Master of the Loop

Chapter 31

  Echoes of the Past

Sylas was reeling, fuming, and seething—and though all those three things effectively meant one thing, he still somehow managed to be all three separately. At the same time. Stretching in front of his eyes, after all, was a sight that shouldn’t be possible – it was a mountain valley, perched between two cloud-pierces. Though they weren’t the most massive mountains Sylas had ever seen, they were still hefty, each standing at least five thousand feet high.

The mountains were barren and grey, their summits hidden in the fog. The valley itself was wedged between them, speartip-shaped, with waist-high grass swaying gently. Trees or patches of flowers were rare, but Sylas hardly had the mind to inspect it.

Though nobody expressed it quite as audibly as Sylas did, others were hardly in a better mental shape. They expected to find a lot of things—even an army of the Undead—but certainly not two mountains and a valley. There were no records of anything like this existing. No, there was a good reason for it—there wasn’t enough space to house even a single mountain of this size, let alone two in addition to a valley.

Ryne’s lips stiffened; she had an idea as to what was happening—in fact, she had several ideas—but each was more insane than the last. Really, anything from the grand illusion to teleporting array was possible and she was beyond unqualified to make any conclusions. She knew that her priority had to be going back to the castle and informing the Paragon Council as quickly as possible. If anyone had a chance of knowing what this thing was, it was them.

“Alright, alright, calm down, calm down,” Sylas mumbled, drawing attention to himself. “Hey, it’s something, right? It’s different. New. At least it’s not the same fucking trees over and over again. Let’s go, then. There’s a fuckin’ valley that shouldn’t exist to be explored.”

He was the first to take a step forward and others soon followed, Ryne included. Though her instincts told her to retreat, the curiosity, as per usual, won over. She had to know, as did the others. Even Tenner and Tebek could hardly sate their curiosity—after all, existing beyond the wall they had been manning for years, decades even, was something that they never even conceptualized.

To Sylas', and everyone else's for that matter, shock, just some four hundred feet into the valley, they saw something else that shouldn't exist—a cabin. It was fenced off very simply, as itself was built, with a slanted roof and a pair of windows at the front. The wood's state of rot and decay indicated that the house was old, if not ancient and that nobody likely lived here in at least a couple of hundreds of years.

It was overcome with weed and overgrowth, from top to bottom, yet it still managed to stand out since, well, it was a cabin. Habitat in the middle of nowhere. In a place that shouldn't really even exist. Taking a deep breath, Sylas completely forgot the impossible—once again, excitement took over.

Ignoring others’ caution, he sprinted forward and vaulted over the fence. Behind him, shouts and pleas echoed, but he didn’t care. Ramming into the doors, he realized they were jammed after being bounced back. A few extra attempts and they didn’t budge. By then, Tenner and others showed up, their swords drawn already.

“Knock this thing open,” Sylas said, pointing at the doors that wouldn’t budge under his mighty strength.

“Are… are we sure we want to?” Tenner asked with caution.

“Huh? Why not? What’s the worst that could happen? That there’s a couple of skellies in there that we need to beat up? Come on, it might have answers for this fuckin’ place. Aren’t you tired of being yanked by your balls left and right? Let’s yank ‘em back!”

Sylas’ excitement led to him using jargon that others were clearly unfamiliar with since, well, he’d just made it up. Nonetheless, the meaning was transferred well enough, causing Tenner to loosen the doors with his sword, chopping away at the hinges and edges before kicking them down.

Rather than falling down, the doors shattered into pieces as Sylas’ cheeks flushed. He truly, unquestionably was pathetically weak. Coughing lowly and ignoring the odd stares, he looked forward into the darkness that slowly began being shed away with the faint rays of light coming from the outside.

The cabin’s interior was extremely ordinary—beyond the sheer levels of disrepair, there was only a bad, a single chair, a table, and what looked like a cauldron. There were no skeletons and there were no ghosts, just the stench far worse than either. Cringing, Sylas covered his nose and led the charge inside. The entire place was truly decrepit and looked to be a slightly stronger gust of wind away from being utterly blown off the face of the world.

“What the hell is this place?” he mumbled, but nobody answered. They couldn’t as they didn’t know either. “Hm?” something finally stood out. It wasn’t something particularly hidden—it simply took Sylas a keen look-around to notice it. It was a leather-bound tome sitting on top of the table in the corner. Walking over, Sylas picked it up with some reservation, considering it could be a trap—but it wasn't. It was a simple, normal tome, about a few inches thick. Both its leather-bound cover, as well as paper, seemed to be in pristine condition, shocking Sylas.

“What did you find?” Tenner asked.

“A book,” Sylas replied. “Let’s go back out so I can see.” The group didn’t need to be told the second time, swiftly retreating out into the light and away from the stench.

