Sabir’s feet scraped across the worn stone as he began his ascent up the ancient staircase, each step feeling as though he was dragging a mountain behind him. The throbbing in his chest pulsed, the pain flaring hotter with every movement, like molten iron pressing against his ribs. The black veins that had once been small, ominous threads were now crawling steadily across his arms, twisting and expanding as if they had a life of their own, creeping toward his elbows with a relentless, eerie purpose.


    The staircase was narrow, hugging the rough stone walls of the cavern, and spiraled upwards with a dizzying, disorienting twist that seemed to pull him into an endless coil. Each step was more worn and uneven than the last, the ancient stone smoothed by passaging countless feet, yet jagged in places, threatening to trip him with every uncertain footfall. The walls around him felt oppressive, closing in as if they, too, were part of the test. The faint light that filtered in from somewhere above flickered, casting long, wavering shadows that made the ancient steps seem like they were shifting beneath him.


    As he lifted his foot to continue, his eyes caught sight of something strange beneath him. Carved into the stone of the step he had just climbed were faint words, barely visible in the dim light.


    Sabir squinted, bending slightly to make out the inscription. It wasn’t just one name. There were several, each one etched into the stone with deliberate strokes. Some engravings were clearer than others, which were worn down to near obscurity. Beneath some names, additional phrases were inscribed: “A loving father,” or “A devoted warrior.”


    He hesitated, his heart sinking as he realized each step bore the same markings—more names, more lives laid to rest with every footfall.


    Tombs.


    Each step was a tombstone dedicated to someone who had died, their identity immortalized in stone beneath his feet.


    Sabir swallowed hard, his throat parched and raw. He had encountered nothing like this before—the oppressive atmosphere, the haunting presence of the tombs, and the eeriness that clung to the air like a thick fog. The names written into the stone at each step seemed to peer back at him, as though the dead themselves were watching his progress from beyond the grave, silent witnesses to his suffering. Each inscription began with a tribute and followed by names he didn’t recognize, but somehow felt their weight pressing down on him. Titles etched below—whispered stories of lives long lost. It was unsettling, a quiet judgment with every footfall, as if the spirits were evaluating his worth, deciding if he deserved to climb any further.


    The further he went, the more the names blurred together, but their silent scrutiny never wavered. The pressure of those ancient dead bore down on his mind, his heart hammering not just from exertion, but from the creeping dread that gnawed at him with each passing second. His body screamed in protest as he climbed higher, every muscle aching, and the relentless burn of the black veins now spread to his forearms. They slithered like living things under his skin, and he could feel the sinister warmth creeping downward toward his legs. His limbs were growing heavier, as if the veins were sapping his strength, draining the life from him.


    His breaths came in ragged, uneven gasps, his chest heaving painfully as though every inhale was a battle. And with every strained step, the grim reality settled more firmly in his mind.


    I’m going to die.


    The thought was no longer just a fleeting terror, a shadow on the edges of his consciousness—it was a cold, unshakable truth. He could feel it, the inevitable end creeping through his veins, spreading faster than ever. Each second brought him closer to the brink, his body failing him in ways he could never have imagined. His life may end up like the many people whose legacies were preserved here in this cave. The life he fought so hard to protect was slipping away, escaping with every shuddering breath, every faltering step. And yet, despite the overwhelming certainty that death awaited him at the end of this climb, something inside him refused to stop.


    Whether it was instinct, desperation, or sheer defiance, Sabir didn’t know. But even as his legs trembled beneath him, even as his vision blurred and the black veins reached further down his body, he kept moving. Something—some force, some need to see this through—compelled him onward. His legs pushed him higher, step by agonizing step, even though he knew there might be nothing waiting for him at the top except darkness.


    Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Sabir dragged himself to the top of the staircase, each step heavier than the last. His sight blurred with exhaustion, the edges of his sight blurring in and out of focus as the ache in his chest pulsed in time with the spread of the black veins. His legs buckled beneath him, threatening to give out entirely, but he forced them to hold him upright. Every inch of his body trembled uncontrollably, wracked with both physical strain and the creeping sense of dread that had accompanied him throughout the climb.


    The narrow, winding staircase abruptly opened up into a small, circular platform, no bigger than a modest room. The air here was cooler, still, as if untouched by the passage of time. Sabir stumbled forward, his eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of what he saw. At the center of the platform stood a massive, monolithic object, imposing in its presence. It was carved from stone—worn, ancient—but whether it was a table or a box, Sabir couldn’t tell. Its surface was rough and weathered, the edges softened by time, as if it had stood here for centuries, waiting for him.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Sabir’s eyes fixed on the object in front of him, his pain momentarily overshadowed by an inexplicable pull. Despite the agony radiating through his limbs, something about the structure before him—this worn, ancient table or box—demanded his attention. It wasn’t just the sheer size of the thing; there was an air of significance that clung to it, a sense that whatever rested upon its surface was not just important but vital. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as his gaze swept across the rough, weathered stone, and then it locked onto the staff-like weapon lying on top.


