Neo-ilka city pulsed to its usual, unending drone-they'd grown accustomed to the cacophony of industry and progress-but Zypher couldn't shake the feeling it was off. The air was heavy, weighed down with the secrets placed so deeply that they would be buried permanently, never even remotely close to being dug up. He thought about Nyssa's song, but within him something had turned- an insurmountable pull, a sense of connection he felt to something lost, something forgotten.
It was still an early morning; the first light of daybreak barely seeped through the horizon, and long shadows loomed above the steel-and-glass structures in the city. The team had been quiet since their encounter with the siren. There was much to be said, yet for now, everyone seemed lost in their thoughts.
With the beats of his footsteps echoing down the narrow deserted cold streets, Zypher's thoughts kept going back to remnants of the Divinitas weapon and the journey he would have ahead of him. But something else drew his attention, something from deep within, things he had long buried.
Zypher, Nyra's voice cut through his reverie, pulling him back into the present. She stood at the edge of the street, her face bunched in a strange unreadable expression. "You should see this.".
Curious, Zypher followed her to this dimly lit alley, where a forgotten, half-collapsed building stood with its surface scarred by years of neglect. The walls were covered in layers of grime, with surfaces cracked and peeling. But it was the door he caught his attention upon – a very old, rusted iron structure that was out of place with its frame etched in strange symbols.
"What is this place?" Zypher asked, peering at the door, his eyes squinting in its investigation. Older than anything he had ever seen in Neo-ilka. It was a relic of another time, another world.
"I don't know," Nyra replied, her voice low. "But it's connected to the Divinitas fragments. I followed the signal here. It's. weird, like it's calling us.".
Without a second thought, Zypher stretched forward and his fingers brushed against the icy surface of the door. Even as he touched it, he felt the energy pulse and his body ran hot; he was literally breathless for a moment. In that flash of instant, everything stopped in its tracks, including his senses, heartbeat, and the world outside.
Then the door creaked open to reveal a narrow passage - more of those strange symbols marked the entrance to this dark, cramped space. And as they stepped inside, the air grew thick with dust and had that smell of decay that clings to all things left alone in silence for too long. No one came in here for at least years, maybe decades.
"What is this place?" Nyra whispered on a shivering breath as she followed Zypher deeper into darkness.
"It is not just an old building, but a temple," mutters Zypher, feeling that somehow there exists a strange pull in the air.
The deeper they sank, the more vibrant the symbols seemed to grow, glowing dimly in the faint light of their modified goggles. They were gods, carvings of them—but molded and stretched by time, forms that once prided themselves reduced now to not much more than whispers of what they once were. One, however, caught Zypher's eye: humanoid form spread wide, one hand holding a spear, the other a shield whose intricate designs shimmered with an otherworldly brilliance.
His heart missed a beat as he recognized the figure. It was Ares, god of war.
"This. this doesn't make sense," he muttered. "Ares was… he was a god of Olympus, wasn't he?"
Nyra's voice faltered. "Yes, but this… this isn't like the records. These symbols, these carvings… they're different. This place is ancient. We're not just looking at the history of the gods. We're looking at something far older."
And as if the walls were breathing shut, the air began to thicken, growing so unmanageably thick that Zypher felt a physical sense of being swallowed by the temple itself. The deeper they went, the louder the whispers grew. And at first, Zypher had taken it as the hum of the city outside, but as they went deeper into the heart of the temple, he knew it became something else.
These weren't just sounds.
They were voices.
So far away, so broken and torn apart, yet each step they took so clear. The louder the voices grew, echoing off stone walls, the words indistinguishable, but unmistakably familiar. They sounded as though they spoke directly to him.
"Zypher…" the first voice whispered, hardly audible. "You have come…"
Zypher's heart slid to a stop; his pulse sped up. He turned to Nyra, who had stopped in her tracks. Her eyes were wide with fear, her body tense as if she was feeling the voices, too.
"Did you hear that?" she whispered on a breath of air.
Zypher nodded, racing with his mind. "Who are they?" he muttered, his voice a mere whisper.
The whispers were growing louder, the words clearer, though still disjointed.
.Child of the gods. you. must find. the sword.
It faded, but another voice took its place, deeper, darker.
Zypher. don't listen. it is not your way.
Zypher reached up to rub at his skull, trying to will the voices away.
They didn't stop. They built inside him, grew stronger, louder.
"Zypher! Nyra shouted through the madness. "We have to go. Now.".
But he couldn't move. The whispers, the voices-they were too strong. They were calling him. They were pulling him into the temple deeper and deeper.
Just as he thought it would end, a figure emerged out of the middle of the chamber. He could see nothing amidst all that darkness at first; Zypher could only make out a silhouette against the faint light leaking through the crack in the rocks. As his vision came back, he saw it was a face. A man, tall and broad-shouldered, whose features angled and sharp as glass, whose eyes seemed to shine with an otherworldly, unnatural light.
"Who.are you?" Zypher demanded, his voice shaking.
The figure smiled, but it was cold, calculating. "I am one of the forgotten. One of the old gods who once walked among mortals. I am here to make sure that you do not awaken what should remain buried."
Zypher took one step forward, his resolve hardening. "I don't get it. What is this place? Who are you?
The smile on the figure's face began to fade. "I am the ghost of Olympus. And I am not alone."
As if the words had freed a scream, the temple shook, the earth beneath them rumbling as if the very foundation of the city was shifting. And then the voices rose, no longer murmurs but screams of anguish, a chorus of tortured souls that screamed and whined and wept through time.