CHAPTER 34: A TRAGIC PAST

"Enough about me," Oliver said after a pause. "Tell me about yourself. I mean... how long were you even sealed in there?"

Isolde tilted her head back slightly, her crimson eyes reflecting the faint glow of mana stones embedded in the ceiling. "I don’t know. At first, I tried to keep track—counting breaths, counting heartbeats, trying to estimate cycles of time. But there was no day or night, nothing to measure with. Eventually... time lost all meaning. It stopped mattering. All I knew was that I would be tormented there forever."

Her voice carried no tears this time, only a dull weight.

Oliver swallowed, his chest tightening. Just the few days he’d been stuck in the dungeon had almost driven him mad. To imagine centuries—he couldn’t. "That’s... insane. No one should go through that."

She noticed the pity on his face and smiled faintly. "Why the long face? I’m out now, aren’t I? That’s all that matters."

"Well... I was just thinking how lonely it must’ve been," Oliver said quietly.

"You bet," Isolde chuckled dryly, but it quickly faded.

Oliver leaned forward, brows furrowed. "But why were you sealed there in the first place? From what I read on the door’s inscription, it said something about a ’great evil’ and ’a terror that would befall humanity if unsealed.’"

"Pfft. Rubbish." She crossed her arms, annoyed. "Do I look evil to you?"

Oliver raised a hand. "Not right now, at least. But to be fair, I don’t know much about you yet."

Her lips curled into a sly grin. "Then let me tell you a great tale. The tale of a genius so feared by the gods themselves that they conspired to lock her away for eternity." Her tone shifted, almost theatrical.

Oliver’s brows rose. "...That’s a hell of an opening line."

"A long time ago," Isolde began, her voice carrying a weight of memory, "there was a nation deep beneath the earth. A hidden empire called Tenebris. Though small in land, its worth to the world was beyond measure. For no other land could rival it in rune technology. If Tenebris claimed to be second, then no one dared claim first."

"Rune tech?" Oliver echoed, leaning forward. "So like... magical engineering?"

"Exactly. Even the children of Tenebris were born with an innate connection to runes. They learned to draw, inscribe, and shape them as naturally as breathing. Their entire civilization thrived on it."

She paused, her eyes darkening. "But the people themselves... we were different. A peculiar race called Umbrals. Shadow-dwellers. Half-human, half-elemental darkness. Sunlight was our weakness. It didn’t kill us, but under it, our abilities weakened to that of an ordinary human."

Oliver muttered under his breath, "So like kryptonite..."

"Krypto-what?" she frowned.

"Nothing," Oliver waved it off quickly. "Old world reference. Keep going."

"Hmph." She flicked her hair back and continued. "Because of this weakness, we lived underground. We carved out a nation with our runes. The upper floors were garrisoned by soldiers and guardians. Each level was lined with traps and wards for security. Deeper down lived the civilians. And at the very bottom—the heart of Tenebris—was the capital. The hub of knowledge, invention, and the most brilliant minds in our race."

Her eyes glimmered with pride even as her tone carried sorrow. "We thrived in the dark, away from the sun, building wonders the surface world could barely dream of."

Oliver let out a low whistle. "So basically, fantasy Wakanda... underground edition."

"Again, I have no idea what that means," Isolde sighed, "but I’ll assume it was meant as a compliment."

Her lips quirked faintly. "And there, the ruler of Tenebris had a daughter. A girl named Isolde Umbrae Noctis. When I was born, the nation celebrated for days. They called me their princess. Their future. And they were right... just not in the way they expected."

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Your... doom, you said."

"Exactly." She spread her hands. "I was a prodigy. What others needed years to master, I learned in days. Runes were my native tongue. They were as natural as breathing to me. With each discovery, Tenebris grew stronger, more prosperous. I created things no one thought possible."

Her eyes glimmered as she listed them out. "I invented the method of inscribing runes onto weapons, giving them attributes, special effects, even skills. A simple blade could be etched with fire to sear flesh, or with sharpness to slice steel. Armor could be made weightless with inscriptions. I crafted fertility runes that made barren soil bloom, healing runes that closed wounds instantly, water-purifying runes, runes for endless light, air circulation deep underground, even ones that eased childbirth."

