A World That Ignores Him
Aden stepped out of the temple's entrance, expecting the world to greet him with blinding sunlight, crisp air, or even the distant hum of life. Instead, he was met with something far worse.
It wasn't silence. Silence, at least, carried a presence—the weight of unspoken things, the whisper of a world holding its breath.
This was different.
The wind moved, yet he felt no breeze. The sky stretched overhead, yet the sun's warmth never touched his skin. Even the crunch of dirt beneath his boots sounded distant, like it was happening to someone else.
Aden frowned. He clenched his fists, flexed his fingers. His body was still his, right?
A slow exhale escaped his lips, but there was nothing—no mist in the cool air, no warmth against the chill.
> "Huh."
Aden tilted his head, half amused, half concerned.
> "I think I just got ghosted by reality."
His voice barely registered, swallowed by the eerie stillness. If no one could hear him, if the world refused to acknowledge him…
He turned toward the ruins in the distance. It was time to test something.
---
The Scholar's Worry
Somewhere near the ruins…
A scholar stood by a dim fire, her ink-stained fingers hastily scribbling into a weathered journal. Behind her, soldiers whispered among themselves, casting wary glances at the temple's distant silhouette.
"She's been tense ever since that place woke up," one murmured.
"For good reason," another replied. "We don't know what came out of there."
The scholar, however, wasn't listening. Her mind was elsewhere—buried in records far older than anyone present.
One passage stood out among the dust and forgotten ink:
> When the temple awakens, the forgotten shall walk unseen.
A chill crept up her spine. If the temple had chosen someone… why was there no sign of them?
She tapped her quill against her chin, deep in thought. Something wasn't adding up.
> Unless…
Her eyes widened as realization struck like a bolt of lightning.
> No. Not forgotten. Erased.
She turned sharply, staring toward the ruins with newfound urgency.
If she was right, then whoever survived wouldn't even know they were missing.
And that made them far more dangerous than anything else.
---
The Hunter Smells Blood
In a distant city…
The dim glow of lanterns cast long shadows across a crowded tavern. A scarred man leaned against the bar, idly rolling a coin between his fingers. His smirk was barely concealed.
He had been waiting.
The temple's awakening had sent ripples—small ones, but ripples nonetheless. And he knew how to follow them.
Someone had survived that place. Someone had walked out.
Now, all he had to do was find them.
He tossed the coin onto the counter, rising to his feet.
> "Time to hunt a ghost."