Cursed Hearts | ATEEZ

037

I tumbled through the ceiling in a storm of sand and limbs, crashing onto the stone floor of what I assumed to be yet another corridor as I gasped for air, coughing up sand and curses in the darkness until the sound of something clattering to the ground echoed through the shadows and my torch suddenly lit itself, flames now licking across the floor by my hands as my sight returned.

I gagged on the sand for another minute or two before grabbing it and staggering to my feet, glancing down at the golden key and amulet in my hand, now able to see both of them clearly from up close.

The amulet, a necklace, I realized, was made from pure gold which looked almost yellow in the warm firelight; the shape of a crescent moon, the symbol having haunted me during days as well as nights for the last couple of weeks, and embedded with eight gemstones along its center, matching the ones on the kings' crowns.

I absentmindedly put it on as I turned my attention to the walls around me instead, securing the golden key in my belt alongside the eight throwing knives and Wooyoung's dagger as I moved my torch to see the hieroglyphs better.

The story continued, I realized. Haelan's history continued but this was long after the scene which had been interrupted by the sphinx's tomb. I sighed. It didn't matter. She had told me as much as she could, or would, and it was more than enough.

I stood a little straighter as I lit the way down the rest of the corridor and followed the symbols on the wall, walking slow enough to make out the story as I went, as time went on, and watching intently as scenes and events over the span of several hundreds of years unfolded right in front of my eyes in the flickering light from the torch's flame.

Time passed and, yet, the mountains continued to stand, the kingdoms of all eight kings growing steadily in their shadows into the sectors they were today, The Silent Plague continuing to quietly terrorize and destroy.

The sun was always there, I realized, burning from overhead where it continued to punish as cities turned to stone and subjects to statues. The Trials and The Oracle continued to claim their sacrifices year after year as I turned corner after corner, following the history until I came to a sudden halt as I was faced with an enormous image amidst the other hieroglyphs.

Somehow, everything always led back to The White Throne, I thought to myself. I slowly made my way over, eyes locking onto, not a keyhole, but a kind of pressure button in the middle of the throne, flat against the wall and yet dipping into the stone in the shape of a single handprint which had been cut into the smooth surface.

I scoffed at the hand, raising my own one as I looked back and forth between the two, the irony of the situation, of how The Chosen One had never, and would probably never, reach out for it.

And yet, I still made my way over, letting the tips of my fingers graze over its surface, considering whether or not I should touch it, press it, when I suddenly furrowed my brows as I felt something pull at my belt, instinctively looking down as I heard the sound of a blade cut through the silent air before I froze completely.

I choked on a breath as a sudden flare of pain exploded in my lower back and stomach, so cold and sharp, as I grabbed for my stomach, clutching at it and crying out as I stumbled forward against the stone wall in an attempt to support myself as my other hand grazed over the tip of the bronze blade which jutted through the white suit, now the colour crimson, by my stomach just below my ribcage.

I gasped as it was harshly pulled out of my back and bit back a scream as the taste of blood exploded on my tongue, coating my hands. I whimpered as I felt a hot breath ghost over the side of my neck as a voice snarled in my ear, "Your king can't save you know. At some point, you'd have to die just like the rest of us."