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Parson was beginning to feel sick to his stomach. Which was particularly strange, considering he’d lost all feeling in his body.

Damian kept trying to get the reapers to talk, but it was to no avail, apparently. They remained totally silent for the remainder of the journey, which took several more hours. The final climb up the hill was particularly miserable. Their barely functional bodies did not need the extra resistance.

But eventually, they did indeed make it.

And before the small fort, they first found a cluster of large boulders scattered all around the entrance. Not blocking the path, curiously enough. Just flanking the road and lining the walls.

Parson didn’t remember them being there the last time. It made him wonder where they’d come from, because otherwise, this place looked identical.

A ghostly, abandoned construct. Absolutely ancient in its design, yet still largely pristine. Hardly any cracks in its stone walls and cobble footpaths. Even the tall, vibrantly green trees looked as though they were still being well cared for.

But that wasn’t the case, of course. Parson had come to learn quite a lot about this tiny castle in the lead up to their last visit.

This entire region was where the Pharaonic City of Arkotesh once stood. The center of the civilized world, at one point in time.

And this building was one of its last remnants. Only a few others dotted the landscape in the distance, nestled between hills or concealed behind rocks.

From what he understood, this modest little structure used to be the inner sanctum of a grand palace, the likes of which had rivaled anything in the modern day.

Strange that such a sanctum should look so unimpressive, he’d always thought. But he supposed the architect never intended for it to be seen this way.

There were only a handful of chambers in the entire thing, but they didn’t have to venture any further than the main one that connected to the entrance. It was just a barren hall with large, empty windows, but as soon as their shuffling footsteps neared the center of the room, a voice rang out.

A very familiar one.

‘Hello, my friends.’

It didn’t touch his ears and had no physical traits that he could recognize. No pitch or cadence or timber.

And yet still, Parson at once knew that it belonged to Germal.

‘I don’t know when or how this message will find you. And part of me is hoping that it never does, because it will most likely mean that I am dead.’