Deacon turned the page.
The journal's tone shifted, becoming more like a diary now.
"I wandered for years after my parents died. No direction in mind, nor a purpose to follow. I just kept one foot in front of the other, moving from town to town, kingdom to kingdom."
"When I found the Temple of Illiah, it was already in ruins, swallowed by vines and moss. I slept in its sanctuary out of exhaustion, curled up on the floor like a stray dog. That was the first night he spoke to me. It was also the night when I signed my soul away."
Deacon's brow furrowed as he flipped to the next page.
"He appeared as a voice first, asking me to let him in. I agreed, thinking it was all a dream. Then a figure made of golden mist and broken stars appeared in front of me, and he was beautiful. He told me I had potential, potential far beyond what I could imagine. That he could give me a purpose if I joined his clergy. That I wouldn't be alone anymore and would have a family to love me."
He tilted his head.
"Okay… so you were homeless, grieving, and vulnerable, and by chance, a god supposedly said that you were special and wanted you to join his religion…" He scoffed. "Pretty sure cults do this sort of thing on the daily. Hell, I'm pretty sure that's the main way the cults in the Murim world on Floor Seventeen get their members."
He read on, this time quieter.
"I said yes. I had nothing left to lose and everything to gain. In time, I worked my way through the ranks of the clergy. I became his hand. His wand. I assassinated in his name. Waged war when commanded. Delivered relics across kingdoms from planet to planet. And I became stronger, powerful enough to level planets. Then he sent me to a kingdom I hadn't seen in centuries."
Deacon's fingers paused on the edge of the paper.
"…centuries? Planets?"
He stared at the two words.
"The fuck you mean centuries? And what does she mean by planets? Was she high when writing this?"
He shook his head, turning to the next page.
"The mission was clear. Assassinate the noblewoman in the rose manor within the kingdom of Savath on Planet Dormtet with your vines in person. I didn't question it. I never had. I slipped through her garden, past the guards, and into her room. She stirred in her sleep, and I summoned a vine through the floorboards, sharp and silent, poised at her throat. Then just as I let my vines wrap around her throat, her nightgown shifted."
Deacon leaned forward now. I've regained my interest.
"I saw it. A necklace. Silver, with a red four-pointed star. When I opened it, there was a photo of me as a child, playing on the swings with a girl who looked far too similar to the one who wore the necklace. A twin necklace, the same kind I gave Hannah when we were still just girls. I had hidden mine in the corner of my old family home, out on the outskirts of the Kingdom of Savath, just before I left to wander the planet. No one else could've had that photo; they were two of a kind. Why had my god given me the task of killing my first friend?"
He stared at the words.
Then muttered: "Damn, it's like you shouldn't be trusting cults."
"I froze. I couldn't complete the mission. I banished the vines and ran. Reporting back the main temple that complications arose and another deity's faction intervened, the Soven. That was the first time I disobeyed Illiah."
Deacon closed the journal slowly, reading the last few pages in her first journal.
He sat back, staring at the floor. The air in the hut felt different, a lot heavier now. "That's when everything around me truly came down," he said quietly to no one.
Deacon reached over to the bookshelf and pulled out the next journal, labeled as "Vol. 2". The ink was darker here, and with a lot more blot marks.
"I didn't return to the temple again. I couldn't. I hid. Changed names. Faces. I traveled to the edges of continents, to dead zones and beast lands. I needed answers. Why would he ask me to kill her? Why would Illiah, who whispered comfort to me in the night, demanded from me to kill my very first friend?"
"It took years, but eventually… I found it. Not in the scriptures, nor in any of my visions. Rather, I found it in an old ruin, belonging to an opposing faction of Illiah. I was not the one who would join him in godhood. I was his harvest."
Deacon blinked. "What the hell does that mean?"
"Illiah, he feeds on the souls of mortals who are on the cusp of godhood. He cultivates them when they are young. Gives them goals, pain, love, hate, betrayal, all to ripen them for consumption. When we grow powerful enough to become something more, he devours us to strengthen himself. It was akin to one consuming an elixir."
He didn't realize he'd held in his breath until he flipped to the next page.
"I was being fattened for slaughter. All the power. All those centuries of service. All the trials I faced. Only to be considered as a meal ticket to the god I worshipped."
"Damn," Deacon muttered.
"I ran. Again and again, I ran. I tried to sever the connection between Illiah and me, but it was carved too deep, etched into the core of my soul. I couldn't shake his grip, not even when I changed forms, not even when I killed my own spirit double. Nothing worked. So, when everything else failed, I turned to strength. I thought that maybe… if I became powerful enough, he'd finally let me go."
"But he didn't. He continued to watch as I 'ripened' into fruit he so wished to devour. When I ascended, when I touched the cusp of godhood itself, he appeared in front of me."
The next page was smudged. As if tears had blurred the ink.
"I was suspended in that place between worlds, my essence peeled open, and he was there. And faster than what I could react to, I felt his jaws on my being. But before he could consume me, something else intervened. A surge of light encompassed my form and pulled me away."
Deacon frowned, then read the last page slowly.
