Mad Hatter's Guide to Clearing The Game
Chapter 211: Ch209. [Dark Forest] (13) - For the good of the Story

Chapter 211: Ch209. [Dark Forest] (13) - For the good of the Story

The world breathed softly around Miles, the dream-memory thick and vibrant with color. He stood inside it like a ghost, neither seen nor acknowledged, differently from the other memories he had perceived before.

The boy in the too-large top hat stood at the edge of the clearing with the red-haired girl.

The temple loomed in front of them, dark stone and stark lines rising like a blade plunged into the earth. The forest seemed to recoil from it, the trees bending subtly away, as if trying to avoid even the shadow of the place.

There was no mistaking the wrongness of the structure. It didn’t belong in this sun-dappled world, or to any other world they had visited before.

The girl took a step forward, peering through the vine-laced arch that marked the temple’s entrance.

"Do you feel that?" She asked. Her voice, so bright before, was softer now. But it didn’t sound frightened, no. It sounded curious.

"Yeah. Like something’s watching us." The boy hesitated.

"Then let’s find out what it is." She turned to him, a challenging light in her eyes.

"I don’t think we should, princess." The boy reached out, grabbing her wrist gently. "This place isn’t right. It doesn’t feel like it’s part of the forest. It looks... Older. I don’t think it wants us here."

"You’re always afraid of the interesting parts, hatter-boy. That’s why you’ll never find anything good without me." The girl smiled, tilting her head the way one might when confronting a timid animal.

With a small tug, she slipped from his grip and stepped into the shadows beyond the threshold. The boy cursed softly and followed.

Miles drifted after them like a shadow in their wake, the memory folding around him with each step. The inside of the temple was darker than it should’ve been. The walls drank light. Strange, abstract carvings stretched across the stone, flowing together like writing from a forgotten language.

The air held no dust, no scent, only cold.

They walked through hall after hall, guided by instinct and the quiet pulse that seemed to draw them forward. There were no monsters, no traps, just silence and strangeness.

"I thought you said this place was dangerous." The girl whispered with a grin.

"Still might be..." The boy mumbled, clearly unconvinced. "Sometimes the quiet is worse."

They passed murals etched into the walls, scenes of figures with blank faces raising swords, falling into pits of something that could be water, blood, or ink, standing in fire, walking among stars. The girl stopped more than once, drawn to them, studying the carvings with an expression far too old for her face.

"They’re telling a story." She said once, tracing her fingers along the etched lines. "But the end is missing."

The boy stayed close to her, eyes darting from one place to another, from one carving to the next, his hands clenched at his sides. But nothing came for them. The deeper they went, the more the temple began to hum.

Then, finally, they reached the final chamber.

A door of black metal stood before them, half open. Beyond it, a vast circular room spread out like the heart of the temple. A throne sat at the far end, raised upon a dais of fractured stone. The walls curved upward to a dome etched in constellations that no sky had ever held.

Chains hung from the ceiling and embedded into the throne itself. They wrapped around a humanoid figure sitting slouched in the high-backed seat. Not dead, but not alive, either.

The being was... Wrong.

It had a vaguely human shape, but the proportions were subtly off. Its skin shimmered with an oily iridescence, catching and refracting light like water. Its face had no mouth, but a smooth, unbroken mask. Its eyes, if they were eyes, were voids that drank color. And yet, it was not monstrous.

It was too still, too composed. Like a statue waiting for an audience.

The girl stepped forward, cautious for the first time.

"Who is that?" She asked, curiosity and awe soaking her every word.

The boy tried to grab her again, but it was too late. The air changed as soon as she entered the circle around the throne. The hum grew louder, and the chains creaked.

The being stirred, slowly raising its head.

And then, as if on cue, its voice came. Not from a mouth, but from the space around them. A sound like words spoken underwater and through time.

"I’m The Cold One, The Blind Dreamer, The Deep Dark... I have many names, and I’ve been waiting..."

The girl froze.

The boy drew closer to her, stepping between her and the throne.

"It doesn’t sound good..." He whispered, his voice shaky.

"Waiting for what?" The girl asked, her voice laced with bafflement.

"For someone to wield it..."

The being raised one chained hand, slowly, and pointed to the base of the throne.

There, half-hidden in the stone, was a sword.

It was not elaborate. No gilded edge, no runes. It was just a blade of dark steel, simple and precise, shaped like purpose itself. It gave off a low pulse, like a heartbeat slowed to an eternity.

The girl knelt beside it, almost brushing her fingers along the hilt, but the boy interrupted her.

"Wait, don’t!" He said quickly. "We don’t know what it is. What it does."

"It might be for us." The girl whispered.

"Why us?" The boy looked up at the being.

The chains clinked as the creature tilted its head.

"Because the Story led you here, and because the Story needs you."

Miles felt something twist inside him, something inevitable and irrevocable was about to happen.

"What story?" The girl asked. "Whose story?"

"All of them." The being replied. "All of theirs."

The girl looked back at the sword, then at the boy.

"Will you help me?"

He didn’t answer at first.

Then, slowly, he stepped forward. Together, they reached for the hilt. Their fingers touched it at the same time.

A pulse erupted from the sword, washing across the room like a wave. The chains shuddered, the walls flickered, and for one moment, the stars in the dome above them shifted, aligning into something almost recognizable. An eye, a keyhole, a crown.

Then it all stilled.

The boy stood, and took the sword in both hands. The girl, however, had a crown on her head.

"Your eye..." She said, looking at the boy. "It’s silver."

The boy didn’t know what to say, his mouth opening and closing.

The being leaned forward.

"Good." It said.

Then it slumped, the glow from the chains faded, the darkness at the edges of the throne room grew thicker, and the voice echoed one last time, cold and gentle.

"A Knight to protect and ensure the Endings, and a Queen to ensue the Beginnings. I’ve been waiting for someone to wield the sword and wear the crown... For the good of the Story..."