In the early cold hours, the city of Casturbon wakes for a new day. In a moderately-decorated room the Indigo team booked on the upper floors of the Silver Moon tavern/inn, Morgan is sitting on his bed wearing dark dress pants and a dress shirt. The morning sunlight glows through the window and onto the antique-looking furniture.

Morgan’s concentration is focused on scribbling in his leather notebook. He is redesigning the roller bearings that he had shown the Artisans Guild to show the blacksmith, who will benefit from the added details. Beside him is another book appearing to be an engineering textbook, with which his gaze repeatedly switches to and from his notebook as he double-checks that his measurements are correct.

There is a large canvas sack on the wooden floor beside the bed with its contents exposed. It’s full of other textbooks that the team brought from Hirreinica to assist them with all their scientific and engineering needs. Of all the precious cargo and equipment they brought for their mission, these textbooks may be the most valuable.

Across the room, sitting on another bed, is Matt, who is also flipping through a textbook, searching for future potential technologies they can introduce as their own.

“How great would it be to have a CNC machine,” Matt says.

“It’d make our job a hell of a lot easier, that’s for sure,” Morgan responds.

Matt sets aside the textbook and leans forward on the edge of his bed, brushing aside his long hair. “Still crazy to think about, huh?”

“What?”

“We’re in another world. Feels like we’re starting a new life. A fresh start. Don’t you think?”

Morgan puffs out his breath in dismissal. “But with the scars of the last life still on the skin.”

“Fucks sake, man, look at you. All that intellect, and it’s just sitting in that head of yours. No one could have seen it coming. And you don’t need a textbook for something you already understand.”

Morgan closes his notebook with the finished redesign and looks at Matt. “Just wanted to be sure there were no mistakes.”

Their conversation is cut short by a knock at the door, followed by a familiar voice. “Yo! Let us in!”

Matt stands up to open the door to Jack and Raymond, who enters with a loaf of bread in his hand.

“Who wants breakfast?” Raymond throws it to Morgan.

“Are you guys ready?” Jack asks them.

“Just about.”

“If we’re gonna find the blacksmith, we gotta go soon.”

Matt and Morgan place the textbooks back into the sack before hiding it under a bed. They lock and secure the room, and when they walk down the stairs, they are greeted by Arthur Brewster, the owner of the Silver Moon.

“Good morrow!” he says.

“Mister Brewster, Good… morrow, to you too,” Morgan says.

“Please, you may call me Arthur. I trust you all slept well?”

“Oh, it was the best sleep I’ve had in a while,” Jack says.

“Good! Very good! And Mister Faulkner?” He motions his hand to Raymond. “You handled your beverage well yesterday evening.”

“Oh yeah, I feel great. Never better. I could probably drink another.”

“Would you like to?”

“Not at all.”

“We gotta get going,” Morgan tells Arthur. “We’ll be back later tonight. Maybe we’ll go for another round of drinks.”

“Any time of day is good for a drink, my friends.”

.

.

Since the earliest signs of sunlight, a light haze had fallen over the city of Casturbon. Now sometime later, the sun remains hidden by clouds while temperatures stay relatively low.

Along the river that divides the city, simply called Casturbon River, is a stone arch bridge that spans no more than two hundred meters from one side to the other. Many small boats can be seen floating in the water and water wheels harnessing the current all along the river. Pedestrians walk across the bridge alongside a stream of horse-drawn carriages and wagons traveling in both directions.

Having just crossed the bridge, the Indigo team is searching for the blacksmith that the Artisans Guild recommended. He’s supposed to be a master blacksmith unrivaled by anyone else in the city.

“Who are we looking for again?”

“It says his name is ‘Sevak’.”

“Nothing says we are in another world like people having weird names.”

Since Matt hasn’t explored the city until now, he is the only one among them who’s examining every detail they walk past.

“So, what do you guys think of Arthur?” Raymond asks the group.

“The tavern owner? I think the guy is all right,” Matt says. “He gave you a free drink last night, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, sure, very generous. A sip of that had me light-headed. It was worse than absinthe.”

“You should’ve seen the look on your face,” Jack says. “It was as if you were constipated.”

“Yeah, okay, let’s just find this blacksmith.”

Traveling so far from the ‘downtown’ area of the city, the team can see that the infrastructure is vastly different. In this area, which focuses on industry, the streets are wider and with fewer people. The roads and buildings are also not as well maintained, but it’s not too bad. It’s still a relatively pleasurable sight to see.