Sylas carefully undid the bind, opening the tome; the parchment felt rough under his fingertips, the stains of ink slightly whitened out, the solitary sign of its old age. It didn't take Sylas long to realize that this was effectively a journal—a diary of whoever lived inside that cabin. It had stamped dates, even titles, detailing out the days.

“Yatan?” Tenner leaned over and read the name on the first page. “Is that who wrote the diary?”

“I don’t know,” Sylas said. Though he had acquired some proficiency in reading the language, he was still slow with it. Not to mention, the letters he was reading were a bit… different. There were some that he didn’t even recognize. “This language is different.”

“It’s Varn’s Dialect,” Ryne joined in. “It… it’s gone extinct.”

“Wow. When?” Sylas asked.

“…”

“Hm? When?”

“Before… before Ethernia Kingdom was founded," Ryne replied, shellshocked herself. If she was, then others didn't need to be mentioned.

“How… how is that possible?!” Tenner exclaimed.

“…” Ryne remained silent. If she said anything more, she’d unveil secrets these men were not privy to. In fact, even she wasn’t privy to them—it was only through the kindness, and a bit of naivety, of her Master that she knew a thing or two.

“Don’t push,” Sylas said, glancing at Ryne. Since he wasn’t entranced by the Kingdom’s history, he could venture a few guesses as to how this came to be. None that he would yet say aloud, however. “If this thing predates the Kingdom, then so does the cabin. And this valley. And…”

“And the Ghouls?” Tebek finished the sentence.

“Yes,” Sylas nodded. “Set up camp here. We can rest while I read through this thing.”

Others listened, mostly by instinct since the instances of shock continued to fry their brains. They were exposed to far too much too quickly. Sylas found a slightly isolated spot near the cabin itself, glancing at Ryne in the process and inviting her over. Since she knew the language, she’d likely be able to translate the words he was having issues with.

“If the Kingdom’s language was based on this one,” Sylas said before she had a chance to say anything. “Do you understand the implications?”

“…” Ryne bit her lower lip, regretting having said anything.

“Good. Don’t ever say that to anyone again,” Sylas said sternly. “Later, we can tell them that you were confused and mistaken. Understood?”

“Y-yes…?” though Ryne was confused, she was also grateful.

“Good. Sit here and eat,” he added. “I might need your help translating some words.” Having said that, Sylas immediately dove into the diary, realizing quickly that certain chunks were missing since, ever so often, the skips between the entries indicated twenty years of time.

Ruyan, 44th day of the Moon, 1773rd Year of Teler Calendar

--I’ve woken distraught, again. I’ve woken such because of my dreams. I’ve seen it again. After so many years, it’s returned. That hallowed face, those horrifying eyes. I thought I had forgotten. I thought I had moved past it… but I was wrong. It still haunts me. Even here, even away from it all.

…

Ruyan, 8th day of the Moon, 1774th Year of Teler Calendar

…

Ruyan, 1st day of the Moon, 1778th Year of Teler Calendar

--Twice today, thrice yesterday, forty-five times this week alone. I'm growing tired. I'm growing distraught. There is no news from the Regents, there is no news from home. I am alone. I know now. I know what true loneliness feels like—when you have been abandoned by the world, by the world you are so desperately trying to protect. Will my valiance ever even be known? Or will I become forgotten bones at the edge of the known world?

…

Ruyan, 51st day of the Moon, 1801st Year of the Teler Calendar

--Days, months, years, decades… I cannot even be certain anymore that my dates align with reality. It is just as the records said—it is a flood, a neverending, unrelenting, undying flood. No man can stop them, not even me. Tayna… I only wish to see you before I perish. I desperately hung onto your image… but I’d forgotten. I’d forgotten my love. Will you forgive me? Will you ever know me? Do you even remember me?

…

Ruyan… some day… some year…

--Did you know, Tayna? There are eighteen stars north of my sky. I’ve counted. Each shines as brightly as our sun. Remember our sun, Tayna? Remember it? I don’t. It has been time innumerable since I last saw the light. All I see… all I know is darkness. Darkness stretching into my mind, Tayna. I’ve lost. I’ve lost, my love. I’ve lost. I cannot go on manning the gates. I cannot fulfill my duty. My honor. Will the world know of my sacrifice? No. Nobody’s come to see. Nobody’s come to ask. Nobody’s here. Nobody’s here. I am alone and cold, my love. Will you remember me? Do you remember me? Have you forgotten? Do you remember, my love? That promise. Promise… that promise… promise… promise… promise…

A line trailed off from the last ‘e’, bounding the rest of the page and disappearing. It was the last entry. The last words this man ever conceived. Ryne’s eyes had long since turned teary, while Sylas’ maintained their clarity. Beyond the huff and puff of love that got to the teenage girl, he picked up on the implications—and, as he suspected, they provided answers to some key questions that will go a long way to helping him understand this world down to its very core.