CHAPTER 18
[AT THE GREAT TOMBS OF CONSTELLI]
The first phase of the ritual was complete.
In the abandoned house deep within the woods, the Six had lost consciousness. Their bodies leaned backward at impossible angles; defying gravity, as though unseen hands held them suspended in midair. Their eyes had turned a pale, lifeless white, fixed upon the cracked ceiling above. Their lips moved in unison, chanting in a language that did not belong to any known tongue.
Above the abandoned home, a mass of murky clouds churned and spiraled, thick and unnatural, gathering directly over the ritual site as though drawn there by something ancient.
Not long after, their consciousness slipped free from their bodies.
They awakened elsewhere.
They found themselves in a place no map had ever recorded—a place absent from the known world.
They stood within the Great Tombs of Constelli.
This was not the fractured ruin whispered about in scattered myths. This realm felt different—untouched by erosion, untouched by time. In the real world, knowledge of the Tombs' location was guarded by a secretive faction known as the Order of Exodus, a small and elite circle who had preserved its secrecy for generations. Across nations, archaeologists had searched tirelessly, driven by ambition and obsession, hoping to uncover what many believed to be the greatest lost wonder in history.
All such efforts had failed.
Its true location remained unknown.
Its existence remained buried beneath myth and legend.
Yet here—beyond the physical world—the Tombs endured in their purest form.
The Great Tombs of Constelli existed in two states: one in the mortal world, worn and afflicted by time; and another in this astral plane—preserved in ancient perfection. Here, its beauty remained unmarred. Its history lingered in the air like a living presence. Its mystery felt tangible.
Each of the Six stood alone.
They were suspended in what had once been absolute darkness.
Then, without warning, fire ignited.
Torches burst to life one by one, lining a vast path that stretched beyond the limits of sight. Massive white pillars rose on either side, impossibly tall, vanishing into shadow far above.
Though separated, each of the Six experienced the same vision.
It was as if each existed within their own version of the Great Tombs—yet the experience itself was singular.
They were separate.
And yet, they were one.
[Draco Awakens]
Draco opened his eyes.
"Where… am I?" he whispered.
"And how did I—" He paused suddenly.
His expression shifted.
"Wait… where's—"
Panic surged.
"Lu?! Norma?! Orion?! Corvus?! Cygnus?!"
His voice echoed violently down the endless corridor.
"Anyone there?! Hello?! Can anyone hear me?!"
There was no answer.
Only his own echo returned to him.
Unbeknownst to Draco, the others were experiencing the exact same moment—calling out the same names, in the same order, with the same urgency. It was as though their minds were linked, as though the Six were fragments of a single consciousness reliving one shared awareness.
If Draco took two steps forward, the others did the same—without realizing it.
Their thoughts were aligned.
Their instincts synchronized.
Their experiences mirrored.
They were not merely six individuals.
They were one divided into six forms.
Draco steadied himself, breathing slowly. He forced his thoughts to organize.
"Corvus said something…" he muttered.
"Something about the ritual granting passage to a place called…" He squinted, trying to remember. "The Great… Tombs of… Constelli…"
His eyes widened.
"Yeah. That's it. The Great Tombs of Constelli."
He looked around again, heart pounding.
"So this means… this place…" His voice trembled with realization. "The ritual worked."
A slow grin formed across his face.
"I knew it. I knew we were the Six vessels. I just… had that feeling."
He exhaled sharply, gathering his courage.
"Okay. First, I find the others."
He glanced toward one of the towering white pillars.
"Maybe I'll explore a little while I'm at it."
[The Pillars and the Revelation]
The pillars were enormous—far larger than anything constructed by modern hands. Strange markings covered their entire surfaces from base to unseen summit. The symbols were not from any language Draco recognized. They looked ancient—older than recorded civilization—or perhaps not a language at all.
Perhaps something else entirely.
Then the darkness receded further.
Torches ignited rapidly in succession, racing down the corridor like a wave of fire. The space that had once been swallowed in blackness became illuminated in warm, flickering gold.
The sight stole his breath.
The floors were layered with gold—coins, relics, treasures of unknown origin—piled high in shimmering heaps that stretched endlessly into the distance. Jewels refracted torchlight in a thousand fractured gleams.
Ancient artifacts lay scattered among the wealth, untouched, undisturbed.
Everything felt enormous.
Disproportionately vast.
As though the Tombs had not been built for humans at all.