Despite the lower density, there is still plenty of traffic in the form of horse-drawn wagons. Most haul commodities from producers to consumers all over the city. From produce to products, there is always something to be traded.

Following a complex set of directions, the Indigo team finally arrives at their destination. They come across a large red-brick factory-like building with short stone walls enclosing the area around it. The building is as big as a barn, and smoke spews from a chimney on its roof.

Morgan stops short of entering through the stone wall’s wide-open iron gate and peaks into the area. There’s an abundance of scrap metal and other junk thrown about on the ground or leaning against the brick walls of the building.

“This has got to be it,” Morgan says.

They enter through the iron gate and stop at the front door of the building. It’s as big as a garage door and slightly open, allowing Morgan to peek inside. Several workers are shuffling around inside. The sound of metalwork bleeds outside into the street. Sounds of metal smashing metal in rhythmic patterns reverberate through the air.

“This ain’t the girl’s locker room, brother. Let’s go inside,” Raymond tells Morgan.

They all chuckle under their breath before Morgan pushes open the door. No one inside seems to mind or even notice that they entered.

Morgan knocks on the door and says, “Hello?” But no one answers him. Everyone ignores him. Assuming no one heard him smashing hammers against anvils, Morgan knocks again.

“I heard ya knocking the first time, lad.”

From seemingly nowhere, someone approaches Morgan. He looks down at a man a foot shorter than him wearing dirty clothes and a black apron. He’s got a bushy beard, and he’s well-built. It’s yet another surprise for the team.

“Woah,” Raymond blurts out.

“Exhaust yer surprise, kid,” he growls. “I hate meeting new people.”

“Are you a dwarf?” Raymond bluntly asks.

“And this is why… ‘Course I’m a dwarf! Ya want a closer look?”

Matt steps forward and pulls Raymond behind him. “Sorry about him,” he says, “he meant no disrespect.”

“Spare me a headache, lad. I have dealt with people like him since I came to this city. I’m always the first bloody dwarf people meet. Now, if ya don’t mind, why have you come here?”

“We’re looking for master blacksmith ‘Sevak’,” Morgan says.

“Sev will do,” he replies, “what do ya want?”

“The Artisans Guild said you could help us forge something,” Morgan says as he shows him the scroll he got from the Artisans Guild office.

Sev takes the scroll and reads it, ensuring the stamped seal is authentic. “An invention?! Really?” He looks at all four of them with an unimpressed gaze. “Ha! We’ll see. Follow me.”

Sev leads the team through his workshop towards a large table in the back. They walk past all the other blacksmiths, presumably Sev’s apprentices. They repeatedly take pieces of red-hot metal from nearby furnaces and place them on anvils before smashing them with hammers. Bright sparks fly with every impact. It’s a hazardous work environment. There is equipment all over the place, and the air feels heavy.

At the large wooden table, Sev opens a thick book he keeps for record keeping and starts scribbling with a crude-looking pencil. “Which one of ya is Kelly Morgan, the inventor?”

“That’s me,” Morgan responds.

“All right, lad, what failure will I be making?”

“Ah, come on. Have a little faith.” Morgan reaches into his coat to retrieve his notebook.

“You are but one of many inventors I worked with, lad. I have yet to meet a successful one.”

“Then prepare to say you have,” he says as he shows Sev the roller-bearing sketches.

Sev looks at the sketches and says, “Do not get ahead of yourself. But I do like the way they look.”

The illustrations show four distinct parts to be made. There’s a drawing of a roller, a small metal cylinder; a drawing of the cage, a thin strip of metal to hold the rollers in place; and a drawing of the inner and outer rings, two ring-shaped parts with tapered faces.

Sev is impressed with the sketches more than the invention itself. Mainly because of how the parts are measured. Millimeters and centimeters are of an obscure measuring system no one in the kingdom should know about. No one except him.

“So, can you make them?” Matt asks.

“‘Course I can! It will be hard, however. You ask for precise measurements. And of steel,” Sev says.

“Oh, a little detail about the steel,” Morgan says, “we need a special kind.”

“How special?”

“Have you mixed it with a metal called chromium?”

Sev pauses in surprise. He slowly turns to look at Morgan with a questioning facial expression.

“Few know chromium—that mixture, even fewer. How do you know of it?” he slowly asks.

“I’m a natural genius. I call it stainless steel. Do you have some?”

