Page 8 of Unseen Eye
I nod, my mind spinning with questions. “What if there’s something deeper going on?” I suggest in a hushed tone. “Why would the king ignore this?”
The old man meets my gaze, frustration clear in his eyes. “They say power corrupts—a tale as old as time. And our ‘humble king’? Perhaps he’s no exception.”
Chapter Four
Later that night, my dreams pull me to the edge of a dense, menacing forest that feels disturbingly familiar.
Under the cold glow of a full moon, shadows twist and flicker across the gnarled trees. Peering into the darkness, I catch sight of an ancient gate, half-hidden against the jagged mountainside. The gate, wrought from dark iron, looms ominously before me, adorned with carvings of mythical beasts and twisted symbols. My heart races as a chilling dread washes over me, urging me to comprehend what lies beyond.
As I draw closer, the gate thrums with a dark energy that sends shivers down my spine, heavy with secrets unsaid. It hums in the silence, the air thick and charged, making my pulse race with a strange blend of fear and fascination. In the moonlight, the intricate carvings shift and slither, as though alive, beckoning me forward. Though every instinct screams to turn back, I’m rooted in place, transfixed by its haunting allure.
Every instinct screams at me to turn back, yet I stand frozen, unable to tear my gaze away. There’s something hauntingly alluring about the gate, as if it beckons, begging me to uncover its hidden truths. My hand lifts of its own accord, trembling as my fingers hover just shy of the iron surface. In that split second before darkness swallows me, the symbols flare with a sinister glow, burning bright as if the gate itself is breathing—waiting.
***
I bolt upright in bed, my heart pounding like a war drum. Great. Just what I needed—another nightmare to add to the ever-growing collection. The image of the gate clings to my mind. I glance toward the window, where the full moon’s silver lightfloods the room, casting long, distorted shadows. The familiar furniture warps into dark shapes, transforming my space into a shadowy, dreamlike landscape.
For the next hour, I toss and turn, wrestling with fragments of the dream that cling like cobwebs. My heart drums on, frantic and restless. Each time I close my eyes, the hauntingly beautiful gate materializes again, just as vivid. Familiar sights flicker around it—my old stone path winding through the woods, or the twisted branches of the lone oak I pass every day. Each detail tethers the dream to reality, unsettling me even more. I try to shake it off, but an invisible thread of curiosity pulls me back, drawing me closer to the mysteries waiting behind that gate.
Eventually, I give up—sleep’s overrated anyway. Curiosity wins. I have to know. Maybe I’m just being reckless, but something about this dream feels different. It’s not just the gate—it’s the way every detail lingers, vivid and sharp, as if I could reach out and touch it. Why does it feel so damn real? Why does it fill me with a fear I can’t shake? If I can find this place, maybe I’ll finally understand what’s making these dreams feel so alive—and why they won’t let me go.
With a sigh, I pull on leather trousers and a thick woolen tunic. The fabric’s cold but oddly comforting. I grab my dagger, its weight familiar in my hand, and throw a cloak over my shoulders, its dark fabric melting into the shadows. The window creaks as I ease it open—because, of course, no adventure starts without a dramatic exit.
Climbing out, the cold night air instantly sharpens my senses. As I venture into the forest, the undergrowth closes in around me, and every sound is amplified—the rustle of leaves, the distant chirps of insects, and the occasional snap of a twig. The forest hums with life, but the silence is deafening. Dim light filters through the canopy, casting eerie silver and charcoal patterns on the forest floor.
I can’t explain how I know where to go. It’s like an internal compass—I’m just a moth being drawn to an unseen flame. Everything blurs together in the darkness; familiar landmarks vanish, and the towering trees loom like ancient sentinels, their sprawling roots creating natural traps. If I make it through without twisting an ankle, that’ll be a small miracle.
As I push deeper, the trees thicken, I’m barely able to see my hands. Relying purely on instinct, I hope that it’s not just a figment of my imagination.