"When I awoke, I was no longer in the grasp of Illiah, I was alone. But in my hand was a scroll marked with coordinates pointing to a location called the Forest of the Fates. It was a place hidden from divine sight. A place where I could beg the Fates themselves to hide me… forever."
"…Fates, huh?" he muttered.
"The Fates were not kind. I begged them, performed countless acts for them. I bled on their altar asking to be hidden. To be unseen by the god who held dominion over my soul. They refused. Said it was my fate to be consumed by Illiah. That I existed to be consumed when the time was right. That resisting was simply delaying the inevitable."
Deacon's jaw twitched as he turned to look at the tapestry on the far end of the hut, with an image of three women standing beneath a black sun with their throats strangled. "I guess the saying fate's a bitch really does fit."
"I spat back at them. And when they tried to wrap the thread around my throat, I tore it from their loom and cursed them with every ounce of my strength, binding their physical forms to their very own forest. But that did not stop fate itself, for there were countless gods and goddesses of fate and prophecy. So, I spent lifetimes creating a spell to obscure fate in the very place saturated with it."
"Using their own statues, born from their bound state, as the catalyst, I will cast my greatest spell. Not one to hide just myself, but all who would find their way here. A sanctuary for any who wished to slip beyond the gaze of fate itself."
Deacon muttered under his breath, "Good shit."
"And in doing so…I would offer my everything."
Deacon's brow raised.
"The spell will cost me my life. My essence poured into the forest itself, my soul fractured and scattered among its roots, its winds, its curses. And when the spell activates, neither the fates nor the gods will be able to reach this forest. Here, fate would be silenced. And no one, not even Illiah, can find me."
The final lines were uneven. Written in a rush.
"To those who find this place: I did not build it for heroes or for warriors of justice. I did not build it for cowards, liars, or cheats. I built it for the lost. For those who dare to say no to the gods and fate themselves. Welcome to the forest of Moriah.
Be free. — Moira"
"…Shit."
He ran a hand through his hair, eyes narrowing as he looked back toward the door, and as he did so, a barrage of System Notifications caught his attention.
A New Floor Quest Has Been Discovered!
You are the first to have discovered this Floor Quest – your Records have been enhanced.
Achievement Unlocked: Finder of the Hidden I
Finder of the Hidden I:
You have found a Quest that had been undiscovered for over 300 years. Hidden areas are much more noticeable to you now. Gain: +5 All Stats.
"What?" Deacon muttered to himself in shock as he stared at the Notification Panel in front of him. "I got an Achievement? And an upgradable one at that… Those are like…"
"Fuck yes!" he shouted, jumping in the air with both his hands up, uncaring of the noise he made. "Fuck yeah!"
Earning an Achievement outside the Big Three – completing your first Linked Quest, reaching Floor 10, and attaining Tier 2 – was practically unheard of. Only the Top Climbers ever had more than three to their name.
Floor Two – Defiance of the Thread:
The Cursed Forest of Moriah, long shrouded from both the gods and fate, is now on the brink of collapse, weakened by time and the enforcers of fate that are invading the forest on the behest of the Three Sisters of Fate to overcome their binds.
In the heart of the Cursed Forest of Moriah lie the statues of the Three Sisters of Fate: Urd the Writer of the Past, Lachesis the Weaver of the Present, and Morta the Spinner of the Future, who were bound by Moriah the Defier of Fate.
In order to restore and reinforce the spell cast by Moriah on the forest, the following ritual must be completed to perfection:
— Locate the Three Sisters of Fate statues hidden within the heart of the forest.
— Pour the contents of the Porcelain Bottles on their respective statues.
— Face and survive 5 Waves of Judgment. The more Stages completed, the longer the spell to hide from both the gods and fate will hold.
Floor Completion Criteria:
▸ Locate the Three Fates' Statues.
▸ Offer the Vials.
▸ Survive successive waves of hostile entities sent by the Fates.
Time Remaining: — ∞ —
Warning: Accepting this Quest will result in spurning the Three Sisters of Fate and changing the current Floor Quest.
Hot damn, Deacon thought as he reread the quest. Where would I even find the– oh.
Looking back at the bookshelf, just where he pulled out the second journal from, there were three porcelain bottles, each with the name of one of the three sisters written in the same handwriting found within the journals.
As Deacon grabbed the three porcelain vials, he reached to slide the second journal back onto the shelf, but something slipped out.
A photo fluttered to the ground, landing face down on the dusty floorboards.
He frowned and bent down, picking it up.
Scrawled on the back, in fading ink: "Moriah."
He turned it over.
The woman in the picture had sharp eyes, dark lipstick, high boots, and an outfit that could've walked straight out of a supernatural noir thriller, a black velvet corset, and a gaze that could gut a man.
Deacon blinked, his heart skipped a beat.
The System Notification confirming his acceptance of the Floor Quest chimed softly in his vision, barely audible over what came next:
"Moriah was a fucking goth mommy?" he said aloud.
A beat passed. Then he nodded, solemnly.
"…This is officially the most important quest of my life."