Chapter 55 Arkanum Veritas (16)
The sky was shrouded in dense purple mist, a remnant of glyph burning that left a bitter aroma in the air. Below, in the underground ruins of what was once an ancient waterway, a stone door slowly opened with a grating sound grrkkk that shattered the oppressive silence.
Fitran stepped through, crossing the threshold between the tangible world and the unseen.
His light was soft and soothing, yet strangely, not a single shadow followed in his wake. He seemed to tread the line between existence and nothingness, savoring the bizarre yet familiar ambiance. Soon, the temperature around him dropped, creating a chill that pierced his skin like a cold whisper from another realm. His cloak did not flutter, but each step summoned a faint tremor of energy that vibrated in the air, as if a dark power responded to his presence. An undercurrent of tension hung heavy, like an invisible bridge straddling duty and humanity. In the circular stone hall, beneath the symbol of the open eye of Arkanum Veritas, stood a man with silver-gray hair. His skin was pale as wax, and his robe was fashioned from ancient scrolls that seemed to meld with his skin, giving the impression that he was the keeper of hidden secrets. His name was Orvin.
"Fitran," Orvin spoke, his voice reverberating softly in the hall, echoing as if inscribed in the thick tension of the air.
"I have come to erase another lie," Fitran replied, his tone firm yet laced with deep sorrow, an unspoken inner battle hinting at the long journey that had brought him to this point.
Orvin smiled faintly, a smirk that contained a mix of mockery and arrogance. "Do you think this world can be cleansed? That truth can be distilled into a single white line in the void? You are not light. You are merely the remnants of a dream held by those too afraid of their own shadows."
Without a cue, Orvin snapped his fingers, a powerful signal marking the beginning of the ritual.
In an instant, dozens of translucent sigils layered upon one another sparkled into existence around Fitran, swirling and enclosing him like the crumbling rings of a star, hinting at an inescapable power. At that moment, Fitran felt a strong vibration tearing through the calm, forcing his spirit toward an unavoidable moment. The atmosphere thickened with tension, as if the world trembled in longing and fear, each heartbeat frozen in anticipation.
"Veritas Iterum: Spiral of Echoes!" The process of elimination began, each layer of the sigil vibrating more intensely, radiating overlapping energy that shifted the balance of power between them. Fitran, with his mysterious form, grasped the truth within his hands, feeling the struggle between physical and metaphysical forces, as if the universe held its breath, witnessing what would happen next.
A silent explosion occurred—waves of distorted information crashed, creating a commotion in the silence: voices of deceased philosophers, false confessions, and divine commands flooded the air like psychic waves penetrating the mind. Fitran was pushed backward, his body intact and unharmed, yet his mind was struck by a torrent of haunting ideas. Nevertheless, he remained unyielding; a deep calmness resided within him, as if a cold wind burrowed through his skin, freezing the moment around him.
His hand was raised, and the surroundings seemed to tremble; the atmosphere dramatically changed. A strange temperature enveloped the space, whispering an unfamiliar warmth, balanced by the bitterness of the awakening of a void that leaped beyond the bounds of reality. "Shell: Zero Form."