Below the City of Silver, a man lies motionless in a dark, damp dungeon. He is stirred as he hears.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Each drop echoed through stone corridors. Water struck his forehead. He flinched awake. Darkness pressed in from every side. Cold stone beneath him. Iron around his wrists. He jerked upright, and chains snapped taut. The sound echoed through the cell. He stared at the shackles as though seeing them for the first time.
Where am I?
He searched for an answer. Nothing came. Chains stretched from his shackles into the floor. "What..." His voice came out dry and unfamiliar. He pulled harder. Nothing. Panic rose in his chest.
Where am I? Who put me here?
The scrape of metal echoed somewhere beyond the cell. A gate. Then footsteps. Several pairs. A warm orange glow seeped through the crevices of the floors and walls as it pooled towards the ceiling as torchlight approached. A key rattled in the lock. The oldest guard frowned. "You're awake." No answer.
"Figures."
He unlocked the cell. The cell door groaned open. Three armored men stepped inside. One of them sighed.
"Come on, you old drunk. You're free."
Before The Man could react, they unlocked his chains and hauled him to his feet. "Wait!" he shouted, twisting against their grip. "Who are you? What's happening?"
"Easy."
The oldest guard didn't even look at him. "You've caused enough trouble." They dragged him through winding stone corridors. The air smelled of mildew and rust. "You've got the wrong man," The Man insisted. That earned a tired chuckle. "Do I?" The guard glanced back.
"Stop fighting," one of them muttered.
"You really don't remember?"
The prisoner stared back blankly meeting the guards' calloused gaze as he sighed.
"...Gods between."
He shook his head.
"Come on now, has the drink stolen your name too?"."
"...My name?"
"Aroyyn."
The word struck him like distant thunder.
Aroyyn.
Something stirred behind his eyes. Steel. Fire. A battlefield swallowed in smoke. Then it vanished. The guard continued quietly. "I never thought I'd see the day." A pause.
"The Decimator... reduced to this."
No one spoke again. Ahead, sunlight spilled through a doorway. The brightness hurt. One shove sent Aroyyn's frail body stumbling into the open air. He caught himself on trembling hands. Behind him, the guards emerged into daylight. The older one tossed him a small leather pouch as coins clinked inside.
"I've bent the law enough for one lifetime."
His expression softened.
"We fought together once."
Another pause.
"But I can't protect you anymore."
He nodded toward the city below.
"Leave Ralstrog while you still can."
The heavy doors slammed shut. The sound echoed in Aroyyn's ears as he slowly turned. The city stretched beneath him in gleaming silver, its towers catching the afternoon sun like polished mirrors. At its heart stood a towering silver citadel that pierced the clouds. A strange ache settled in his chest.
I know this place.
Don't I?
It felt less like coming home...
...and more like remembering a dream.
He wandered downhill without direction. The streets buzzed with life. Merchants shouted over one another. Children darted between market stalls. Smiths hammered glowing steel. Yet whenever someone recognized him, they looked away. A mother pulled her son closer. Two laborers crossed the street. A pair of young soldiers fell silent as he passed. No one wanted to meet his eyes. Aroyyn frowned.
What did I do?
The smell of roasting meat drifted from a nearby tavern. His stomach growled. He turned toward it.
"Oi."
A voice called from across the street.
"They don't serve butchers."
Aroyyn stopped. The laughter around him dissolved. Screams replaced it. Smoke filled his lungs. The smell of roasted meat became burning flesh. Bodies. Fire. The smell of fresh blood piercing his nose as it ran through ruined streets.
"No..."
His knees buckled. The vision disappeared as suddenly as it had come. Stone scraped beneath his palms. He was back outside the tavern. Breathing hard. The man who had called out was walking toward him now.
"You really are Aroyyn."
"I..." Aroyyn swallowed.
"Who are you?"
The stranger offered a hand. An elf, young, and well dressed.
"My name's Dalvyn."
He helped Aroyyn stand. "I grew up hearing stories about you."
Aroyyn stared. "They weren't kind."
Dalvyn smiled.
"They weren't all bad."
Aroyyn studied the elf for a long moment.
"You don't even know me."
Dalvyn's smile faded into something more thoughtful.
"No," he admitted. "Only the stories. The rest..." He shrugged. "I was hoping to learn from the man himself."
Aroyyn let out a bitter laugh.
"If that man ever existed."
Dalvyn didn't answer. Instead, he turned as he grasped Aroyyn's forearm, pulling him down the street.
"Walk with me."
"I was told to leave the city."
"And you will." Dalvyn glanced over his shoulder. "Just not yet."
Unsure why, Aroyyn followed. The streets grew busier the farther they descended from the silver citadel. Merchants barked over one another, wagons rattled across cobblestones, and the scent of fresh bread drifted from nearby ovens. Yet something about it all felt... distant.