Then Draco's gaze lifted.
And he saw them.
Standing between each massive white pillar were statues—colossal golden statues of maidens. Each one towered high above him, dwarfing his presence entirely. Their expressions were serene, almost divine. Their forms were sculpted with impossible precision, as though they were not carved—but preserved.
The Six—though separated—shifted their gaze at the exact same moment.
Toward the same silhouette in the distance.
A figure stood far ahead, positioned between the pillars.
Watching.
The Six moved at the same time.
Drawn by something they could not explain, they made their way toward one of the towering maiden statues. An air of familiarity clung to it—subtle, almost subconscious. It was not recognition exactly… but something close to it. As if they had once stood here before. As if this place remembered them.
Or perhaps they remembered it.
When they finally reached the statue, they stopped and tilted their heads upward, their gazes stretching toward the endless darkness layered above.
The maiden statues were immense—but not as tall as the white pillars that vanished into shadow. Because of this, the Six could make out their features more clearly.
They were carved in the likeness of beautiful women with long, flowing hair draped over their shoulders. Their attire was minimal—so minimal that it blurred the line between fabric and bare skin. It was difficult to tell whether they were clothed at all.
But it wasn't their appearance that unsettled the Six.
It was their posture.
Each maiden had her head tilted downward.
From where the Six stood, it looked unmistakable.
They were bowing.
The Six shifted their gaze in perfect unison toward the direction the statues faced.
Another maiden statue stood opposite.
And another.
And another.
All positioned between the towering pillars.
All bowing the same way.
They soon realized what they were witnessing.
Just as the pillars and torches stretched endlessly in both directions—forming a grand corridor—the maiden statues did the same. They lined both sides of the path, positioned between the pillars, all performing the same bowed gesture.
A procession.
A ceremonial alignment.
Then they noticed something else.
The maidens' arms were extended outward, holding large circular trays above them.
Massive trays—proportioned for something far larger than any human.
The entire scene felt deliberate.
It was as though the statues were presenting something.
An offering.
To someone.
Or something.
The Six stepped closer.
From above, they would have looked like tiny pins beside the monolithic figures that towered over them. Their height barely reached past the statue's foot.
They stood beneath the tray and lifted their eyes upward, staring at its underside. It hung far above them—unreachable.
And silent.
[Norma's Perspective]
The scene shifted.
Norma stood alone within his own version of the Tombs—yet experiencing the same reality as the others.
He found the statue fascinating.
Unlike Draco, whose curiosity burned with urgency, Norma's curiosity was analytical. Measured.
He stepped forward and gently placed a hand against the cool surface of the statue.
The stone—or whatever material it was—felt unnaturally smooth.
He circled the maiden slowly, examining every curve and carving, hoping to find some clue—some symbol—that would reveal its purpose.
Returning to stand before it, he lifted his chin thoughtfully.
"From what I can see," he muttered to himself, "it's a statue of a maiden… though it's hard to tell exactly what she's wearing."
He narrowed his eyes slightly.
"She seems to be serving something… but to whom?"
He glanced at the tray again.
"I get the feeling there's symbolic meaning behind all of this."
Norma stepped back, scanning the corridor of pillars and statues.
"This place gives off a strange vibe," he murmured. "Almost like a temple… but not quite."
His brow furrowed.
"It doesn't feel like a tomb. Not from what I've seen so far."
He folded his arms, thinking.
"Or could it be…" he paused, eyes lifting again to the tray, "…that all these maidens are presenting offerings?"
He let the thought settle.
"An offering…"
A faint nod.
"That makes more sense."
He exhaled slowly.
"This feels less like a burial site and more like an ancient temple."
His eyes drifted over the statues again.
"But whoever built it seems to have had a particular preference for their offerings being presented by maidens with barely any clothing."
Norma gave a quiet, thoughtful hum.
"If I assume this was an ancient temple… and these statues were presenting offerings…"
His gaze sharpened.
"Then it would also mean they were worshipping something."
A pause.
"Perhaps… an ancient deity."
He turned slightly.
"Maybe I should look around. I might find something intere—"
He stopped mid-step.
Something pulsed above him.
A faint glow flickered beneath the large circular tray the maiden was holding.
Norma slowly looked up.
There—etched into the underside of the tray—were lines of writing.
The symbols shimmered faintly, glowing with a soft, unnatural light. The language was unfamiliar—nothing he had ever studied.
