The blade glinted in the faint light
The blade glinted in the faint light streaming through the temple's crumbling arches. Selene's breath came in sharp bursts, her crimson cloak rippling like liquid fire as she dashed across the ancient stone floor. The high-pitched whistle of an arrow slicing through the air barely missed her ear, embedding itself into a decayed pillar behind her. Time was running out.
The masked warlord's voice rang out, dripping with venom. "The Codex of Eternity is not for mortal hands, Selene." His silhouette loomed against the golden glow of the altar, his armored robes shimmering with obsidian plates and threads of dark silver. "Turn back, or you will suffer the curse of every fool who dared defy the Ancients."
Selene’s lips curved into a faint, defiant smile. Beneath the veil of tension was a face that told stories of survival: sharp cheekbones, almond-shaped onyx eyes that could betray kindness or wrath depending on the moment, and a cascade of dark curls tied back by an emerald clip. Her leather combat corset, dyed in earthy greens and browns, hugged her slender frame while her tall boots bore the dust of a thousand forgotten ruins. She adjusted the belt at her waist, the hilt of her dagger catching the light as she whispered, "If only you knew what curses I already carry."
Her hands darted to the ancient stone slab etched with indecipherable markings, lifting it with a strength her lean build wouldn’t hint at. It weighed as though it contained the burdens of the gods themselves. Her mind replayed the last few hours leading to this moment: the shipwreck in the Sea of Shades, her guide's betrayal, and the nightmarish creatures that had hunted her endlessly within these labyrinthine ruins. And yet, none of it could compare to the weight of her mission: to retrieve the Codex before the Dominion of Tenebris unleashed its unspeakable horrors.
The Curse of the Codex
"Selene, listen to me!" The words of her mentor, Klydus, surfaced in her mind like a ghost dragged from the past. He had warned her the night before she left for the Isle of Silvatre. His bony fingers clutched her wrist then, trembling with desperation. "The Codex will tempt you. It feeds on ambition, on pain, on the parts of us we weren’t ready to face. You must resist. You are the only one left who can."
Even as she reached for the ebony-covered, glyph-etched artifact resting in recess within the altar, Klydus' words felt like echoes in a storm. The Codex pulsed faintly as though alive, emitting a low hum that made her fingers tremble. In that moment, time slowed. The power was intoxicating, tugging at unhealed scars deep in her soul. As her fingers brushed its surface, she heard a voice — not from the warlord, but from within.
"They betrayed you, didn’t they? They left you to the wilderness and called it justice." The voice was soft, silken, and cruelly familiar. "Why serve others when you can rewrite their fates? Imagine a world shaped by your hand. Imagine... revenge."
Her knees buckled as a dark fog filled her vision. Bloodied fields of battle, faces she had long since buried in her memory, accusations, exile. For a fleeting second, she saw her own hand, gnarled and aged as if centuries had passed — ruler of a world consumed. Then, she tightened her grip on reality. With a sharp cry, she wheeled back, yanking the Codex free from its pedestal.
The Warlord's Wrath
The earth seemed to shatter. An unholy roar reverberated through the chamber as the masked warlord lunged forward. His weapon, a glaive burning with ethereal green fire, swung toward her. She pivoted sharply, the Codex clutched to her chest, her blade meeting his in a clash of sparks and fury.
"You cannot defeat me, child," the warlord snarled, his golden mask cracking as veins of shadow spread across it. "The Codex already whispers to you. Can you feel it crawling beneath your skin?"
"I don’t have to defeat you," Selene hissed. Her movements became a deadly dance as she struck, deflected, and weaved through his attacks. Each lunge brought her nearer to the chamber's edge. The stone beneath her cracked and splintered as the temple groaned. She knew its collapse was imminent. All she needed was time.
The warlord raised his hands, and an infernal blaze erupted from the altar, sealing the exit behind her in pulsating arcs of molten flame. "The Isle claims all who would defile its secrets. You are no different."
Selene's free hand tightened around a small metallic sphere nestled in her belt pouch. In one sharp motion, she hurled it at the ceiling. The explosion tore through the air, sending jagged chunks of stone raining down like comets. Both combatants were thrown apart — the warlord disappearing into the darkness, Selene tumbling toward the edge of the crumbling ruins.
The Escape
The air reeked of sulfur and ancient hatred as Selene hauled herself up, the Codex strapped securely to her back. Bruised and battered, she emerged from the temple into the twin-hued horizon of Silvatre — half aflame, half shrouded in mist. Her chest heaved as she gazed at the corrupted landscape, the warlord’s ominous cry still echoing faintly behind her.
She steadied herself, wiping sweat and soot from her brow. "One ruin down, ten thousand miles to go," she muttered, her voice stitched with exhaustion but firm with resolve. She adjusted the emerald clasp in her hair and tightened her crimson cloak around her shoulders, her shadow long and determined against the dying sun. The Codex felt heavier than ever, yet somehow lighter than her grief. She had escaped for now, but the war was far from over.
Somewhere in her heart, she knew: the whispers would return.
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Exploring a New American Imperialism: Global Impacts
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