The voices around him no longer blended into a lively murmur. They stretched and echoed, as though heard through deep water. A woman carrying a basket walked directly toward him. Aroyyn stepped aside. She passed through the space he had just occupied without so much as a glance. He frowned and looked back. She never slowed.
"You noticed it."
Dalvyn hadn't turned around.
"What?"
"The city."
Dalvyn quickened his pace.
"Something feels..."
He searched for the word.
"...wrong."
Dalvyn nodded.
"It should."
"What does that mean?"
"You'll understand soon enough."
The alley narrowed until the city disappeared behind them.
The clamor of the marketplace faded, swallowed by towering stone walls streaked with age and moss. Only the sound of their footsteps remained. Dalvyn never slowed.
"How much farther?" Aroyyn asked.
"We're here."
Aroyyn looked ahead. A blank stone wall blocked the alley's end. He frowned.
"There isn't anywhere to go."
Dalvyn kept walking.
"There is."
"No." Aroyyn stopped. "That's a wall."
"It is."
"Then why are we—"
Without another word, Dalvyn broke into a run.
"Dalvyn!"
The elf didn't answer. He sprinted straight toward the wall. Aroyyn's heart lurched.
"Have you lost your mind?"
Dalvyn reached the stone...
...and vanished.
Not through a hidden doorway. Not around a corner. He simply disappeared. Silence settled over the alley. Aroyyn stared. His breathing quickened.
"No..."
He approached the wall cautiously. Cold gray stone stretched from one side of the alley to the other.
No cracks.
No door.
Nothing.
He pressed a hand against it.
Solid.
He exhaled.
"I'm losing my mind."
As he turned to leave, Dalvyn's voice drifted through the stone as clearly as if he stood on the other side.
"Are you going to open your eyes?"
Aroyyn froze.
His eyes returned to the wall.
"...How?"
No answer. Only silence. His hand found the stone again. This time, it wasn't cold. The surface rippled beneath his fingertips like water disturbed by rain. He jerked his hand back. The wall became solid once more. Aroyyn swallowed.
"This can't be real."
Dalvyn's warped laugh echoed in Aroyyn's mind softly.
"It rarely is."
Aroyyn glanced back toward the mouth of the alley. Sunlight spilled across the cobblestones. Beyond it, life in the city carried on as though nothing had changed. He could walk away. Forget the strange elf. Forget the prison. Forget the name that still echoed in his mind.
Aroyyn.
Or...
He took a slow breath. Then reached out once more. This time he didn't stop at the surface. His hand slipped through the stone. There was no resistance. Only cold. He closed his eyes and stepped forward. The world vanished. Weightlessness seized him. For a heartbeat he drifted through perfect silence. Then—
Stone slammed into his knees. He caught himself on rough black rock, gasping as the air rushed back into his lungs. It smelled of wet earth. Of ash. Of something long forgotten.
"...Dalvyn?"
His voice disappeared into the darkness. No echo answered. Only a slow, rhythmic sound.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Aroyyn rose carefully. The darkness around him wasn't merely the absence of light. It felt alive. Heavy. As though it pressed against his skin. Far above, pinpricks of emerald light shimmered across an impossibly distant ceiling, like stars trapped beneath stone. The cavern stretched farther than his eyes could follow.
Ruined pillars emerged from the gloom, each carved with symbols worn smooth by ages beyond memory. Between them stood broken statues of figures whose faces had long since crumbled away. A cracked stairway climbed toward a solitary altar in the distance. Upon it burned a single green flame. It did not flicker. It simply waited.
Aroyyn felt it watching him. He blinked. The feeling vanished. Footsteps sounded behind him, Dalvyn emerged from the darkness as though he had always been standing there.
"What... is this place?"
Dalvyn followed Aroyyn's gaze toward the altar.
"A sacred place, we can just call it The Deep Place for the sake of your frail mind."
"The Deep Place?"
"A place that was old before kingdoms had names."
Aroyyn looked around again. Every instinct told him to leave.
"There isn't a way back, is there?"
Dalvyn was quiet for a long moment.
"Not the way you came."
Before Aroyyn could ask another question, the elf's expression grew unexpectedly serious.
"Listen carefully."
His voice had lost its warmth.
"When you reach the altar, speak only when spoken to."
Aroyyn frowned.
"Why?"
"Because the one waiting for you has forgotten what mercy looks like."
The silence that followed seemed to deepen. Dalvyn stepped backward as his form dissolved into a thick and wispy darkness. The gleam of his emerald eyes fading into the depths.
"Wait."
Aroyyn took a step after him.
"You still haven't told me why I'm here."
"No. That I have not."
Another step back.
"But he will."
The darkness swallowed the space Dalvyn once stood. Aroyyn hurried forward.
"Dalvyn!"
Nothing. The elf was gone. Only the green flame remained. Waiting. Aroyyn looked toward the altar. For the first time since waking in chains...
He felt truly alone.