Herald of death

The door to the basement groans on its rusted hinges as Ethan pushes it open. A musty, dense aroma wafts through the opening, reminiscent of old wood. As they descend the stone steps, the faint glow of overhead bulbs reveals a traditional wine cellar. Rows of wooden shelves line the walls, each laden with bottles covered in a layer of dust. Cobwebs lace the corners of the ceiling.

"Some of those are older than my parents," Tombstone says as she dusts off a bottle's label. "Too bad they probably turned by now."

Ethan glances at the racks. "Take those you want; maybe you'll get lucky," he offers. His attention is drawn to one of the walls where Ether sips out. He notices a faint misalignment on one of the wall's stones. He presses against the stone, which yields slightly under his touch.

With a low click, a part of the wall slowly swings open. A narrow passageway appears, cloaked in shadows. The air is cooler and even damper than in the cellar. Tombstone, still holding a dusty bottle, peers into the dark corridor with curiosity. "That wasn't on the blueprints."

Ethan flicks a switch at the corridor's entrance, lighting up a series of wall lamps. Threads of Ether pour into the wine cellar. As Ethan and Tombstone venture further, the passageway opens into a broader chamber.

This room, unlike the dusty wine cellar, is meticulously organized and illuminated by an array of soft lights hanging from the ceiling. Shelves and display cases are filled with artifacts emitting Ether. A trio of small glowing orbs dance slowly, levitating in a glass cube. Ancient tomes with Eldorian titles sit on shelves, bound in unfamiliar materials that shimmer under the light.

Tombstone steps forward, her eyes wide with awe. "What is all of this?" she whispers, her hand hovering over a device that resembles a compass but with symbols that flicker and change.

Ethan moves to a display case holding a series of small, crystalline structures that pulse with inner lights. "My father was always on a journey, searching for forgotten places, objects, and civilizations. There are several rooms dedicated to his archeology findings in this mansion, and he gifted many pieces to museums. I doubt he knew about the other world, magic, and monsters. But at the very least, he understood that those objects were different," he says. His voice trails off as he speaks of his father. His hand rests lightly on the glass of the display case, and for a moment, he's lost in another time.

"Are you okay?" Tombstone asks, reaching for his shoulder.

"Most of what I know about him comes from his journals and the stories I have been told." He pauses, his eyes scanning the room. "He was incredibly strong, both mentally and physically. When I heard tales of him standing alone against entire bands of mercenaries in some remote corner of the globe, it was hard to reconcile with the way he died."

Russ whines repeatedly as he turns around the two of them, worried for Ethan. He places his paws on the glass casing, trying to get closer.

"We still only know very little about your dad's killer. But for what we do know, he was a real monster," Tombstone begins. "Him and his group slaughtered countless soldiers and civilians. He pillaged Africa, South America, and the Middle East for years, making a fortune from warlords."

"And yet he stopped and disappeared right after coming here," Ethan says as his gaze falls on an opened case. It is empty, but its velvet still holds the shape of a disk. The dust lying on it reveals that it has been empty for years.

"We never understood why he met your father. But do you think he may have wanted an item from him? Something he was the only one capable of using?" Tombstone wonders.

Ethan spots a small carnet among the Eldorian tomes; he reaches for it, dusting it off with a flick. "This is one of his journals," Ethan says as he opens it.

The pages contain several pages of notes, followed by drawings of his findings.

September 14, 1995, Siberia

The winds here are chilling. Local lore speaks of the man I am searching for, unaged and untouched by time. Villagers give him several names, but their descriptions are consistent. The oldest among them saw him for decades.

September 16, 1995

I trekked deeper into Siberia, guided by an old map I acquired from one of the villages. The map hints at a valley surrounded by mountains where he's said to live. My compass behaves oddly in this area, the needle spins wildly. Dmitri was killed by a leopard, I buried him under an orthodox cross.

September 20, 1995

I reached the valley at dawn. It is warmer here, enough for the valley to not be buried under snow. I found ruins, medieval in nature but visibly older. People live here, but they speak a language unknown to me.

September 23, 1995

I saved one of the inhabitants from a bear, a young man who's in his late teens. He guided me to his people, and I think he introduced me. Their language doesn't have any roots I can base it on.

September 24, 1995

I found an old Russian man who lives among them. He told me that they kept him fed and sheltered and gave him work fit for his imposing stature until his back gave up. They take care of him, but they forbid him from leaving. They also age slower than him; some of the children he met when arriving forty years ago are still young adults. I tried to leave, but they stopped me. They use spears and bows and seem to be ignorant of the dangers of my 1911.

October 1, 1995

Soviet helicopters flew into the valley, terrifying the villagers. I used the occasion to escape and followed them to a keep in the mountains.

October 2, 1995

The keep is an ancient structure. Its walls are broad, made of stone blocks too massive for medieval technologies. Gunfire echoes in the corridors; they are fighting the locals.

October 2, 1995

I was wrong, they are not fighting the locals. Armored humanoid puppets engage them with swords, shields, and spears. They require hundreds of rounds to put down. The mercenaries are speaking Russian. They are searching for a treasure.

October 2, 1995

I found what they are likely searching for. A chamber in the depths of the keep, rendered inaccessible by a collapsed bridge. I had to climb cavern walls to reach it. I took everything it contained, including a portrait of the man I was looking for. I have decided to keep his belongings safe until I find him or he finds me.

The later pages catalog every artifact found in the room, except for a disk adorned with crystals. Ethan looks up and sees a painted portrait of a blonde, muscular man draped in a regal ermine mantle.

"If this man is still alive, he might have answers for you," Tombstone says.

Ethan thinks for a moment. "If he comes from the other world, he might already be gone. He only needs a dungeon crystal," he says as he takes a picture of the portrait. "That might be farfetched, but could you run his picture for me?"

"Sure. I will start the search right away; I just need to get to my car," she says before leaving him alone with Russ.

Ethan looks around, thinking aloud, "I'm going to uphold my father's decision and keep your belongings for you. I hope you'll be grateful if we ever meet." With a final glance at the portrait, he leaves the room, closing the hidden passage behind him.