2. Zyrith

2

ZYRITH

I sit in my corner, feeling the heaviness of this place press down on me. Cracks spider through the stone ceiling, allowing faint beams of light to pierce the chamber’s gloom. Light is a rare visitor here. The chamber echoes with the soft drip of water. Each droplet is a metronome in my endless solitude. The air is filled with the scent of damp stone and ancient decay. Bioluminescent moss glows faintly along the walls, casting eerie patterns on the ground that flicker and dance.

I rise slowly from my resting place. My stone joints creak noisily in protest. Centuries have passed in this darkness. Each day blends into the next until time itself seems meaningless. My exterior bears the marks of those centuries. Cracks and weathering trace patterns of isolation across my form. Each fissure whispers of the relentless passage of time, a cruel artist sculpting my existence with every passing moment.

I move to the edge of my hidden sanctuary. Movement above catches my eye—shadows flickering through the small cracks. The light shifts again, dancing across the chamber. The faint light teases my senses. The air from outside carries scents of pine and fresh soil. It’s a stark contrast to the damp decay within my cavern.

I approach one of the narrow crevices along the stone wall that provides a rare glimpse into the world above. Through one such crevice, I observe the realm that thrives beyond my reach. Snow blankets the forest, turning it into a pristine expanse of white. Trees sway gently in the breeze. Creatures move about in pairs or groups, never alone. This sight stirs something deep within me—a longing for a life beyond these stone walls.

"Freedom," I murmur, the word foreign on my tongue.

My gaze shifts to a creature grazing near the entrance. Its sleek form moves with a grace I can only envy. It pauses, ears twitching as if sensing my presence, then continues its peaceful foraging. Such simplicity, such ease in its existence. My stone heart envies it.

I turn around and tread the familiar path around my chamber, feeling the grooves worn into the floor by countless years of pacing. The stones under my feet are cold and unyielding. My senses heighten, attuned to every shift in the underground's silent symphony.

A distant sound reaches me—an echo, perhaps, or a trick of my imagination. I tilt my head, listening. Nothing follows. The silence returns, more oppressive than before. This chamber is my world, and I its sole inhabitant. The burden of loneliness gnaws at my insides.

"Another day in this forsaken tomb," I mutter, my voice a gravelly rumble that reverberates through the cavern.

My own existence feels burdensome, a relic of an era that no longer matters. Yet I remain, bound by some unspoken duty to guard these ruins and remember a time when my kind walked the earth.

My thoughts wander to those last days—the cataclysm that erased my people from existence. Fire and stone clashed as our world crumbled. I had retreated into this sanctuary, hoping to awaken and find everything restored. Instead, I woke to silence.

My fingers, rough and weathered like the ancient stone around me, trace along one of the larger cracks on my arm. The texture is rough, each ridge and valley a testament to the years endured. These marks are more than scars; they are stories etched into my being. A constant reminder of what once was and what can never be again.

My once formidable form now bears the weight of isolation, a monument to my enduring existence. A low growl escapes my throat. My life has been one of patience and stillness, yet even stones can grow restless.

"How long must I remain here?" I ask the emptiness.

No answer comes, only the steady drip of water and the distant hum of life outside. The silence is both comfort and curse, a companion in my solitude yet a reminder of what I lack.

A shaft of light breaks through another crevice, once again illuminating the stone cavern walls. The glow is dim but steady, much like my hope—faint but not extinguished. It is this glimmer that keeps me from succumbing to despair.

I step back from the crevices, returning to the heart of my chamber. My pacing resumes, each step an echo in this vast tomb. The world outside remains just out of reach, tantalizing in its beauty and simplicity.

At least for now, I remain within these ancient walls, a guardian of forgotten ruins and lost memories. My loyalty binds me here, but my spirit yearns for something more.

The solitude continues to gnaw at me as I finally stop my pacing and sit down on the damp stone floor of the cavern. I feel a relentless hunger, this need for companionship.

