CAIUS: Crown of Threads and Shadows

Inside the modest stone hut, the air hung thick and warm, heavy with the earthy fragrance of dried medicinal herbs simmering over a hearth. The old man set down two steaming porcelain cups upon a low wooden table, taking a quiet, deliberate sip before looking up at Caius with heavy, sorrowful eyes lined with the deep trenches of time.

”Thirty years ago,” the old man began softly, his voice trembling slightly in the quiet room, ”your mother and father came to this remote canyon seeking refuge. They did not enter the black gate. Instead, they built a small life right here beside this stream, living in quiet peace. They fell in love, and after five years, your mother bore a son.”

Caius remained entirely silent, his calloused hand resting near the hilt of his short sword as he listened, his expression carved from stone.

”Then, a terrible tragedy struck,” the old man continued, letting out a dry, rattling sigh. ”And for that, I am deeply sorry. I held an artifact of unimaginable value, an essence bead housing the ancient Spiral Temple. On that dark day, a warlike race from another rift realm invaded the canyon, hunting specifically for the bead. In a moment of sheer panic and desperation, I flicked the essence bead straight into your infant mind sea, embedding it directly into your crown core.”

The old man lowered his head, the crushing weight of those decades of memories bowing his shoulders. ”The invaders demanded the bead. As the assigned gatekeeper of this threshold, ancient laws prevented them from killing or forcing me directly, but they searched every single inch of this sanctuary. They found nothing. Driven by pure spite, and inflamed by your mother’s extraordinary beauty, they decided to take her as a slave.”

Caius’s posture stiffened instantly, his fingers tightening around his weapon until his knuckles turned as white as bone.

”Your father fought them with everything he possessed,” the elder whispered, tears finally pooling in his old eyes, ”but he was hopelessly overpowered. I too was pinned to the floor by an invisible, crushing force. Your mother begged them to spare your father and you, a helpless infant cradled in her arms. They granted her a brief, agonizing moment to say goodbye, but forced your father to swear an absolute, binding oath never to speak of what occurred here. Then, they vanished into the swirling fog, taking her with them.”

A suffocating pressure suddenly filled the small stone hut, displacing the scent of herbs with the sharp tang of ozone and ash. Pitch-black obsidian mana flared violently around Caius’s frame, crackling with dark lightning, while his violet-gold eyes burned with a bottomless, suppressed rage. It was this old man’s cowardly, desperate decision to hide the sacred bead within an infant that had shattered his family and cast his mother into a living nightmare of captivity.

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The old man closed his eyes, meekly accepting the oppressive, suffocating aura without the slightest resistance. ”I am sorry, I truly am. But if those beings had obtained the temple...” The elder paused, looking intently and steadily into Caius’s burning eyes.

”Tell me, boy. How many slots have you filled within your mind sea?”

Caius forced down his surging, volatile aura, his voice dropping into a register as cold as a frozen winter night. ”Seven.”

”Seven...” the old man breathed, a mixture of profound awe and cold fear trembling in his voice. ”Imagine if a creature of pure malice had taken that bead. If they filled those slots with mythical beasts, they would have already conquered every known gate in this region. Legends say that if one manages to fill every slot, they will ascend as a transcendent being, provided they survive the brutal Calamity Test. I warn you now, Caius: do not fill the final slot until you are truly ready to face that ultimate trial.”

Caius absorbed the warning, his sharp mind rapidly weighing the monumental gravity of the Spiral Temple’s true origin and purpose. ”Who were these hunters?” he demanded, his voice dropping another octave as shadows writhed at his heels.

”They are called the Mordrakh,” the old man answered grimly, a shudder running through his frail frame. ”Monstrous dragon-human hybrids born entirely from shadow and relentless slaughter, creatures whose very blood is brewed from the dark embers of ruined worlds.”

”Do you know where their domain is?” Caius pressed, his jaw tightening.

The old man shook his head sorrowfully. ”My archives here are limited to the relics of this threshold. I have no record of their origin world or their deep bastions. The Mordrakh rarely operate on their own accord; they are most often hired by high-tier entities across the Abyss as elite tracking hounds, beasts of destruction that never lose a scent once it has touched blood.”

Caius let out a harsh, bitter breath, his eyes narrowing into deadly slits. ”So I am searching for elite dragon-human executioners across an infinite void with practically zero information to guide my blade.”

The old man offered no denial, letting out a heavy, solemn sigh that filled the quiet, suffocating room. He slowly stood up with a groan of aging joints, smoothing down his coarse straw hat as he stepped toward a heavy, iron-bound wooden chest resting in the darkest corner of the hut.

”Come,” the old man said, turning back toward Caius with a serious, resolute gaze. ”I cannot give you their location, but I can give you something that will raise your power significantly before you step through the gate and begin your descent into the dark.”