I walked alone.
The forest behind me faded into mist—its trees dissolving like old paper burned to ash. Only the sound of distant bells guided me now, faint and patient, like a heartbeat buried deep beneath the soil.
The LAW on my chest pulsed softly.
A quiet reminder: I was still Called. I was still bound.
But to what?
The Sealed One's parting words coiled like smoke in my thoughts.
"Seek the Chain of Distant Calls. Find the Lost City."
And so I followed the bells.
Hours passed.
Or perhaps days.
Time bled strangely here, slipping through cracks in reason. My body did not tire. My hunger dulled, as if the LAW itself sustained me. Dreams and waking blurred into one. I walked, and the world unfolded like an old map—edges torn, lines fading.
The land changed.
The moss beneath my boots became smooth gray stone—old, cracked, inscribed with symbols I could not read. Dead trees lined the path, their branches bare and bone-white. The sky darkened, heavy with rolling clouds that churned without wind.
And there—beyond a ridge of broken rock—I saw it.
The Lost City.
Silent.
Forgotten.
Vast.
Its towers were jagged spires of black stone, twisted and leaning as if crushed by invisible hands. Bridges of iron webbed the air, connecting structures that defied logic—looping endlessly, spiraling upward, sinking into the ground. Pale light flickered from deep fissures in the earth, casting ghostly patterns on the broken streets.
A city built by no hand of man.
I stepped forward, breath catching.
The LAW mark flared cold.
Danger.
But curiosity drove me on.
Closer.
Down the crumbling path.
The bells grew louder.
And then—I saw them.
Figures.
Dozens.
Silent shapes standing in the streets, motionless as statues. Cloaked in tattered robes. Faces hidden by cracked porcelain masks. Their hands clutched chains of dull iron that stretched into the darkness—binding them to the city itself.
They did not move.
They did not breathe.
I stopped.
Fear coiled tight in my chest.
The LAW whispered in my mind—words I could not understand, but whose meaning was clear.
The Bound. The Forgotten Called. Those who failed the Trial.
A quiet fate.
A warning.
I moved carefully, weaving between their silent forms. Some stood in circles. Others knelt beside broken fountains or empty altars. All stared skyward—as if waiting for something to return.
The bells rang again—closer now.
And then I saw him.
A figure seated upon a throne of stone and rust at the city's heart.
Tall.
Broad.
Wrapped in chains of black steel that pulsed faintly with light. His face was bare—his features sharp, pale, untouched by time. Eyes closed in eternal sleep.
A name pressed itself into my thoughts.
Unbidden.
Unwelcome.
Veyr—the Bound Lord. The First King of the Called. The Lawbreaker.
I swallowed hard.
He was legend. A story whispered in half-remembered dreams.
The first to defy the LAW.
The first to fall.
And here he slept—forgotten, sealed within the Lost City, the chains of failure binding him for eternity.
As I approached, the LAW mark on my chest burned hot.
The chains around Veyr shivered.
A faint groan echoed through the stone.
His lips parted.
A breath escaped.
And then—his eyes opened.
Pale as winter sky.
Cold as death.
His gaze fell upon me—and I froze.
"Another Called... walks this grave." His voice was dust and sorrow, old beyond measure. "Another fool. Another seed of ruin."
I could not speak.
His chains tightened, dragging against the throne.
"You touched the Fifth Option." His words rang like hammers in my skull. "You chose the path that leads here. The path of awakening. Of truth."
I forced breath into my lungs.
"What... is this place?"
His smile was bitter.
"The City Beneath Silence. The Grave of Defiance. All who break the Pattern are chained here, in dream and ash, until the LAW forgets us."
He leaned forward—the chains groaning, cracking the stone.
"But the LAW does not forget. And neither does the Tower."
I swallowed hard.
"Why am I here?"
Veyr laughed—soft and hollow.
"Because you cracked the Chain. Because you stirred the Gate. Because your defiance woke the First and troubled the Witness. You are marked, little Called. Hunted. Watched."
His eyes gleamed faintly.
"And because I called you."
I stepped back—heart pounding.
"You... called me?"
He nodded.
"The Chain of Distant Calls... it is not only memory. It is a summons. A whisper to the lost. You followed because you heard my cry. My despair. My curse."
His chains groaned, splitting the stone.
"I have slumbered too long. I dream of freedom. Of fire. Of breaking the Tower's hold. And you, bearer of the Fifth Option... you may be the key."
I shook my head.
"I don't understand."
His smile widened.
"You will. In time. When the bells ring louder. When the sky cracks and the Gate yawns wide. You will stand before the Tower—and choose."
His chains tightened.
"But not yet. You are too weak. Too blind. Go, little Called. Learn. Grow. Or fall."
The city trembled.
The air thickened.
A pressure built—silent and vast—as if the sky itself leaned down to listen.
Veyr's voice dropped to a whisper.
"And beware... the Tower stirs. The Watcher wakes. The Chain tightens. Soon... the true Trial begins."
The earth split beneath me.
Light blazed.
I fell—downward—through shadow and flame and cold.
---
I awoke gasping—alone—on a windswept plain beneath a blackened sky.
The Lost City was gone.
Only the bells remained—distant and fading.
The LAW mark pulsed softly.
A single word whispered in my mind—deep and old.
"Prepare."
I rose slowly.
Somewhere—far ahead—the Tower loomed.
Waiting.
Watching.
And the real journey was only beginning.