When they next woke, they were surprised to see the once-blooming valley covered in mist. Making it appear like hues of black and blue. And atop the mountain, waited the most powerful mist. Something not meant to be reached. Johanne got up early, her excitement was undeniably crazy. And Oliver slept in late. He slept and slept until Johanne finally had to break his slumber. “How the hell are you going to awaken a sleeping beast if you yourself are asleep?” Johanne annoyingly asked the sleeping Oliver. He finally woke up and was coldly welcomed by the Black-blue mist covering the valley. It was unnatural. But then again, wasn’t everything on this wretched island? He got up, and Johanne started brewing some more fresh Wildberry stew. Afterwards, Johanne started unpacking their hiking gear. Her heart filled with triumph and the weird feelings of destiny. Even though no such thing ever existed. They stood prepared, at the very foot of the mountain, ahead of the haunted forest of lost souls, and beneath a towering mountain that would require something paranormal to ever reach. With every step they took, their feelings grew complex. Not looking down, not looking up, they felt like fighting a battle with a blade in two arenas at the same time. The arena of the body. Fighting to keep the balance between them and the mountain. And the arena of the mind. Fighting the growing weight of their emotions to not let their feelings get the best of them. They ascended, something that felt like it would go on forever. A wave of cold mist carried out from the abyssal sky and the far-fetched peak of the mountain. The mountain started trembling, its facade finally wearing off. A rock. A single tear. Fell off its cliff. A tear rolling down its cheek. But the tears only worsened. The mountain couldn’t stop shedding its weight. The millennia-old weight no soul should be cursed to carry. But of course, not all souls are born so lucky. The boulders continued to fall. One by one. Tears slipping away. The leaves falling from trees mid-autumn. And finally, the grand finale. A massive landslide hit. “What the hell is that?!” Oliver panicked. “Looks like the mountain isn’t too happy about us scaling it.” Johanne surprisingly replied. “Get cover!” Oliver instructed, even though he knew that there was no cover. Their hands began trembling, their hearts punching out of their chest, they were completely lost in fear. Close, towards west, Johanne spotted a cave. It looked big enough to fit both of them and shelter them for the time being. “There!” Johanne pointed to the cave westwards. Oliver shook his head, and both proceeded towards the cave. The rocks were coming down fast, faster than ever, they were rolling down like tears from the eyes of the storm and the flesh of the mountain-borne. They finally reached the cave after almost dying at the hands of falling boulders. The second they reached the cave, giant boulders brushed past them, sealing the cave with no other way out. They could hear the rocks falling to the ground even from inside the cave. The cave was dark, empty, and held the voice of a thousand echoes. “Whew! That was a close call,” Johanne smirked. “Yeah, the closest we’ve ever been to getting ourselves crushed to death.” Oliver brushed off his clothes from all the dust he had caught during the landslide. “At least we’re safe!” She reassured Oliver. “By safe, do you mean trapped in a miniature cave?” he countered. “Well, we could go deeper in the cave, you know, to see where it might lead.” Johanne urged Oliver. “Absolutely not!” he refused. “Come on! You want to get out? Or would you prefer dying here?” Johanne said such an impactful sentence without even flinching. Now that’s courage. Oliver didn’t want more risks, but he didn’t want death either. Unwillingly, reluctantly, hesitantly, just, somehow, he agreed. Johanne lit a torch with the help of the cave’s walls. The further they went, the larger the cave got. It looked like it was a pathway. A tunnel. A road leading somewhere. Even though they had a torch, a flame brighter than the dark, it seemed dimmer than usual. It was not burning at its full potential. With each step, the air got colder, memories vivid, spine chilling, and hearts? Wrenching. They began seeing carvings along the wall. Scribbles in languages not seen, heard, or written in ages. Weird markings ambiently glowing a soulful tint of green. And the aroma was of smoke. As if something was burnt once, but was extinguished forever. “Johanne, this does not seem like just any cave to me. Are you sure we’re supposed to be here?” Oliver asked, trembling down to his boots. “Of course not! Why would we be supposed to be in a cave haunted by fears and chilled breezes?” Johanne steadily replied, while keeping her guard up. “Then why not go back?” Oliver shivered. “Don’t act like you don’t know, Olive-oil,” She replied with the very same spark in her voice. Her voice, though, was cut off. Not by Oliver this time. But by a loud, eerie, and disturbingly soul-gripping shriek, enough to rip out the essence of the mountain as old as time itself. The ground began shaking like a cyclops desperately wanted the fruit atop a giant. Johanne and Oliver were confused, but never this confused by just a loud sound. The eeriness of the shriek was so terrifying that it felt like their heads were about to explode. They felt immense headaches that no medicine could heal. Their moist skin ran dry, as smoke, the kind of mist not moist, burning through skin like it was ice caught on fire. They both began coughing heavily, their throats were dry as cacti, while their minds were aching like never before. They started running. Trying to run from undead smoke? It was hilarious. But utterly dangerous for these two. This smoke was designed to