Finding my way back will be a nightmare. I suddenly regret not leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for my fairy tale adventure. The thought is so absurd that a laugh escapes me before I quickly slap a hand over my mouth, stifling the sound. The echo lingers, bouncing between the trees—a stark reminder of just how alone I truly am.
Eventually, I stumble upon a river—its dark, rushing waters roaring in the distance, growing louder as I get closer. Fantastic. “Well, of course there’s a river. Why wouldn’t there be?” I mutter, eyeing the foaming current. “Next thing I’ll find is a herd of angry deer ready to charge me.”
As I walk along the riverbank, I think of the old tale Kodzo’s Campaign—how Kodzo was punished by the god of the sea, Nerevus for blocking off the flow of a sacred river. For eternity, he was condemned to search for the source of an endless river, forever wandering in darkness. It’s almost laughable how much this feels like that story. Except here, there are no mythical curses or monsters lurking—just me, a river, and the very real possibility of getting hopelessly lost in the dark.
The longer I walk, the more I feel like I am being watched, as if I’ve stepped into some grand narrative. It’s unnerving, but the thought of living inside one of my own stories makes me smile. I keep moving, guided only by the soft glow of moonlight.
As I continue walking, things start to look... familiar. At first,it’s subtle—just a hint of the jagged rock formations, the way the wind shifts through the trees. But then, it hits me. This is it. This is the place.
Finally, I stumble upon the gate—literally, thanks to tripping over a fallen branch while my eyes were locked on it. Carved into the rugged mountainside separating Providence from the deep unknown, the gate looms far larger than in the dream. It’s immense, towering above me as if it’s meant for giants rather than mere mortals.
As I draw closer, I’m captivated by the runes etched into the stone. They’re more than just ancient symbols—they’re intricate works of art, each rune shaped with such precision and beauty that they seem alive. I find myself mesmerized. I could spend hours lost in their patterns, each detail revealing a new layer of their enchanting complexity.
The gate’s metalwork, though breathtaking at first, reveals a deeper layer—a battle scene rendered in exquisite detail. Figures locked in combat emerge from the twisting lines, their armor etched with precision, swords raised in mid-strike. The craftsmanship is so refined that, despite the violence depicted, there’s a beauty to it—a clash of warriors frozen in time, yet imbued with a subtle, living energy. Each stroke of the metal seems to pulse, as if the battle itself is alive, forever etched into the gate.
The surrounding area is desolate, dead trees stretching with twisted branches like skeletal fingers. Their shadows extending across the barren ground, starkly contrasting with the vibrant forest beyond. It feels as though nature itself recoils from the gate.
Despite my hesitation, a primal instinct drives me forward. It’s like déjà vu—the same pull, the same compulsion I’ve felt in the dream. I reach out with a trembling hand, my fingers inches from the stone, as if I’ve done this before, as if the gate and I areold acquaintances.
A low growl shatters the silence.
I jerk back, as the hairs on my neck stand on end. From the shadows, glowing red eyes emerge. It stands before me, its sleek black fur absorbing the moonlight, eyes burning with a fiery glow that seems to pierce the soul. Its massive frame ripples with strength, ready for its next meal. And Eva is on the menu.
It bares its jagged, blood-stained teeth in a menacing snarl. Smoke curls from its nostrils, and its claws leave deep gouges in the forest floor as it prowls closer. Its eyes, level with my own, gleam with an intense, fiery glow, making me feel like a mere snack.
Every instinct tells me to run, but I’m frozen in place, paralyzed by fear and awe. I’ve heard tales of monsters in the forest, whispered warnings from generations past, but I never truly believed them, until now.
Panic surges as adrenaline floods my veins. I force myself to stay calm, recalling Kendry’s lessons. Trembling, I grip the dagger at my thigh and unlatch my cloak, preparing to defend myself. Deep down, I know I’m in serious trouble.