My thoughts wander to the time before the cataclysm, when my kin filled these halls with laughter and song. We were not always so isolated. We were a community, a family. Each day, we worked side by side, carving out our existence from the very stone that surrounded us. The memory of those days brings a pang to my chest, a dull ache that never seems to fade.

In the darkness, my memories continue to flicker like distant stars. Faces of those I once knew, now blurred by the eons. I remember their voices. I remember the warmth of their presence. It seems almost cruel that I can recall these details with such clarity when they are forever out of reach.

"I would give anything to hear another voice," I admit to the empty chamber.

Now, only echoes remain. The silence is a constant reminder of what I've lost, of the vibrant world that once existed beyond these stone walls.

“Am I truly the last?” I shout at the darkness, though I know it offers no reply.

A soft sigh escapes me.

I reach out, tracing the familiar grooves in the stones that forever surround me, each one a testament to my isolation. My fingers glide over the rough surface, feeling every crack and crevice. They are my only companions now, these ancient stones. They offer no warmth, no comfort, only the cold recollection of time's passage.

The yearning within me grows even stronger now. It's a deep pain that cannot be soothed by stone or silence. It's a need for connection. To share this existence with another soul would mean everything.

"How much longer must I endure this?" I ask aloud, though I know there is no one there.

I close my eyes and imagine what it would be like to have someone here beside me. To share stories, to laugh together, to simply exist in each other's presence. It's a dream that seems so distant.

"One day maybe," I murmur to myself, though I know it's a hollow promise.

It seems all I have for now are these ancient walls and the memories they hold. I take a deep breath and stand back up, continuing my pacing. The chamber remains as silent as ever. And with each moment that passes, my heart aches for something more, something beyond this endless solitude.

"Is this all there is?" I whisper to the shadows.

Hunger starts to gnaw at me the more I pace, a constant reminder of my need to sustain this ancient body. The familiar sensation drives me to move. I leave the central chamber and navigate through the twisting tunnels, each step echoing against the cold stone walls.

The scent of damp ground grows stronger as I approach a small pond hidden deep within my sanctuary. The bioluminescent moss lines the edges, casting an eerie glow across the water's surface. Small ripples disturb the stillness, revealing the presence of life within.

I crouch down. The water's surface breaks as a small amphibian-like creature emerges, its slick skin glistening under the faint light. It pauses, sensing my presence but not yet aware of the danger.

With a swift motion, I plunge my hand into the water, fingers closing around the creature's fragile form. It struggles briefly, its small limbs flailing against my unyielding grip. The effort is futile; my strength far surpasses its desperate attempts to escape.

A quick twist of my wrist ends its life. The creature goes limp, its struggles silenced in an instant. I bring it closer, examining the delicate patterns on its skin—an intricate design nature has bestowed upon it.

Without further hesitation I decapitate it and consume it greedily. The taste is pungent and slightly bitter, a stark contrast to the blandness of stone that has become so familiar. The sustenance it provides is minimal but necessary.

As I finish, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and rise to my full height once more. The pond remains undisturbed now, save for the gentle ripples fading into stillness. The hunger subsides for now, replaced by a fleeting sense of satisfaction.

I turn away from the pond and make my way back through the tunnels. Each step feels heavier than before, as if burdened by more than just my physical form. The silence of my sanctuary envelopes me once again, the one constant in this endless solitude.

Returning to the heart of my chamber, I resume my pacing yet again. The act is both ritual and necessity—a way to pass the time in this forsaken tomb. My thoughts drift back to those fleeting moments by the pond, where life persists even in the harshest conditions. Their simplicity is enviable.

Here I remain, in isolation—a relic of an era long past.

For now, all I can do is endure this loneliness and hope that one day it will end. My spirit yearns for more than just survival; it longs for someone.

In this vast tomb of stone and shadows, that desire is both my curse and my only solace.