Eryx leaned back against the wall and froze. For the first time, he noticed where he truly was.
The stone at his back was cold and uneven, not like the polished surfaces of a palace. He looked up. The ceiling was rough, carved from solid rock. A cave. He was in a room built inside a cave.
Yet the walls around him told a different story—smooth, ornate, lined with detailed carvings and drapes that whispered of nobility. It was strange. From the ceiling, it felt like a cavern. But the decor... felt like something out of a palace.
Beside Eryx stood a tall iron candleholder—six candles in total, three on each side, their flames flickering softly in the still air. Similar holders stood in every corner of the room, casting warm, dancing light against the stone walls.
Eryx glanced around, frowning. "Where is this place?" he muttered. "It's not a palace… not a home either. It feels like a room carved into a cave."
His voice was a mix of confusion and quiet seriousness.
Mariya didn't answer right away. She stood, walked to the other side of the table, and sat down. Her fingers reached toward the nearest flame, hovering, almost playing with it.
Then she smiled, though her tone stayed composed.
"You're right. This room is part of a cave."
She paused, then looked up at him.
"Now—who are you?"
Eryx flinched at the question but kept his voice steady. "I'm Eryx."
Then, before she could speak again, he pressed on. "Now tell me—how do you know her? The girl in the portrait. Why is she here? And why… why did I see her in my dream?"
Mariya rose from the other side of the table and stepped toward Eryx. Her gaze was calm but unreadable.
"Stand," she said softly.
Eryx pushed himself to his feet, still unsteady. She reached out and placed a hand gently on his chest.
"When you learn to control the power inside you," she said, her voice low, "his memories will awaken as well. Then you'll understand everything—what's happening… and what it is you truly want."
Eryx looked at her, guilt flickering across his face. But then he gritted his teeth, pushed her hand away, and said firmly,
"You're not stopping me. I'll defeat that god—and I'll have my vengeance."
Mariya didn't flinch. Her tone shifted—excited, sharp.
"Then you'll need to level up. Master the power inside you. When you can summon that Mask without pain, without effort… you'll know you've claimed it."
Eryx clenched his fists, eyes burning.
"So what now? Do I have to train for years like some novel hero? Just wait and grind until I'm strong enough to face her?"
Mariya laughed—short, dry.
"You think so? I don't. The war's in two weeks."
She stepped closer, her voice growing more serious.
"You've got two weeks to awaken your true power. In that time, all the gods will be freed. Iris will release them. We won't stop her—let her do what she wants."
She paused, then added quietly,
"Our chance begins when they're free. Mother didn't create them to destroy humanity. But if they turn against us, we'll be the ones to stop them."
Eryx stood frozen, eyes wide, stunned into silence.
But before a word could leave his mouth, Mariya stepped past him, her voice cutting through the moment.
"No more questions," she said firmly. "Not now."
She glanced back at him, the flickering candlelight dancing against her face.
"Your body will heal on its own. Come—I'll show you the Underworld. And the place where your training begins."
Eryx pulled on the clothes folded neatly on the table beside him—dark, worn, and familiar. Mariya waited by the door, silent. Once dressed, they stepped out together, closing the door behind them.
Just as the latch clicked, a deep creak echoed from inside the room—a wooden groan followed by a sharp gasp.
"Get out... I can't breathe... heavy breathing..."
Then silence.
Two shadowy figures slithered from beneath the bed, their robes trailing smoke.
"He's here," one whispered.
"We must inform Iris. The goddess's flames will rise again."
••
Elsewhere, in a dimly lit room layered with velvet dusk, Atlas stood by the window, watching the city below. His cane rested against the wall beside him.
Navia lay curled in a chair near the table, dozing quietly, her blonde hair catching the light like threads of frost.
Suddenly, the door cracked open.
Blazej stepped in, a letter clutched in his hand. "We've returned. Atlas, what's the status in the village?"
Without answering, Atlas picked up his cane and tapped the floor gently. He turned slowly, pulled the chair from beneath the table, and sat.
"Everything's under control," he said. "What did you bring?"
Blazej's expression was calm, but before he could speak, Marco—his black hair slick and eyes sharp—cut in.
"She read your letter. Said it was pointless." He tossed a glance toward the parchment. "But she wrote one for you in return."
Atlas reached for the letter without a word.
But before he could break the seal, Marco added quickly, "On our way back, just outside Shadow City... we saw a girl."
Atlas looked up.
"A girl. Orange hair—like fire. Eyes glowing the same way. She was crying… angry. She said: 'Mother… you're still alive? If that's true, then… maybe we can win. Maybe we have a chance against the humans."
Marco's voice hung in the air.
"She was flying," he said quietly. "She looked like a god."
Atlas rested his chin on his hand, gaze distant.
"I see…"
—Chapter 5 Ends—