A sudden breeze swept through the chamber, cold and sharp as a blade.
Zev shivered instinctively as the chill bit into his bare skin—worse still, the wind slipped between his legs, making him wince.
"Damn... I really need to find some clothes," he muttered, wrapping his arms tighter around his torso, a grimace tugging at his lips. 'And fast. I'm not letting this damn wind keep freezing my balls off.'
He took a deep breath, steadying himself.
The egg lay behind him now—its top fractured and jagged, a dark shell gleaming faintly in the dim light. Around it, the towering statues stood in silent vigil, their stony gazes locked upon the broken vessel.
A faint chill traced his spine again as he glanced back.
'Looks like... some kind of strange ritual,' he thought, the idea lingering uneasily. 'Why else would they all be watching the egg?'
The cold pressed harder against his skin, spurring him forward.
Without another glance, Zev turned away from the altar and stepped cautiously through the great archway leading out of the chamber.
Stone gave way to shadowed halls beyond—vast, empty corridors waiting to be explored.
Naked and unarmed, but driven by instinct, Zev pressed on.
'First things first,' he thought, determination flickering in his amber eyes. 'Find clothes. Then... figure out what the hell this place is.'
The hall stretched endlessly before him.
Cold stone beneath his feet, smooth and worn by time. The walls loomed high, disappearing into shadows above. Every step echoed faintly, the only sound in a world gone silent.
Massive statues lined the corridor—rows upon rows of towering figures carved from dark stone. Knights in gleaming armor. Hooded mages with staffs raised high. Winged beasts mid-flight. Dragons coiled in serpentine grace. Monsters with twisted forms, frozen in eternal battle.
Each statue stood over twenty meters tall, a silent testament to the grandeur of whoever had built this place.
Zev's gaze wandered upward.
'The ceiling must be... fifty meters up, at least.'
A faint breath escaped his lips, half awe, half disbelief.
"Whoever built this place had one hell of a mind," he murmured, voice barely more than a whisper. "And a lot of resources."
He walked on, footsteps careful. The sheer scale of it all pressed against his thoughts.
'Now that I think about it... every hall I've passed through so far is enormous. Every doorway too. Big enough for something far larger than a human.'
A pause.
His eyes flicked to his own form—lean, human, fragile compared to the giants around him.
"Where... am I?" he whispered, the words hollow in the vast space.
"And why... why don't I have a dragon form?"
The thought gnawed at him.
'The structure... the proportions... this place was clearly made for dragons, or at least for beings far bigger than me. So why am I like this?'
No answer came.
The statues stood silent. The halls stretched on.
But something deep inside urged him forward. Questions could wait. Survival came first.
And clothes.
The corridor seemed endless, a stone labyrinth carved for giants.
Zev moved cautiously between the towering statues, each one a frozen fragment of a forgotten world. His footsteps echoed faintly beneath the vaulted ceiling, lost in the sea of shadows above.
Then—he stopped.
Ahead, nestled between two massive statues—a knight and a dragon locked in eternal combat—stood a door.
A small door.
Barely twice his height, framed in dark wood and aged iron. Humble. Out of place.
"Why the hell is there a human-sized door here?" he muttered aloud, brow furrowing. "Doesn't make any sense."
He approached slowly, eyes scanning for traps—though what kind of traps, he wasn't sure.
The door bore no markings, no sigils. Only a pair of simple iron handles.
Zev placed his palms against the cool metal, hesitated for a breath, then pushed.
The door creaked open with surprising ease, the sound sharp in the silent hall.
Light spilled into the space beyond.
Zev blinked.
A room.
A normal room.
He stepped inside cautiously, gaze sweeping the chamber.
A large bed rested against one wall—broad and inviting, covered in thick blankets. A sturdy wooden desk sat opposite it, papers and books strewn across its surface. A delicate feathered quill lay beside an inkwell long dried. Framed photographs lined the wall above.
An armoire stood in the corner, its doors slightly ajar, revealing folds of clothing—both men's and women's.
Zev stared, stunned.
"What the hell is this room doing here... in a place like this?" he whispered, voice barely audible.
No answer came.
Only the soft creak of the door behind him, settling back into place.
Zev approached the armoire with cautious curiosity.
He pulled the doors fully open. Inside hung an assortment of garments—fine coats, flowing dresses, tunics, trousers. Some bore signs of age, faded at the edges, but most looked clean and well-kept.
"Why is there clothing here? And why both men's and women's?" he murmured, shaking his head. "None of this makes any damn sense."
Still, the cold breeze from earlier haunted his memory. Practicality over answers.
He reached inside and began pulling garments out one by one.
First—a nobleman's coat of pale rose silk.
Zev held it up skeptically.
"Eh... definitely not my color," he said flatly, tossing it aside.
Next—a deep crimson suit, bold and striking.
He slipped it on, tugged at the sleeves, frowned at his reflection in the nearby mirror.
"No... still not it. Too flashy."
Another garment caught his eye—a flowing black dress, elegant and sleek.
Zev paused.
"Emmm... yeah, no. Definitely not."
He exhaled, half amused, half exasperated.
Then—at the back of the armoire—something different.
A tailored black suit, clean lines, understated elegance. Paired with a crisp white shirt beneath.
It called to him in a way the others hadn't.
"Now this... this I can work with."
He dressed quickly, the fabric cool against his skin. The fit was snug but comfortable, the cut practical yet refined.
Finally, he turned to the mirror.
His reflection stared back—tall, lean, striking.
Amber eyes glowed faintly beneath tousled black hair. Pale skin gleamed smooth as marble, the faintest hint of golden lines tracing delicate patterns along his shoulders and collarbone.
He tilted his head, studying himself.
'Yeah... this works.'
A small grin tugged at his lips.
"At least now I won't have the damn breeze whistling past my ass."
Dressed and slightly warmer, Zev let his gaze wander around the room once more.
The desk drew his eye.
He approached slowly, fingers brushing over the aged wood. Scattered across its surface were faded letters, brittle with time, and several books bound in unfamiliar leather.
Curious, he picked up one of the letters.
Lines of elegant script danced across the page—but the characters were strange, twisted in ways he couldn't decipher.
"I can't read this... symbols are too weird," he muttered, brow furrowing.
He sifted through the other papers—more of the same. An unknown language, beautiful yet alien.
Then his gaze shifted upward.
A framed photograph rested against the wall, slightly tilted.
Zev reached for it, lifting it gently.
Two figures stared back at him from the faded image.
A man—tall, regal, with flowing white hair and piercing amber eyes. A mane like that of an albino lion framed his stern face.
Beside him stood a woman with long black hair and deep black eyes. Her gaze was softer, almost serene. One hand rested on her rounded belly—undeniably pregnant.
Zev stared in silence.
"Were they... the ones who lived here?" he whispered. "But... that doesn't explain their sizes. Unless—"
A sharp chime cut through the still air.
[Do you wish to witness the memory of this place?]
The message hovered in the air before him, glowing bright and sudden.
"Shit—!" Zev flinched, nearly dropping the frame. "Warn me next time, damn it!"
Heart pounding, he stared at the message.
His mind raced.
'Witness a memory... of this room? Of what happened here?'
Curiosity burned through the hesitation.
"Yes," he said aloud, voice steady.