Berry shut the curtains hastily and retreated to the single bed pressed against the window. A lone almirah stood in the front corner, and a small wooden table sat just beneath the window. The rest of the room was bare, save for the door opposite the almirah. As he lay back on the mattress, the shimmer of stars still danced in his eyes.
Sleep came quickly.
He was facing the wall at first, but turned over in a half-conscious daze—and that's when he saw it.
A child sat in the corner of the room, knees drawn tightly to his chest. The same boy Berry had seen before. The one who had stabbed someone in his previous visions. This time, the boy looked hollow, crushed by something unseen. Berry watched, frozen.
The boy stirred, slowly rising to his feet as if each movement cost him. Another figure stepped into view—a man dressed like a guard. He knelt before the child and handed him a dagger, whispering something in an ancient tongue.
Berry caught fragments. Words that sent chills down his spine. Manipulation. Sacrifice.
And then, as if the boy had been lit from within, something changed in his eyes. A terrible resolve. A killing intent that did not belong on a face so young.
Then—darkness.
Berry shot up, drenched in cold sweat. His back prickled with unease as he tried to make sense of it all. The illusions were aligning like puzzle pieces slipping into place. But are they illusions? He thought, pulling the blanket over his head.
A while later, Orion and Zale returned quietly.
By dawn, everyone was up. Their gear had been packed the night before, but the air was thick with unspoken tension. Berry moved quickly, though his body felt heavy with unrest.
They set off without much conversation. Each man locked in his thoughts:
—Orion and Zale hoping this so-called palace would be real.—Berry desperate to understand the visions haunting him.—Archer already dreading the idea of surviving days without air conditioning. And Liam thinking where will he find such an interesting job next?
Four long hours passed in the back of an SUV winding along mountain roads. Eventually, the vehicle could go no further. They got out.
Archer and Liam hauled the bags while Berry led the way, though he struggled to keep pace with the experienced raiders. Even Zale, with his scholarly build, was moving steadily.
Suddenly, Berry veered off—turning sharply into a dense patch of forest. There were no paths, no signs of life. Still, the group followed. Orion marked trees along the way, leaving a breadcrumb trail just in case.
It wasn't long before a structure emerged between the trees.
Their pace quickened.
But for Berry, something was wrong. His breath shortened. Visions struck again—this time faster, louder, more chaotic.
He tried to call out but no sound escaped. His knees gave way.
Cries, screams, laughter. A flood of images: wars, kings, queens, children, death. Everything blurred together, overwhelming his senses.
Then—nothing.
When he woke, voices reached his ears.
"I had no hope this palace would actually be here," Zale said. His tone held something rare: hope.
"If not for the gold carvings, I would've thought this was just a dusty old hut," Orion muttered. "Why's it so small?"
"Probably just his workplace," Zale replied.
Berry sat up, dazed. "What… happened?"
"You passed out on the way. Archer carried you back," Zale said.
"Ah… thanks, Archer."
It was already night. Berry had been unconscious for hours. While he slept, the group had inspected the area. Now they were setting up camp.
Within half an hour, the tents were up. Liam prepared soup over a fire the old-fashioned way. They gathered around, exhausted but focused.
"So, when are we going in?" Archer asked, puffing his chest with bravado.
"Not at night," Orion replied sharply. "We'll wait until morning. Stick to the rules."
Berry and Zale nodded in agreement.
Orion's tone turned serious. "This place isn't like the ruins we usually raid. This king's name is etched in forgotten stone, and either no one found this palace—or no one made it out. Be careful tomorrow. No touching anything without permission. Understood?"
"Yeah, yeah, we get it," Archer waved him off.
Zale's voice cut through the firelight.
"Archer, this isn't some action flick. There's no guarantee we walk out of here. If you can't take it seriously, you can stay outside."
His words weren't loud, but they carried weight. Zale had a quiet authority—something unnatural, something given. Even Archer, cocky as ever, felt the sting of shame.
The devil's blessing on Zale had many layers. This was one of them: people listened.
As the fire dimmed, the group retreated to their tents. Berry, still shaken, popped his medicine and lay down.
But something was wrong again.
When he opened his eyes, it was pitch black. Too dark. And too quiet.
He wasn't in his tent.
"Did I sleepwalk?" he muttered, trying to get his bearings. "Where am I?"
His body felt strangely light. Somewhere nearby, he heard the sharp crackle of a fire being coaxed to life.
Then—the voices came again.