hide the beings beneath. To drench trespassers in existential torture. To make them lose track of all sanity. Yet somehow. These two didn't stop like the others and many before. They fastened their pace. Their footsteps now faster and louder than ever. Their minds still aching, but their hearts? Burning with immortal will. They tried to brush off the smoke, but they should've known better than to waste their energy pushing away sentient mist purposed to kill these filthy trespassers. Yet somehow, they managed to reach it. Just as Johanne put another step onto the ground, she felt that there was nothing ahead of them, as if the land had disappeared. Oliver, on the other hand, was mindlessly running towards the pit. Right before he could fall to his doom, he was saved. "Ughh!" This stupid guy just couldn't stop yelling. He still thought he was falling. Could he not feel that someone had caught his hand? "Oliver! Where are you?" Oliver finally opened his eyes. He finally realized he was suspended mid-air. "Thanks Johanne!"."For what?"."You saved me!?"."No I didn't! Where the hell even are you?!"."Hanging by your hand?!"."Uhuh. Not my hand."."Don't play mind games Johanne. This is not the right time, nor the place."."I'm not". Oliver grabbed onto the cave's edges and climbed back into the opening. The fog started disappearing. It had failed its purpose. It could not stop them from entering. From discovering. From lifeless drench. When it cleared, these two finally saw what was ahead. The cave was left wide open. Inside. The mountain was hollow. As hollow as the skull of an undead man. Covered in green mist. Lit by lanterns whose fuel was lost souls. As the haze wore off and Oliver stood back up on the edge. Their hearts skipped a beat, their minds shattered. They were horrified to see a Djinn holding Oliver’s hand. Johanne had studied these mythical beings back in Escarade. They possessed magic stronger than any other being in this known universe. Magic capable of shattering entire dimensions. Powerful enough to warp reality. Yet they were confined. Confined by a curse brought upon by themselves. Long before the modern age, a powerful Djinn wreaked havoc upon the living and the undead. Alas, a powerful sorceress, even more powerful than the Djinn itself, challenged it to a duel. They fought hard, the battle was fierce, both capable of distorting dimensions, but the sorceress’s power stood unmatched. She defeated the Djinn and cursed it to never be able to grant wishes for itself. Only for others. Only three for each. After the battle. The Djinn felt humiliated and went into hiding. Never to be seen again.
Johanne and Oliver were just as terrified as they were surprised. They didn't even believe in Djinn's existence. But I assume they were dramatically proven wrong. The Djinn pointed a sharp steel, almost sentient, spear at them. Then it spoke, "And who might you cursed souls be? These are no depths for mortals to venture into. You shall be brought to justice by the mighty Elcastria." Johanne and Oliver were too horrified to make a sound. Yet too impatient to stay quiet. Oliver spoke, “Wha-a-a-at do you want? Don't hurt us please. We were just trapped and exploring and—”. “Will you just shut up!”. The Djinn spoke once more, “Enough! whether to boil you, drain you, or kill you is upon the queen to decide”. The Djinn extended his arm, manifesting ghostly shackles from thin air. As if air itself had turned into bendable iron. Or perhaps the air contained the souls and life energy of the forgotten. The very force that Elcastria fed on. Impressive for a being bound to be unable to use magic. It captured the two wanderers in its cold, tight, and roughly manifested shackles. These were cold as ice, rough as stone, and tight as a serpent. They smelled like rotten flesh thrown in a furnace fueled by ice. The longer they wore, the tighter they wrapped. Ahead of them was a trench filled with nothingness. Its sole end would be the soul of the earth. The core of the world. Or perhaps deeper than that. And in the middle of the mountain. Suspended mid-air. A city. With towering scrapers, Granite houses, carved with statues and verdicts of ancient languages, undeciphered. A sight no mortal had been honoured enough to witness in their lifetime. Perhaps it was never meant for mankind. But for the cursed Djinns thrown into hiding. The city was shaped in domes. Every single building, every single carved wall, every single pebble, giving off an unfamiliar mana. An energy of sorts unheard of. A place forgotten. A legend only thought of as myths. As the Djinn dragged the two mortals. The civilians stared like they were watching an exotic species of chaotic beasts. Even though their power was far from near a beast. The Djinns feasting on life energy like it was their only appetite. As if they found a darker path of… power. Civilians dressed in tunics and robes upon half their body. The other turned to haunted smoke. All around, enchanted houses and screaming souls. And ahead, an Altar powered by energy devoured. Waiting, waiting in the center of the city. The great Elcastria. “I told you we shouldn’t go deeper. But no… you HAD to lead us into a den of cursed mythical beings.”.“Relax Olive-oil.”.“Oh excuse me? we are tied up in chains???”.“Okay okay, but I had no idea any of THIS could happen.”.“For god's sake Johanne, out of everything that has happened on this wicked haunted island, this is the closest we’ve been to our graves.”.“I admit it okay. I know I’m the worst and I always make the worst choices. I know it was my fault to lead you into this mess. And I’m not going to say “I’m gonna get you out of this mess” cuz I ain’t. She didn’t flinch, didn’t sob, didn’t smile, just lowered her head. Disappointed. Shameful. Grieving.
