Echoes from the Abyss
Chapter 1: Echoes from the Abyss
Cold autumn rain lashed the weathered stone walls of the old castle, and bitter seepage snaked through cracks into the basement. The air reeked of damp mold and raw earth, heavy enough to constrict Rose's chest. Huddled against a frigid corner, she wore a faded khaki utility jacket that offered no shield against the biting chill.
The harsh white glow of her phone screen laid bare her exhaustion and desperation. The property agent's voice crackled through the speaker, cold and unnegotiable, each word a sharp blade driving into her frayed nerves.
"Ms. Rose, the three-thousand-euro arrears must be paid in full before midnight. If you fail to settle the debt, we will initiate legal proceedings to auction the castle—there will be no room for compromise."
The line cut off abruptly. A text from her ex-boyfriend Ryan popped up right after, dripping with deliberate scorn.
"Heard you can't even afford your electricity bill? Might as well sell that haunted old castle. My new girlfriend's single pair of shoes costs more than you make in a whole year. Don't bother texting me again."
Rose's fingers tightened around her phone. She blocked all his contact information without a flicker of emotion, a bitter laugh trapped in her throat.
Her bank account held only a handful of euros. Three thousand euros stood as an insurmountable barrier; the castle, her parents' last legacy, would slip out of her hands by nightfall.
Deep in the basement stood a century-old dry well, the one her grandfather had strictly forbidden her from approaching. Now, an odd gurgling sound bubbled up from its depths, breaking the heavy silence. The well had sat bone-dry for generations, yet thin streams of warm sand-scented vapor curled out of the black void, and a faint shimmer glimmered far down in the darkness.
Terrified that pooling water would rot the foundation of her only home, Rose dragged out an idle water pump, lowered its hose into the endless blackness, and hit the power switch.
Rushing water tumbled into the abyss.
The instant the current flowed, the veil separating two parallel worlds centuries apart tore wide open.
Medieval Sunset City.
Blood-red sunset spilled over the shattered city walls. Deep craters pockmarked the stone from boulders, and dried black blood soaked every slab. The stench of rotting corpses and charred timber hung thick over the entire settlement.
Tens of thousands of Viking raiders' tents stretched for miles beyond the gates, war drums, wild shouts, and clashing steel echoing nonstop, casting a shroud of death over every soul trapped inside.
The city had run out of fresh water for three days straight. The five hundred surviving soldiers had cracked, peeling lips and sunken eyes, too weak to lift their weapons, collapsing in the streets, barely clinging to life.
Worse still, the diocesan bishop had spread vicious rumors, blaming Lord Jack for the siege. He claimed the young lord consorted with heretics, drawing divine punishment down upon their land. If the walls fell, every civilian would be put to the sword, and Jack himself would burn alive at the stake.
Jack stood alone atop the battlements, his heavy plate armor scored with scratches and stained dark with dried blood, his tattered scarlet cloak whipping violently in the gale. The last spark of hope in his gray eyes had been swallowed whole by despair.
As lord of the city, he had failed to protect his people, and the weight of that guilt crushed him.
He slowly drew his cross-hilted sword, pressing the cold sharp edge to his throat, his fingers tensing.
"Let all sin rest upon me alone. May God spare the innocent folk of this city…"
The blade was seconds away from slicing his skin when a thunderous rush of running water erupted from the abandoned ancient well at the heart of the town. Clear, sweet spring water gushed wildly from the wellhead, silvery streams spilling across the blood-caked stone pavement.
"Water! Clean, fresh water!"
Dying soldiers threw themselves forward, burying their faces in the current to gulp desperately, new life flooding their drained bodies. Elderly veterans dropped to their knees in the mud, crossing themselves over and over through tearful sobs, crying out that a miracle had descended.
The sword clanged heavily onto the stone.
Jack stumbled through the throng, staggering to the well's edge. A soft, strange glow rippled within the opening, as if leading to an entirely foreign, unknown realm.
Trembling, he lifted his blood-streaked, scarred iron gauntlet and reached toward the pale light.
At the exact same moment, in the basement of the modern castle.
Rose stared blankly at the pump's streaming water when a rusted, blood-smeared medieval knight's gauntlet suddenly materialized in mid-air above the well, hanging inches from her face, its fingertips twitching faintly.
Her heart skipped a beat, all blood in her body turning to ice. She stumbled backward, slamming her spine against the cold stone wall.
A hoarse, deep voice, thick with an ancient dialect, drifted up through the glowing mist from the bottom of the well, crystal clear in her ears:
"Is it you… the Guardian of the Sacred Realm?"
