We moved quietly.
There's something about walking through a jungle where the trees whisper that puts your survival instinct on high alert. Every step felt like it echoed. Every bird call sounded fake. Too perfect. Too timed.
"This place feels alive," I muttered.
"It is," Lira replied.
I glanced at her.
"You say that like you've been here before."
"I haven't."
"Then why do you sound like a tour guide for hell?"
She shrugged. "Better to assume the worst. Keeps you alive."
Right.
Noted.
---
The trees here were all black. Not burned — just black. Like they were born in darkness. The leaves curled downward, and the bark flaked off like ash when touched.
I hated it.
We came to a clearing, and that's when we saw it.
A shrine.
---
It looked ancient, but not in a normal way — ancient like it had been old before time started counting. Black stone twisted into spires, half-floating above a wide circular platform. Symbols carved deep into the floor, glowing faint red.
In the center:
A tall obsidian slab, and at its base — a pedestal.
Resting on it?
A blade.
Not a sword, not a dagger. Something in-between. Curved, mean-looking, humming with faint blue light that pulsed like a heartbeat.
---
"Is it safe?" I asked.
Lira didn't answer.
Instead, she stepped forward like she was in a trance.
I followed, slower, more cautious. My heart was picking up speed — something about this shrine felt wrong.
Or maybe too right.
Like it knew I was coming.
---
The moment Lira stepped onto the platform, the symbols on the ground flared to life. The light shifted — red to blue. The trees around us stopped whispering.
It got quiet.
Too quiet.
---
"This is old magic," she whispered.
"You don't say."
She shot me a look. "Like… primal magic. First language stuff. Before humans even knew how to lie."
I looked at the blade.
It was floating now. Just a few inches off the pedestal.
Then something weird happened.
It turned — slowly — and pointed directly at me.
---
"Uh," I said, taking a step back.
Lira blinked.
"That's… not normal."
"Thanks, I wasn't sure."
The blade pulsed, once, then twice — then shot forward.
I didn't move.
Not because I was brave.
Because my body froze.
---
I braced for impact.
But the blade stopped. Inches from my chest. Hovering there.
Then… it vanished. Poof. Gone.
I checked my body.
Nothing.
Lira looked confused.
Then I felt it.
My chest burned — not painfully, but sharply. Like a brand being stamped on my soul.
I lifted my shirt.
A faint mark had appeared just below my collarbone. A circle, lined with seven arrows pointing outward.
"What the hell is that?" I asked.
Lira's eyes widened.
"I've seen that symbol in Hell's Records. That's…"
She didn't finish.
"Say it," I demanded.
She looked at me like she wasn't sure if I was a person anymore.
"That's the mark of a Zeist."
---
Before I could respond, we heard footsteps.
Lots of them.
Voices.
---
We ducked behind a stone column just as a group of five emerged from the jungle. Three men, two women. All armed. All armored. All looking way too prepared for Day One.
One of them, a guy with an eye-patch and two axes, stepped onto the shrine platform.
"The relic's gone," he snarled.
Another spotted our footprints.
"Someone took it," a woman hissed.
Then, before we could react, she pointed directly at our hiding spot.
"There."
---
I stood up slowly.
Lira stayed crouched, dagger in hand.
The five formed a loose semicircle.
Eye-patch guy pointed at my chest.
"That mark," he said. "You're not supposed to have that."
"Neither were you," I shot back.
He grinned.
"Fair."
Then he charged.
---
I didn't think.
I moved.
He swung one axe — I ducked and rolled. Came up behind him and elbowed his back. It did nothing. He turned and backhanded me across the face.
I hit the ground hard.
He raised his axe again — but Lira leapt in, slashing at his thigh. He grunted and staggered.
"Run!" she shouted.
I didn't argue.
---
We sprinted into the trees, ducking roots and thorns, branches whipping past our faces.
Behind us, the five didn't chase immediately.
They were stunned.
Confused.
Maybe scared.
Because of me.
---
We finally stopped at a ridge overlooking a dried-up riverbed.
I collapsed, panting.
"What… was that?" I asked.
Lira knelt beside me.
"That blade didn't choose you."
I looked at her.
She nodded slowly.
> "You called it."
Nightfall on Skull Island wasn't dark.
It was red.
The sky didn't go black — it bled. A crimson hue spread like a slow infection, casting the jungle in shades of rust and war. Even the wind sounded different. Less like nature, more like… breathing.
We made camp in the hollow of an old tree. Lira managed to light a small fire using some sparkstone from her pouch — apparently she looted it from a corpse we passed earlier.
Efficient. Creepy. Respect.
---
I sat across from her, shirt off, inspecting the mark on my chest again.
Still there.
Still glowing faintly.
A circle with seven outward arrows. Almost like a sunburst — but cold.
"You gonna tell me what it means now?" I asked.
Lira didn't answer immediately. She was sharpening her dagger, face calm, but eyes stormy.
Finally she said, "A Zeist isn't a person. Not originally."
I raised an eyebrow. "That clears up exactly nothing."
She looked up at me.
"In Hell's Records, there are mentions of… anomalies. Beings that weren't supposed to exist. They showed up in every era. Unkillable. Unpredictable. Unbound by fate."
I leaned forward. "And you're saying I'm one of them?"
"No," she said. "I'm saying the island thinks you are."
---
She tossed a small, folded piece of cloth at me.
I caught it.
Unwrapped it.
Inside: a black card. Blank at first… but as I held it, red letters began to burn across the surface.
Name: Unknown
Rank: Null
Class: ZEIST
Threat Level: ???
Access: Forbidden
Last Seen: Never
I stared at it for a long second.
"…what the hell?"
"You don't have a known past," Lira said. "According to this, you don't even exist in the system."
---
Before I could answer, we heard a sound.
A low, rumbling snarl. Like something huge exhaling.
Then the tree shook.
Lira stood immediately, eyes wide.
"Someone's here," she whispered.
Not someone.
Something.
---
From the trees, a shape stepped into view.
Ten feet tall, maybe more. Skin like black stone, cracked with red glowing lines. Its head was horned, its arms thick like tree trunks, and it had a golden ring hovering behind its back — rotating slowly like a halo.
It carried no weapon.
It was the weapon.
Lira's voice barely escaped her throat.
"That's a Lord."
---
The creature looked down at us. No emotion. Just… evaluation.
Then it spoke, voice like a cave collapsing.
> "You hold the mark."
I stood, heart pounding.
"Yeah," I said. "So?"
> "That mark does not belong to you."
I clenched my fists. "That's becoming a common opinion."
> "The last Zeist fell seven hundred cycles ago. Burned in seven realms. Erased from memory."
It stepped forward.
> "You wear a corpse's mark."
Lira stepped in front of me, dagger raised.
The Lord tilted its head.
> "You would protect it?"
"Try me," she said.
The Lord paused.
Then it smiled — a slow, jagged, horrifying expression.
> "Very well. Survive the Night of Whispers. If you are truly a Zeist, the island will not eat you."
Then it vanished.
No flash.
No smoke.
Just… gone.
---
Silence.
Even the wind seemed afraid to return.
I exhaled finally.
"What's the Night of Whispers?" I asked.
Lira looked pale now.
"It's when Skull Island… speaks."
"…Like, metaphorically?"
"No," she said.
She looked at the red sky.
> "Tonight, the dead walk. The old ones rise. And everyone hears a voice that wasn't meant for them."
I swallowed.
Great.
Another normal Tuesday.