    The weapon was unlike anything he’d ever seen. Long and slender, its form exuded both elegance and lethality. It wasn’t merely a staff, but something more—its lines were smooth yet sharp, its dark surface glinting faintly in the dim light that filtered through the cavern. It seemed out of place on the battered stone, as though its power and purpose had not faded with time. Sabir felt it call to him, a silent whisper in his mind urging him closer.


    His body protested every movement, but Sabir forced himself forward, his legs buckling under the strain. He stumbled, nearly collapsing, as he dragged his trembling form toward the object. The pain in his chest flared violently, the black veins snaked across his forearms and down his legs, yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the weapon resting in the center of the table.


    The engravings on the stone beneath it were all but erased, worn down to illegibility by centuries of neglect. He could make out the faintest grooves, the remnants of words long forgotten, but they were beyond understanding now. It didn’t matter. Sabir’s focus was entirely on the weapon. There was something undeniably magnetic about it, like it was waiting for him, waiting for an eternity.


    As Sabir climbed the last step, a chill swept over him, not from the cold air, but from the growing awareness that he was no longer alone. His body, weary and ravaged by pain, was on the verge of collapse, but a strange tension prickled at the back of his neck, forcing him to lift his head and take in his surroundings.


    His vision, blurred from exhaustion, gradually sharpened as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, and that’s when he saw them—silent figures lurking in the shadows. The Pegasi. They were positioned against the jagged walls of the cave, their graceful forms blending almost seamlessly with the rocky terrain. The creatures were motionless, their wings tucked close to their sleek bodies, their luminous eyes reflecting the faint light. It was as if they had been there the whole time, waiting, watching.


    Their gaze was unnerving. The Pegasi weren’t just animals—they exuded a sense of intelligence, a quiet wisdom that felt ancient and far beyond Sabir’s comprehension. Each one stood like a sentinel, their powerful legs rooted to the stone floor, their majestic wings only partially visible in the gloom. The soft rustle of feathers was the only sound in the otherwise oppressive silence.


    Their sheer presence was both awe-inspiring and intimidating, their beauty almost masking the unspoken menace in their eyes. He felt the weight of their judgment, as though they were guardians of something far greater than he could understand, their silent gaze assessing every labored breath, every trembling step he took.


    It was not a hostile presence, but it wasn’t comforting either. They watched him with a stillness that made his skin crawl, their massive forms radiating both power and mystery. Sabir couldn’t help but feel like an intruder, stepping into a sacred space where he did not belong, and yet, for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp, he was being allowed to continue.


    Sabir’s breath caught in his throat. He could feel his strength waning rapidly, the black veins now creeping down his legs. He could barely stand, every muscle in his body burning from the strain of keeping himself upright. His vision swam as he staggered towards the table, his knees giving way.


    The staff on the table seemed to call to him, an invisible force pulling him closer. It was as if it had been waiting for him, drawing him in with a silent promise of something—power, perhaps? Or salvation? Sabir couldn’t tell, but the pull was undeniable.


    With a last, desperate surge of strength, Sabir stumbled forward, tripping over his own feet and collapsing onto the platform. His hand reached out instinctively, grasping for the staff. His fingers brushed against it, but instead of the smooth surface he expected, his hand connected with something sharp.


    Pain seared through Sabir’s palm, sharp and immediate, as though his skin had been pierced by the fire itself. The sensation snapped him out of his haze, his breath catching in his throat. He had reached for the staff-like object without fully seeing it—his vision blurred, the dim light in the cave casting confusing shadows over the surface of the stone table.


    It wasn’t until the cold, biting metal cut into his flesh that he realized his mistake. The tip of the staff wasn’t blunt as he had assumed—it was fitted with a blade. A wicked, gleaming edge bolted into place with intricate rivets, cleverly concealed by the staff’s dark sheen. The craftsmanship was brutal, efficient, meant for something far deadlier than what he’d first imagined.


    Blood welled instantly from the gash, warm and slick, running down his fingers and dripping onto the cold stone floor beneath him. The drops splattered against the surface with a soft patter, a haunting reminder of his weakening state. The pain was intense, radiating up his arm, but it didn’t feel like a regular cut or wound—but a strange, pulsing sensation that resonated with his chest, as if the staff had awakened something within him the moment his blood made contact.


    Sabir grimaced, his fingers instinctively curling away from the blade. His pulse thundered in his ears, each beat sending more blood trickling from the wound, yet despite the agony, his hand lingered near the staff, drawn to it in a way that defied logic. There was a pull, a strange magnetism between him and the object, and even as the sharpness bit into him.


    For a moment, the world went still. Sabir’s mind reeled from the pain, but there was something different about this sensation. It wasn’t just physical—it was something deeper. A pulse of energy surged through his body, originating from the wound. His chest seized up painfully, but it wasn’t the same suffocating agony he had been enduring. It was different, almost… alive.


    His vision blurred as he fought to stay conscious, the black veins in his chest writhing like living tendrils. And then, as if summoned from the deepest recesses of his mind, a voice echoed through his thoughts—clear and resonant, yet ancient and foreign.


    “Finally, you’ve arrived.”