Then, time slowed, crystallizing into a moment of perfect dread.
A man, cloaked in shadows so deep they seemed to drink the fading light. He trod the same path as the refugees, but his figure was far more steady and composed. I couldn't see his features, but his shadow extended further behind him than the sun's position should allow. He arrived at the doors of the temple, seemingly admiring the architecture, before stepping inside.
Then time surged forward again, solar cycles passing in the blank of an eye. The clashing powers beyond my view faded, but what replaced it was even worse. From the shadows at the bottom of the mountain, a flood of filthy darkness erupted. It was not an absence of light, but a substance—thick, oily, and alive. It slithered up the mountainside, consuming everything it touched. Grass withered and turned to ash. Stone cracked and blackened. And from the seeping tide, monsters emerged. Twisted, shambling abominations of flesh and nightmare, things with too many teeth and too many limbs, all driven by a single, hellish purpose: to besiege the temple, to defile the divine, to extinguish the last light.
The vision began to fray, the horrific scene dissolving into static.
My eyes flew open.
A sharp, panicked gasp tore from my lungs. I was on my hands and knees on cold, familiar marble. The scent of ozone and purity filled my nostrils.
I was no longer watching the temple.
I was inside it.
I was in the grand courtyard, surrounded by those same radiant columns. The once-orderly space was now a chaotic camp filled with terrified refugees. Their cries, which had been a distant part of the vision, were now a hubbub of fear that slithered around and against my ears. Through the open gates at the far end of the courtyard, I could see the start-or the end-of the path that led down the mountain. More refugees continued to trickle in, small in number now but I knew they would grow.
The vision had been a preview. A warning of what was to come, just like what Sunny had received.
The First Nightmare had begun. And I was trapped in it.
The sharp, panicked gasp tore from my lungs, but the scream that wanted to follow died in my throat. I choked it back, clapping a hand over my mouth. The sound was too loud, too raw in this place of hushed terror. I was on my hands and knees on cold, familiar marble. The scent of ozone and purity filled my nostrils, now undercut by the stink of unwashed bodies and fear-sweat.
I was inside the temple, I realised again.
The grand courtyard was not yet packed but I could easily imagine when it would be. A scattering of huddled forms—men in the tattered remnants of soldier's uniforms, women clutching crying children, old priests rocking back and forth as they whispered frantic prayers. Their faces were etched with a exhaustion so deep it was a physical weight. This wasn't the chaotic siege of my vision; this was the grim, tense calm before the absolute storm. The gates at the far end were still open, a trickle of new refugees stumbling through, their eyes wide with the horrors they'd fled. The monsters were not yet at the walls. But their coming was a certainty, the doom the Spell had charged me with averting.
Observe. Understand. Plan. The mantra of my potential Pathway, still useless without its power, was all I had.
I forced myself to my feet, my legs trembling not from weakness but from adrenaline and dread. I found a relatively quiet corner near a towering statue of a stern-faced goddess, her marble gaze looking out over the doomed. I slid down the wall, pulling my knees to my chest, making myself small. I had to think. I had to process the horror film that had just played behind my eyes.
The vision. It wasn't random, I knew. It was a message from the Spell itself, foretelling what was to come. Or rather, what had already happened in the actual history. A Fate that Weaver desperately wanted to change, even at the cost of sacrificing everything and everyone, including himself.
First: This gathering. The desperate flocking to the last bastion of light. We had days, maybe less, before the end began. This temple was a magnet, drawing in the last remnants of a broken world. And it would soon be our grave as well.
Second: The clash beyond the horizon. Horrifying powers fighting each other. Gods? Daemons? The [Unknown] that were the first to breach the Seal? The Doom War was the most likely answer based off the novel. Hope had already been imprisoned and then released, and Nether must have already shattered his stone armies against the might of the Goddess of the Sky, the Lady of Storms. That meant something had been decided. Something had been lost. And the winner… the winner was now turning its attention here. And my knowledge as a reader denied the pleasant delusion it was a force of good.
Third: Him. The figure cloaked in shadow. He hadn't felt like the others. The monsters were mindless hunger, a natural disaster of flesh. But he… he had purpose. Steady. Composed. He had walked the path and entered the temple. And his shadow… his shadow had been wrong. Not the absence of light, but something more. A blessing. A familiar one. The Shadow God was an Orthodox god in Shadow Slave, albeit disliked and ridiculed by the other five. He was a deity of sanctuary, repose and secrets, not of corruption despite sharing similarities with the black ichor of the Corruption. Was this stranger a follower? A champion? His arrival was a key point. He would soon arrive at the walls.
Fourth: The flood. The end. The monstrous tide that would consume this mountain and everyone on it. That was the finale. The event I had to survive, or better yet, prevent.
A cold, logical part of my mind, the part that had devoured every chapter of Shadow Slave, began to work. This was a scenario. A dungeon, in a way. There were NPCs—the refugees, the priests. There was a setting—the temple. There was a key event—the siege. And there were players. Me. And him. The shadowed man. He had to play the most vital part in the solution.
My goal wasn't just to survive. It was to change the outcome. The vision showed a total loss. Everyone died. The light was extinguished.
But I was a variable the vision hadn't accounted for. I knew the future.
I had no power. I had no weapon. I was just a boy in a black tunic. But I had knowledge. I had a Pathway, dormant and locked, but there. And I had the quiet support of a cosmic force surpassing any mere God in fiction.
The first step was to explore the temple, to see just where I was and the role I had assumed. Next was wait for the Shadowed Man to arrive. He was the other active element in this equation. Ally or enemy, I needed to know. He was connected to the Shadow God, and that connection might be the only shred of divinity we had left on this mountain.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I pushed myself back to my feet. The numbness was gone, burned away by purpose. I looked out at the fearful crowd, determined not to end up like them in the ordained future. And so, I collected myself and spoke in a quiet, slightly trembling voice: "Spell."