A faint, mocking laugh left her lips. "Every field advanced under me. Agriculture, warfare, medicine, infrastructure—you name it. My kingdom soared. And yet..."

Her expression darkened.

"The world did not see prosperity. They saw a threat. Our talisman runes were cheaper and easier to use than the potions brewed by the Alchemist Tower. Our healing runes reduced the demand for priests and clerics. Our rune-forged weapons were chosen over dwarven smithing. Our enchanted constructs replaced mercenary guilds. Every guild, every tower, every so-called sacred order... hated us. In short, Tenebris had become the world’s enemy."

"So everyone teamed up, attacked, and sealed you?" Oliver interrupted. "But that doesn’t add up. Why not just kill you like the rest? Why seal you—and how are you still alive?" he mumbled.

Isolde’s eyes narrowed. "Will you shut up and listen quietly?"

"Sorry, ma’am."

"Hmph." She folded her arms, then continued. "Even if they were jealous, no nation had the strength to openly provoke us. Tenebris was a fortress. Every level layered with lethal traps and wards. Even if an army broke through, they’d be annihilated long before reaching the capital where our true forces waited."

Her tone hardened. "No... the true cause of our destruction was me. I dug into knowledge forbidden by so-called gods. Knowledge they never wanted mortals to touch."

Oliver leaned forward, wide-eyed.

"I developed a technique to inscribe runes onto the human body itself—to alter the body’s very essence. I made runes that could turn the weakest man into a warrior capable of slaying an S-class beast."

"Really?" Oliver said, excitement in his voice.

BAM! Her fist landed on his head.

"Don’t interrupt me."

"Ow—sorry." He rubbed his skull.

"I made the Siphon Rune, carved into the heart to let the bearer absorb mana endlessly from the surroundings. The Titan Rune, etched onto bones and muscles, gave superhuman strength and durability. The Vigil Rune carved onto the eyes could grant sight in darkness and pierce illusions. And there were many more."

Her fists trembled as she spoke. "These creations shook the gods themselves. At first, they only whispered to their priests and champions, inciting them to move against us. But when I went further, when I began touching the foundation of divinity itself... the gods descended. Their followers were granted powers far beyond mortal limits. Angels armed with divine weapons joined the slaughter. Even our own creations, stolen or twisted, were turned against us."

Her voice cracked, eyes clouding. "They invaded our home. Men were butchered like cattle. Women... violated until their minds broke. Children torn from their mothers’ arms, burned alive as offerings. Entire families strung up in the caverns as warnings. The tunnels of Tenebris ran red with blood for weeks."

Oliver’s throat tightened, his stomach twisting. He had only been stuck in this dungeon for days and nearly lost his sanity. The idea of an entire people—his age, younger, older—wiped out in such a fashion made him shudder. He couldn’t stop picturing it, despite himself.

Isolde’s lips trembled as she continued. "I can still hear their screams, Oliver. My friends. My people. Even the infants weren’t spared. They were slaughtered for sport. And the ones who weren’t killed... gods, they were worse off. Enslaved. Experimented on. Some turned into meat for their own armies to eat."

She dug her nails into her own arms, shaking. "Do you know what it feels like? To be powerless while your kingdom collapses? To know that everything you built, everything you gave, was used as fuel to burn your people alive?"

Oliver couldn’t answer. He wasn’t sure there even was an answer. He simply placed a hand on her back and patted gently, awkward but sincere. It wasn’t much, but in this endless, cursed dungeon, it was the only comfort he could give.

For a long moment, she leaned into it, eyes closed, her breathing uneven.

Oliver stayed quiet, letting her vent the storm that had been buried for centuries. A part of him felt pity. Another part felt fear. If even half of what she said was true, she wasn’t just a victim—she was someone who once shook gods and toppled nations.

When her trembling finally stilled and her tears ran dry, the silence between them stretched.

Oliver cleared his throat, his voice low. "There’s one thing I still don’t understand."

Her crimson eyes lifted to him, faintly curious.

"You said the gods themselves moved against you," he continued. "That they felt... threatened." His gaze hardened. "So tell me, Isolde—what did you discover that scared even gods?"