Chapter 103: Tomb of the Nameless King
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In the early evening, the resounding bell of the grand cathedral tolled three distinct times, echoing throughout the vast hallways and chambers. Each toll was like a wave of sound that washed over the intricate architecture, alerting all who heard it that something significant was unfolding. Vanna, known as the Inquisitor, had already entered the sanctuary even before the third chime completed its reverberation. Her footsteps resonated softly on the stone floor as she moved towards the altar.
Archbishop Valentine, an elderly and venerable figure clothed in his dark, elaborate ecclesiastical robes, was already there. He stood motionless before a towering statue of the Storm Goddess Gomona. His eyes were closed, and his hands were clasped together as he seemed engrossed in deep, contemplative prayer. Sensing footsteps, Valentine knew instinctively that it was Vanna who had entered the sacred space. He had a sixth sense for these things, honed through years of spiritual devotion.
“Inquisitor Vanna,” Valentine’s deep voice broke the silence as he turned to face her. “A command to summon a Listener has been issued directly by the Grand Storm Cathedral.”
Vanna’s eyes widened in surprise as she swiftly moved towards the statue, positioning herself in the circle of light cast by the hanging oil lamps above the altar. “Directly from the Grand Storm Cathedral? Could this possibly relate to a newly discovered anomaly or vision?”
Valentine shook his head solemnly, dispelling her initial thoughts. “If it were merely about a new anomaly or vision, the cathedral bell would not toll three times. No, this is far more urgent. A message has been received from the tombkeepers residing in ‘The Chamber.’ They’ve reported some form of unusual activity emanating from the body of the Nameless King. The details are still murky, but it appears the existing list of names associated with the King is undergoing some mysterious changes.”
As he spoke, the archbishop locked eyes with Vanna, emphasizing the gravity of the situation.
“We need to dispatch a Listener to ‘the chamber’ to investigate this phenomenon, to gather any possible information from the body of the Nameless King. At the moment, the chamber is under the oversight of our Storm Church. Both you and I are among the listed candidates to become the Listener.”
Maintaining her composure, Vanna responded calmly, “When do we leave?”
“Now,” Archbishop Valentine nodded, giving her a signal to follow him. He walked toward a previously hidden area located behind the towering statue of the goddess. A door, adorned with various arcane and sacred symbols, creaked open, revealing a long, dimly-lit passageway behind it. “The psychic tunnel has been prepared for our journey.”
With a final, respectful bow towards the statue of Gomona, Vanna pivoted and followed the archbishop. They walked together down the corridor, the lamplight flickering eerily as they progressed further into the depths of the ancient cathedral. Finally, they reached a secluded chamber at the very end of the hallway.
This room was unlike any other within the cathedral. Instead of the familiar construction of concrete and bricks, this chamber was built entirely from uneven gray stone blocks. The blocks fit snugly together, forming both the walls and ceiling. Dominating the center of the chamber was a fire pit, where flames crackled and danced energetically despite the absence of any visible fuel source—it was as if the fire had sprung from the very air itself.
The room was bare of any furniture or additional decorations. A soft, constant sound of trickling water echoed around them, lending an atmosphere of moisture to the already damp walls. Even the stone floor appeared to be wet as if covered by tiny, meandering streams. It felt less like an appendage to the cathedral and more like a hidden, submerged cave at the very depths of the ocean.
Vanna was no stranger to this unique chamber. As an inquisitor of equal authority to Archbishop Valentine within the city-state, she had also been granted the privilege to use this room as a “psychic gateway.” This seemingly modest chamber was actually a specialized facility, serving as a launching point for constructing psychic channels or tunnels to distant realms.
Every central cathedral in each of the various city-states possessed similar chambers, each designed in accordance with the religious technology specific to their deity. While priests dedicated to the Storm Goddess, Gomona, utilized chambers like this one, styled as “submerged caves,” acolytes of the Death God had their own versions, which they referred to as “pale crypts.” These chambers, though they may have seemed dark and claustrophobic to the uninitiated, held a secret, miraculous purpose: they could separate the user’s spirit from their physical form and send it across a sprawling network of interconnected psychic spaces. This transcendent form of communication transcended geographical barriers, enabling instant communication between city-states separated by the tumultuous expanses of the Boundless Seas.
Enabled by divine grace, this miraculous technology allowed isolated branches of the church to communicate swiftly across unfathomable oceanic distances. In ancient times, before the advent of reliable oceanic vessels, this psychic network was often the only lifeline city-states had to confirm each other’s existence and well-being.
As Vanna and Archbishop Valentine stood in the chamber, the heavy metal doors behind them slowly closed with a resonant, muffled thud. Intricate runes engraved into the dark metal surfaces of the doors began to animate as if possessed by a life force of their own. They intertwined and interlocked in an intricate dance, perfectly sealing the chamber from any external influences.
The two religious figures positioned themselves beside the chamber’s central fire pit, their heads reverently bowed as they focused on the sacred, flickering flames before them. In synchronized harmony, they began chanting the sacred name of their Storm Goddess, Gomona. As they continued their invocation, the room seemed to respond.
The illusionary sounds of water, which had been softly trickling from an unseen source, grew in volume and intensity. As they invoked the goddess’s name, the subtle sounds converged into a deafening roar, mimicking the sound of a turbulent sea. The atmosphere in the room became increasingly humid, almost palpable, and Vanna noticed the tiny streams that had been flowing along the chamber floor suddenly transforming into rising, turbulent waves.