He squinted.
"That's strange…" he whispered. "I don't remember seeing that before."
The glow intensified slightly.
"And it's… glowing."
He narrowed his eyes further, attempting to decipher the symbols.
The light pulsed again.
Waiting.
But the glowing inscription was too far away to read clearly.
Norma narrowed his eyes, straining, but the distance made it impossible to make out anything meaningful.
He exhaled.
"Well," he muttered under his breath, "I suppose there's only one reasonable thing to do."
He took a few steps back.
Rolled his shoulders.
Lowered into a stance.
Then he launched forward.
In a burst of controlled speed, he sprinted toward the towering maiden statue. His foot struck the base, and without hesitation he transitioned smoothly—running straight up the monolith's leg as though gravity had loosened its hold on him. Each step was precise. Balanced. Trained.
Momentum carried him higher.
At the right moment, he planted his foot hard against the statue and pushed off.
His body twisted gracefully into the air, gliding horizontally beneath the massive round tray. He calculated the distance instinctively—five inches of clearance beneath the stone.
In that fleeting instant, he activated his secret talent.
Photographic memory.
His eyes locked onto the faintly glowing script.
He absorbed every curve. Every stroke.
Every symbol.
Then gravity reclaimed him.
Just before landing, something caught his attention mid-air—a subtle shift, barely perceptible.
His eyes flicked upward.
Then he twisted his body sharply and landed cleanly, boots skidding slightly against the golden floor before coming to a steady stop.
He straightened.
A faint grin tugged at his lips.
"I guess all that training back home actually paid off," he said quietly.
His expression softened.
"And speaking of home… I hope they're all doing okay."
The thought lingered longer than he expected.
"Argh—focus." He slapped his cheek lightly. "I'm sure they're fine."
But his voice wavered.
"It's strange though… I don't know why I'm suddenly worried."
He inhaled slowly, regaining composure.
"That aside…" His expression darkened.
"There's definitely something wrong here."
He turned his gaze back to the statue.
"And it's not just the strange presence I'm sensing."
His eyes narrowed.
"The maiden statue…"
He took several slow steps backward, never breaking eye contact.
"It looked at me."
A faint chill ran down his spine.
"Statues aren't supposed to change facial expressions…"
A pause.
"Unless…"
His throat tightened.
"Unless they're alive."
Silence pressed in around him.
He swallowed.
"And those writings beneath the tray…" His voice steadied slightly. "They belong to an ancient language called Kahlmatek."
He frowned.
"What's even stranger is that I understand it."
His brow furrowed deeper.
"I've never encountered Kahlmatek in my life… yet I know how it's written. I know how it's spoken."
He exhaled slowly.
"It's as if I've always known it."
A realization surfaced.
"Could this be an effect of the ritual?"
His gaze lifted slightly, recalling the inscription.
"The Kahlmatek text says…"
He repeated it softly, as though afraid the Tombs themselves were listening.
"Spare the world your judgment… and resurrect not, the second time, the abomination that rivals the heavens."
The words hung in the air like a warning carved into destiny itself.
"It sounds like a prayer," Norma murmured.
"Or maybe… a plea."
His eyes drifted back toward the endless corridor of statues.
"Was it meant for whatever deity that resides here?"
His voice lowered.
"And what did it mean by 'resurrect not, the second time'?"
Silence answered him.
Then—
Plink.
Norma froze.
Another sound.
Plink.
Then again.
Plink.
The noise echoed softly against the pillars.
Dripping.
His gaze slowly turned toward the maiden statue.
The sound was coming from above.
He approached cautiously, heart pounding in his ears.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
He stopped directly beneath the statue and tilted his head upward.
His breath caught.
There it was.
Exactly what he feared.
The maiden statue was weeping.
Golden droplets fell from her golden eyes, striking the tray below before spilling over its edges.
Plink.
Plink.
Norma staggered backward in shock.
"No…"
His eyes darted to the statues lining the corridor.
And his blood ran cold.
Every single maiden statue—on both sides—was weeping.
Golden tears streamed down their motionless faces in perfect silence.
The sound of droplets striking metal began to multiply, echoing endlessly through the Tombs.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
The corridor of offerings had become a corridor of mourning.
And in that moment—
Norma understood.
This was not a temple awaiting worship.
It was a place that remembered something.
Something that had already happened once before.
And something that must never happen again.
The ritual had not merely granted them passage.
It had awakened something.