A Dead God

Chapter One

The darkness is deeper than death itself, pulling me toward the oblivion I'm so desperate for. The memories of the earlier events have already begin to blur, fading like whispers in the wind. I can hardly recall how I ended up in the dusty and cramped tomb. But the war, the fighting and the bloodshed, remains painfully vivid. How many soldiers were so violently killed. How many of my dearest friends are gone? I miss them terribly. I wish they survived. I hope they made it through the end.

I remember Kasim and how I wept as he dragged me down the cold stone steps, his fist knotted in my pale blond hair. In certain light, it nearly appears white, like the ghosts the townsfolk said I resembled. Even now, I don't understand why Kasim was so consumed by the demand for violence, why he felt he needed to spread so much suffering. I never asked for any of this, to become the lord, to command an army to save the rest of the city I build upon the ruined remains of a village. I was just a traveler, wandering through the forsaken cluster of decaying homes. There wasn't even a proper market and barely enough villagers to fill the crumbling houses, just like the people, falling apart.

Most took the obvious choice and fled after the lord before me was assassinated in his sleep. From what I've heard, the murder of Sir Pana doesn't make sense.

He was cherished among his people. Revered, even.

But now, I lie here, the dust beneath my head serving as a poor excuse for a pillow, and my thoughts drift back into the kindness and generosity of the townsfolk. First I think of Vidya, who gave up her own bed for me, though she had no reason to. She barely knew me, yet she insisted, her weary smile belying the hardships she herself had previously endured. There was a quiet strength in her, the kind that stems from a life spent enduing far too much.

I can still feel the warmth in her eyes, even as the world around us seemed to be crumbling. The others, too. How they welcomed me, a stranger, into their dying town. They offered what little they had, not out of obligation, but out of something deeper, something pure. And now? Now they're gone, like whispers on the wind. All that's left is this suffocating silence, broken only by the memories I can't shake.

The weight of it presses down on me, heavy like the stones of this tomb. The war stole everything from us, but it's the lost of their kindness, their humanity, that lingers. Haunting me more than the violence ever could.

And as I lie here, alone, I wonder if I'll ever see them again. If any of them made it through the chaos, if they're out there somewhere, clinging to life as I am. Or have they become mere phantoms like Sir Pana, haunting the ruins of a world we once knew?

Just as I wrestle with the gnawing hunger that carves into my stomach, I also battle with the crushing weight of fatigue, the deep and aching desire to sleep and never wake again. Sleep calls to me like an old friend, promising an escape from the pain, the memories, the endless struggle. But even in the solace of sleep, I fear the dreams, ones that bring with them the faces of those I've lost, and the echo of the blood-soaked days which refuse to fade.

I close my eyes, hoping for release, but there is no peace in this restless world. Only fleeting moments of darkness, followed by the cruel reminder of where I am, of what remains. My body aches, not solely from the hunger or exhaustion which seems to overtake my body, but from the weight of everything I've witness, everything I've endured.

The stones beneath me are cold, biting against my skin, yet it's the emptiness inside that chills me the most. I wonder if I have any strength left to fight. To live. But for what? For a world that no longer exists, for people who may already be gone?

As I lay here, surrounded by dust and decay, a voice within whispers.

Just let go. Let the hunger win, let the slumber take over. Let it all slip away. It would be so easy to surrender, to finally be free of this burden.

But somewhere, buried deep, a flicker remains. A stubborn ember that refuses to die. Perhaps its hope, perhaps it's simply the fear of the unknown. But for now, it keeps me tethered to this broken world, no matter how much I crave the oblivion beyond.

"Help..." I manage to croak.

And as if on command I hear a faint voice, "Look! There's another room!"