Fixating her gaze on the fire pit, whose flames seemed undeterred by the illusionary aquatic upheaval, Vanna closed her eyes and allowed her spirit to be fully engulfed by this metaphysical seawater.
The initial sensation of cold vanished quickly. When she reopened her eyes, she found herself no longer in the confined, stone-built chamber designed to mimic a submerged cave. Instead, her consciousness had been transported to an incomprehensibly vast, chaotic square. Towering pillars, each one a monument to divine majesty, stretched as far as the eye could see. Their tops appeared to be broken or fragmented as if they had shattered and dispersed into the heavens above. Floating above this grand square was a nebulous river of light, veiling something so profoundly distant and mysterious that it lay beyond the scope of mortal understanding.
Gathering her composure, Vanna surveyed the expansive square. It was filled with shadowy figures, their forms reduced to mere black silhouettes outlined in faint, ethereal light. Although their faces were obscured, she could identify each individual by the distinct auras that radiated from them. These were devout followers of the Storm Goddess, hailing from various city-states and some even from the Grand Storm Cathedral that sailed the Boundless Sea.
It was understood that only “saints” could be chosen to serve as “Listeners,” primarily because certain divine “voices” could only be comprehended by these spiritually advanced individuals without losing the integrity of the message.
As she pondered this, a familiar shadowy figure began to drift towards her. Even before he spoke, Vanna recognized him as Archbishop Valentine, identified by the specific energy signature that she had come to associate with him over the years. The archbishop appeared somewhat embarrassed. “It seems I’m the last to arrive again, just like at our previous gathering.”
Vanna mused aloud, “Do the saints from other city-states permanently reside in chambers like ours? The moment a summons is issued, it appears that half of them can gather here within ten minutes.”
Chuckling, Valentine shook his head. “You know, ever since Saint Forlson inscribed ‘First’ next to his name on the attendance roll about twenty years ago, this absurd competition to arrive early has become a trend. I honestly don’t get it. The Goddess doesn’t grant additional blessings for mere punctuality.”
Before Vanna could reply, a sudden, thunderous noise reverberated from the far end of the square, disrupting her thoughts and abruptly halting the murmured discussions among the gathering of saints.
Simultaneously, both Vanna and Valentine raised their eyes to witness an extraordinary phenomenon: the ground at the very center of the square began to rise. Ancient stone bricks, which had seemed as immovable as the earth itself, started rippling like the surface of a pond disturbed by a thrown stone. Rapidly ascending through these undulating waves of stone, a pale peak was the first to break the surface, soon followed by leaning walls and archaic pillars made of the same pale material.
Within seconds, the entirety of this mysterious tower came into clear view—a massive, looming structure composed of enormous pale stones. This colossal building was grim and austere, resembling a pyramid at its core and flanked by menacing obelisks and daunting towers. No known city-state boasted architecture of this particular style; the building exuded a gloomy and oppressive atmosphere that seemed inhospitable to life.
Rather than a palace, it was more accurate to label this titanic structure as an immense tomb, perhaps even a mausoleum designed to house the remains of some bygone, powerful entity.
Like everyone else gathered in the square, Vanna’s attention was irresistibly drawn to the base of this awe-inspiring pyramid. As if under the collective scrutiny of countless pairs of ethereal eyes, the massive door at the entrance of the tomb started to creak open ever so slowly, revealing whatever mysteries it had long concealed.
As the monumental stone doors of pale hue gradually parted, a towering figure began to emerge from the dark recesses of the tomb. This was no ordinary being; he was the guardian of the Tomb of the Nameless King.
For Vanna, the term “human” felt insufficient to describe him. A complex patchwork of shrouds enveloped his body; these fabrics were singed and nearly charcoal-black on one side, as if they had borne witness to eons of infernal fires. The other half of his body was not in any better shape—it was bound by heavy iron chains engraved with dark runes that seemed to writhe as if alive. Some of these grotesque chains appeared to be integrated into his very flesh, twisting around pulsing veins and exposed nerves as if fused with his biology. This guardian was an unsettling amalgam of decaying flesh, oppressive chains, and lingering dark enchantments. With heavy, deliberate steps, he advanced toward the congregation of shadowy figures assembled in the ethereal square.
Although Vanna had crossed paths with the tomb guardian on previous occasions, she found herself involuntarily holding her breath, her muscles tightening reflexively in anticipation.
Her tension escalated as she realized the guardian was walking directly toward her. Ignoring the other figures that filled the square, he continued his inexorable approach until he stood just in front of her. His head was a cacophony of shrouds and chains, with a single eye visible— an eye that held her gaze with an unsettling calm. Vanna was not a short woman by any means, but even so, the guardian dwarfed her, towering at least a head taller.
“You may enter the tomb,” the guardian intoned, his voice carrying an unsettling rasp as if the very act of speech was a struggle for a long-dead corpse. As he spoke, he raised what appeared to be his right hand—a charred, almost skeletal appendage—and in it he held a quill pen along with a weathered scroll of parchment.
“Write down what you hear,” he ordered, his voice tinged with an urgency that belied his otherworldly composure. The command was terse, but in its brevity lay an enormity of responsibility. Whatever messages she would hear in the tomb were likely to be of grave import—not just to her, but perhaps to the world at large.
lmao ‘first’
second! mwahaha
Third is mine.
Fourth !
Author really out here dissing commenters