"Cough, cough."
Alvin's eyes fluttered open, his vision blurred and sluggish. Light filtered through the dense foliage above, dappling the ground in uneven patches.
But something was wrong.
He twisted slightly, his disoriented senses slowly adjusting.
There was no sign of Lesley or Crandall, and the usual sounds of the forest were absent.
Only the creaking of twisted vines.
A dull ache spread through his legs. That's when he realized — he was hanging upside down, his limbs tangled in a web of thick, sinewy vines.
'Was I separated from my group?'
Suppressing the rising irritation, Alvin reached for his storage bracelet. With a faint shimmer, his sword materialized in his grasp.
The cold steel gleamed as he sliced through the nearest vines.
The constriction loosened.
He held onto a single vine for balance as his legs came free, then dropped to the ground with a soft thud. Dust kicked up beneath him.
'Hah, now what?'
Alvin exhaled sharply. Ruins were notorious for their unpredictable nature — traps, illusions, and warped terrain.
He scoffed, brushing stray leaves from his hair.
'Given my luck, I should've expected this.'
Still, there was a grim sort of relief.
'At least I didn't fall into lava or something.'
'My fatigue is gone. So, I must've been asleep for some time.'
Shaking off the lingering haze, Alvin's gaze turned upward. The dense canopy loomed above, but it wasn't an obstacle.
Without hesitation, he gripped a sturdy branch and began to climb. Each movement was fluid, his body regaining its natural rhythm.
Reaching a suitable vantage point, he scanned the terrain.
A lone mountain pierced the distant sky.
'Basic rule of ruin exploration — if separated from the group, head to the highest point.'
It was a lesson drilled into him during training. A higher ground meant a clearer view and a better chance of survival.
But just as Alvin prepared to leap down, something else caught his eye.
A river.
The water, once flowing freely, now receded unnaturally. It wasn't the slow trickle of drought — no, this was different.
The earth itself seemed to devour the river, like a parched beast.
And then, the statues.
Lined along the riverbank, twisted shapes of stone stood frozen.
From this distance, their forms were blurred, but Alvin could tell they weren't merely decorative.
They were posed. Intentional. Performing some kind of action.
An uneasy weight settled in his chest.
'What the hell is that?'
He landed softly, his thoughts racing. Curiosity gnawed at him.
With one final glance at the distant mountain, Alvin made his decision.
He started walking toward the river.
'The mountain was too far, and nightfall is near.'
'I'll head for it tomorrow. Right now, I need to find a place to stay.'
The landscape stretched endlessly, eerily silent. Not a single sign of life stirred around him.
No animals. No insects. Nothing.
Only the distant hum of the fading river accompanied his steady footsteps.
Eventually, Alvin reached the riverbank. The ground beneath him was cracked and dry, the remaining water reduced to a shallow, sluggish flow.
Then, he saw them.
The statues.
Six in total, each one etched with unsettling detail.
Time and decay may have worn down their edges, but the emotions carved into stone remained disturbingly vivid.
Two statues sat upon jagged rocks, their faces molded with stoic pride. Each wore a cracked, weathered crown — unmistakably royal.
A third figure stood mid-stride, its mouth twisted in an expression of pure terror. Its stone eyes were wide, as if frozen in the instant it glimpsed something horrific.
Yet the fear wasn't all that lingered — a jagged blade jutted from its back.
'The figure had been backstabbed.'
Behind it, a fourth statue held the very blade that pierced the third. Judging by the outfit, Alvin could tell it was a soldier.
And the last two statues…
They knelt before the crowned figures, their heads bowed low. Their posture seemed almost reverent — or maybe, desperate.
A twisted tableau.
'Is this… a record of history?'
Alvin's eyes lingered on the ornate carvings in the statues' clothing.
The layered robes and gleaming armor were unmistakably from the medieval era — the age of kings and betrayal.
His thoughts raced, dissecting the scene.
'Two kings. A traitor. A soldier. And those who beg for forgiveness.'
The river continued its slow retreat, like the earth itself was swallowing the last traces of this forgotten memory.
Alvin stepped closer.
Squelch... Splash.
"What?"
He froze. The ground beneath him shifted. Water oozed up from the cracked earth, soaking his boots.
The sensation was unnerving.
With each step, the water level rose. First at his ankles. Then his knees. Then, without warning — it stopped.
No further rise. No movement. Just still, murky water.
Alvin's eyes flicked to the left.
The river, which had moments ago been slowly drained, now lay barren — its bed cracked and exposed like a desert floor.
And yet, mere meters away, water pooled unnaturally around him.
A sudden realization struck him.
'The river didn't disappear. It moved.'
Turning sharply, Alvin faced the forest. His stomach twisted.
Where there had once been sturdy trees and dry ground, an endless flooded swamp had taken form.
The murky water mirrored the dark sky, obscuring whatever lay beneath. Gnarled roots twisted in the muck, and the faint creak of submerged wood echoed through the eerie silence.
"Holy shit."
The words slipped from his mouth.
Without wasting a second, Alvin launched himself upward. Wind energy surged beneath his feet, propelling him toward the nearest tree.
His hands grasped a thick branch as he pulled himself to safety, the water rippling ominously below.
Perched above the swamp, he steadied his breathing.
'Okay… now this is definitely weird.'