Chapter 38: The Palace of Shattered Silence

With slow, measured steps, Thoren strode forward, his grip tightening around the hilt of his iron sword.

The cold metal pressed reassuringly against his palm, anchoring him to reality amid the suffocating eeriness of the ancient city.

In the distance, the outline of what had once been a magnificent palace gradually emerged from the fog.

Even in ruin, its presence dominated the city, towering above the surrounding structures like a fallen monarch refusing to bow.

Thoren increased his pace, deliberately ignoring the thousands of stone statues lining the streets.

He refused to let their frozen gazes slow him down.

As he approached the palace grounds, the full extent of the destruction became clear.

Stone bricks lay scattered across the courtyard, reduced to rubble as if struck by overwhelming force.

Broken weapons, swords snapped in half, spears bent at unnatural angles, shields split cleanly down the middle, were scattered across the ground like discarded toys.

Along the palace walls, deep claw marks gouged through stone, each slash massive enough to suggest a creature of terrifying size.

Some marks overlapped, as though multiple strikes had been delivered in a frenzy.

Thoren observed everything without faltering. His pace remained steady, though his pulse quickened.

As he moved deeper into the palace complex, he passed numerous crumbling buildings.

Some appeared to have been cleaved apart by a gigantic blade, their upper halves sliced cleanly away.

Others looked as though they had been partially devoured by an enormous beast, jagged bite marks still visible along the shattered stone.

The signs of destruction were chaotic, violent—and deliberate.

Watching all of this, Thoren’s heart skipped a beat.

“What in the heavens happened here?” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible.

The devastation was nerve-wracking.

He had thought the carnage outside the ancient city walls was already beyond human comprehension.

But this, this was on another level entirely.

It felt less like a battlefield and more like the aftermath of a divine punishment.

He forcefully swallowed the lump forming in his throat and pressed onward, his senses stretched to their limits.

At the heart of the palace grounds stood a single structure that remained largely intact.

Thoren halted before it.

Unlike the other buildings, this one bore intricate carvings of mystical beasts along its exterior walls.

Despite the ravages of time, the craftsmanship remained breathtaking.

Even after centuries or perhaps millennia, it was clear that this had once been an important place.

Before the entrance stood two massive stone lions, their expressions fierce and vigilant.

Behind them were rows of human stone statues clad in ceremonial armor. They resembled palace guards, eternally frozen in their duty.

Thoren studied the statues for a brief moment, then approached the massive wooden door.

The wood was dark, smooth, and unfamiliar, marked with faint runes that glimmered and faded in irregular intervals.

He reached out and placed his hand against the door.

Though it appeared heavy and ancient, it yielded easily beneath his push.

Creeeak.

The hinges groaned loudly, the sound echoing through the courtyard as though protesting being disturbed after countless ages of silence.

Thoren took a deep breath and stepped inside, his undead minions following silently behind him.

Darkness.

Absolute darkness welcomed him.

It was thick, heavy, and suffocating, pressing down on him like an unseen weight.

The air felt stagnant, devoid of movement.

Within the darkness, the presence of his undead minions seemed to vanish entirely.

If not for the faint soul connection linking him to them, he might have believed they had been erased.

“This place…” Thoren murmured, his expression darkening. “I need to get out of here.”

He turned slightly, preparing to retreat.

Then.

Light bloomed within the hall.

The darkness receded instantly, dissolving as if it had never existed. Pale illumination filled the vast chamber, revealing its interior in stark detail.

“Huh!”

A sharp gasp escaped Thoren’s lips. He scanned the hall, searching for the source of the light but there was none.

No torches.

No crystals.

No visible source whatsoever.

Everything only grew stranger.

“Whatever secret you’re hiding,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing, “I’ll uncover it.”

With renewed resolve, he walked deeper into the hall.

The interior was grand beyond expectation. Tall pillars lined the chamber; their surfaces etched with faded symbols.

Along the walls hung numerous portraits but like those in the temple, they were blurred beyond recognition, as if deliberately obscured.

Thoren did not linger on them.

His attention was drawn instead to the dozens of human stone statues arranged throughout the hall.

These statues were different.

They wore ornate robes and ceremonial attire. Their postures were dignified, authoritative.

Palace ministers.

Thoren frowned.

Something was wrong.

Palace ministers should have been facing the throne. Yet every single statue had its gaze locked on the entrance door.

Their expressions were twisted in terror.

Fear.

Desperation.

Despair.

It was as if they had witnessed something so horrifying that their souls had been frozen along with their bodies.

Puzzled, Thoren tilted his head slightly, studying them more closely.

“These aren’t mere statues,” he murmured. “They were once human.”

The realization sent a chill down his spine.

But what kind of power could turn living beings into stone in an instant?

He shook his head, forcing the thoughts aside. Whatever had happened here was beyond his current understanding.

His gaze shifted to the center of the hall.

The throne.

Unlike everything else in the city, it was not made of stone.

The throne was crafted from an unknown black material, smooth and polished, radiating an oppressive presence.

It stood upon a raised platform, dominating the hall with silent authority.

Anticipation surged through Thoren’s chest, but he suppressed the urge to rush forward.

The surrounding statues made his skin crawl.

He advanced cautiously, his vigilance heightened.

Each step he took toward the throne echoed softly against the floor.

With every step, the temperature dropped.

The air grew heavier.

Tighter.

Every hair on his body stood on end.

Without realizing it, he held his breath.

When he reached the final step, the throne was only a few feet away.

His nose twitched.

He froze.

Thump!

His heart skipped violently.

He knew that smell.

Blood.

Thick.

Suffocating.

Slowly, Thoren averted his gaze from the throne and looked beyond it.

Time seemed to stretch.

“What in the hell…” the words slipped from his lips.

Behind the throne lay a massive pool of blood.

It bubbled and boiled as though heated from within, sending thick steam rising into the air.

Surrounding the pool were thousands of strange carvings etched into the floor, each pulsing with eerie crimson light.

Blood flowed into the carvings like living veins.

As Thoren watched, his breath hitched.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the carvings began to move.

A faint scream echoed through the hall.

At first, it was distant.

Then louder.

Closer.

The blood pool churned violently, steam flooding the chamber.

Hundreds of carvings activated at once.

This was no ordinary pool.

It was a blood sacrifice.

But for what?

For whom?

Thoren’s muscles locked in place.

A sudden tremor rippled through the floor behind him.

Stunned, he turned sharply, his face slick with cold sweat.

His heart thundered in his chest like a war drum.

And then.

He saw it.

The stone statues had moved.

*****

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