The Throne ahead, the past behind, and lost souls scattered all across. A sight to be seen. The Djinn guard dragged them both up to the Altar. It was huge enough to fit two of the stone giants at once. “I might have visitors, my great queen.”. Grunts echoed across the land, secrets whispered in tongues unknown, fragrances of coal and smoke. The door sprang open with a gust of chilling wind followed by a shriek similar to the one before, just a bit, madder, hungrier. Same as a great devouring dragon roaring like it hadn’t feasted in centuries. Or millennia perhaps.
“Give them a cold welcome…” a quiet, wicked, ear ripping voice. Carrying the weight of a cursed past— and a horrid future. Johanne and Oliver shivered, their souls trembling, their minds aching, their ears burning, and their hearts punching out their bodies. “What the hell is even going on?!”.“I don’t know Johanne, but doesn’t seem… particularly… safe.”. The air from all across the city swirled up, gathering on the seat of the giant, thorny, granite throne, manifesting, developing, embodying, shaping a soul torn and corrupted. The queen of Djinns. The devourer of life. Elcastria. Her body was fully intact. Unlike the other, half smoke Djinns. She wore a set of white, silk robes, her crown made of bright emerald gems. And her robe tied together by emerald threading. The atmosphere around her seemingly, bending. Like a vacuum absorbing everything in reach. The breeze? Cold as hell. Thunder struck the throne as she stood up. Her robes not far behind. Trailing her like majestic hunters grounded in silk. “Oh and what do we have here? Lost souls? Fear not. You shall not be lost for long.” she spoke. In a voice as soothing as forgotten lullabies. As wretched as sunken shipwrecks. And as haunting as the spirit of the Callosamian forest. “Who even are you, woman?” Johanne spoke, burying all her shivering ships of fear beneath a new facade. She was brave. Like a force unearthed. But there was still fright. Just…hidden this time. “Oh dear, you do not realise do you? I am The Great Elcastria. Cursed by your kind. A filthy sorceress. For centuries I roamed this planet. The fiercest warrior to have ever lived. But that wicked witch jinxed me. I was powerless. For the first time in my long life, I felt…worthless. Until I found a new source. Energy. Look, child” she waved her hand, slicing through the air. Minuscule particles lit up green in the wind, “It’s everywhere. Abundant. All up for sale” she chuckled, and then swiftly clutched her hand back, and pointed towards Johanne. Almost piercing through her skin, “Even in you”. Her voice hungrier than ever, draining, wild, hungry for power, and even more for…vengeance. A breeze flew over. Cold. Chilling. More freezing than the waters near Blizton. Colder than any life form could bear. Colder than the frost of a thousand glaciers united. It was almost...slicing. It cut through the wind. Gathered the air. Forged its own path. Flowed like a mythic rope trailing after its hunt. A slithering serpent following its prey. A shark, swimming through the ocean devoid of life. And a falcon, gliding through the air with its sharp wings, cutting, slicing through everything that stood in its path. As the breeze passed, it blew out all the candles that burnt, with such precision. It silenced the lanterns fueled by the screaming souls, the torches burning green. One by one. The gust blew out every single trace of light. Every single photon, kneeling down to the shadows. Soon, the mountain plunged into darkness, not even the cursed queen could see through it. And atop the tallest tower, the highest resting peak, thunder struck, a storm cloud, gathering on the peak, like a void opening its mouth, all wind, gathering, curling, resting on the peak. Thunder struck once more. A figure seen. A silhouette carved by shadows. A figure embodying misery. Seen. For a mere flash. Gone. In a mere moment. The people looked up to the sky, in terror. Their horrified faces only fueling the shadows. And finally, the thunder struck one last time. It was the third, and final strike. Everything felt like a ritual. The queen shrieked once more. Louder than ever. Fiercer than a thousand Suns. But this time, it felt as if...the queen was scared. Scarred. Terrified of the presence of the shadow. Perhaps it reminded her of something. Someone.
The shadows gathered around Johanne and Oliver, they heard a voice, the same eerie, guiding, voice that helped them before, "Run". Johanne used another matchstick and used the ground to light it up. Oliver was terrified, shivering, and more confused than ever. Johanne grabbed Oliver's hand and dragged him behind her. They both ran behind the throne, it was connected to a tower of some sort, and the tower joined up at the peak of the mountain. They were standing at the very centre of the city, the centre of the whole cursed mountain. "Look, Johanne! There!" Oliver had spotted an entrance to the tower. "Whoa, now that is what you call a sweet exit." Johanne exclaimed as she ran up the stairs inside the tower. It was a literal path to the top of the mountain. The staircase was cold. Not used in millennia. But it was their only hope. Such a confusing word. It's a sword that a drowning man clings to, calling it his escape, while bleeding endlessly. Daunting.-
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