil is torn, the world revealed—
See how the Sleeper stirs!
17 frowned. "Their singing,"
See how he gazes upon the secret world beneath the flood!
'They are definitely–' 17 didn't complete the thought, looking down at the water to which his sister's blurry figure was still visible on, and back at the unmoving giants.
He was beginning to have a small understanding about what their song was talking about, at least this verse.
'Okay 17,' his thoughts drifted from Six to A whom he had left unconscious and appeared at this please.
As his thoughts moved from Six to A the image in the water began to stir, and stir, until it settled on… A!
It was blurry but undeniably A! He could recognize that figure very wel! And it seemed A was sitting inside…. A prison!
This made 17 scrunch his nose. It seemed A had been captured. 'Bloody hell,'
As he stared down at A from the water, A suddenly raised his head up with a rather strange smile on his face, no not strange smile, fanatical smile!
This prompted him to move back a bit as if afraid A would reach out to him through the water, there's was something strange on A's head, he could see it too clearly because the water was blurry, but he felt as if he had seen it somewhere before.
Behold how he gazes on the one who calls, touched by the ache of faith and fear!
Despite this line being much clearer than the other lines from the giants song, he really didn't understand what this line meant at all, and it seemed as if A was saying something but he couldn't hear it.
He blew out a breath, his thoughts about how to get out of here returning.
He felt raw all over, every nerve buzzing. He just wanted out—out of this haunted water, out of the giants' stares, out of the throne that seemed to have grown colder beneath him.
"I want to leave," he whispered, not caring if anyone, or anything, could hear.
As soon as the words left his mouth, the music faded into nothingness. The atmosphere turned even colder. Without warning, a huge door appeared ahead—tall, carved with strange patterns that seemed to swim when he tried to focus on them. The door creaked open slowly, and a blinding white light spilled through the gap, too bright to look at.
He shielded his eyes with his arm, squinting at the glow. He had no idea where it led, but every part of him screamed to run toward it and never look back. At the same time, something deep inside him—the same stubborn, suspicious part that had kept him alive this long—told him to be careful. He hesitated at the threshold, breathing hard, then stepped forward, moving slow and tense, ready to bolt if the ground gave way.
The light was everywhere, swallowing up the throne, the water, the giants, even the fear in his chest. He walked through the doorway, his breath caught somewhere between relief and terror.
And then—
He jolted awake, gasping, tangled in thin sheets. His whole body was slick with sweat, hair stuck to his forehead. For a long second, he just stared at the warped ceiling of his tiny, crumbling room, heart still racing.
He was home. Or at least, as close to home as he'd ever get. The boxy walls, the scratchy blanket, the musty smell—it was all real, and he was still alive. Barely.
He wiped a trembling hand across his face, not sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.
He barely had any time to collect himself when he suddenly heard a pinging noise in his ear—
[Congratulations Player No—
You've been selected
for the Elysian Games!]