“Best name I heard for it yet. Yes, I have some,” Sev says as he turns away from the table. He hides it, but he slowly builds curiosity about the team.

Sev approaches and rummages through a shelf with scraps and spare parts for random items. Handles for bladed weapons, spare hammers, wire brushes, and even some of the magic gemstones that the team saw in the marketplace. Sev picks up a deformed chunk of metal at the end of one shelf and returns to the table.

“I have a friend nearby who practices chemistry. The only man in this city who can make chromium. Rarely do I ever use his gifts. Never a demand for it.”

“You sure it’s not alchemy?” Raymond sarcastically asks.

“For fools is alchemy entertained, lad. Was about a century ago did scholars abandon it. And for the better. Now, how many of these do ya need? Not one, I presume?”

“I’m gonna need to put these on a carriage,” Morgan says, “two per wheel. So, eight. And an extra to show the guild.”

“Nine sets. Quite a workload. Will cost you about six pounds, I think.”

“At least rob us with a little more finesse,” Raymond says.

“For what you ask of me? I’d say I’m doing you a favor. Besides, I do not negotiate my pricing. Find you another blacksmith if you prefer.”

“But you’re the best one in the city!” Morgan says with some enthusiasm. “We can’t possibly prefer anyone else,” he says as he nudges Raymond.

“Uh, yeah. And if everything goes well, maybe we can strike a deal where we both profit,” Raymond says as Morgan takes out coins from his pocket.

“We shall see when the time comes.” Sev takes the coins. “Let’s get to it then, lads! Swap yer coats for aprons!”

“What, us too?” Raymond asks. “We couldn’t do a fraction of what you can. You’re the master here.”

“Not my invention, is it, lad? I need the inventor’s guidance to make this right. His friends as well.”

Having no choice, all four of them stay in the workshop to oversee the roller bearings manufacture. They don’t take part in the forging process itself as they have no blacksmithing experience, but they provide helpful directions on how each piece should be shaped.

The work continues nonetheless. Using an anvil’s horn, Sev quickly turns two stainless steel lumps into two rings. He repeatedly measures their thickness and circumference before hammering them against the anvil. He also takes another lump of steel and forges it into a thin rod before cutting them into countless equally sized cylindrical components.

With Sev swinging the hammer, the process proceeds smoother than anticipated. He truly fits the dwarf stereotype they all had in mind, as Sev continually shows an affinity for blacksmithing. His skill is clear as day, masterfully hammering red hot lumps of stainless steel into shape. He makes short work of what everyone thought would require advanced machinery to create.

Sev and his apprentices use a hand-cranked contraption resembling a pottery wheel to act as a lathe for higher precision. It looks like they made it themselves, as they can see all the gears turning. With this, they can perfect the circular shape of the rollers and the rings.

The last piece is the cage, a very thin sheet of metal with rectangular holes across it, which was delegated to the apprentices to make. After over an hour of work, all the pieces have been made, and Sev presents them to Morgan.

“Ha! Was easier than I thought,” Sev loudly says. “Well, this is only one set, after all.”

Morgan takes the pieces to the large table and sets them flat. He then begins assembling it. First, he lays the inner ring, then places the cage around it. After placing the rollers into the cage’s slots, Morgan places the outer ring around the whole thing.

With a swipe of his fingers, the outer ring spins freely around the inner ring, facing minimal friction due to the rollers. “There we go, a functional bearing,” Morgan smiles.

“So, how will it stay together?” Sev asks. “It spins just fine flat, but the rollers are angled. They will simply fall out.”

Morgan turns over the bearing in his hand and points to the inner face of the inner ring. “It’s tapered here, and so is an axle. The weight on the outer ring should push the inner ring outward, but it’s gonna push against the axle’s taper. Meaning it won’t go anywhere.”

“Very impressive, lad. I take back what I said earlier,” Sev roughly pats Morgan’s shoulder. “Tell you what. I know someone who would love these. He builds carriages. A good friend of mine he is, although enthusiasm eludes him. Name’s Wayne. You should visit if you got no one else to sell these to.”

“We’ll keep that in mind.”

The team has made an important first step with a functioning roller bearing. With so many applications that roller and ball bearings have, it’s surprising that they haven’t already been made popular.

Morgan takes the bearing and decides to go to the Artisans Guild office to secure the patent. He leaves Matt, Jack, and Raymond to stay with Sev to continue working on the remaining eight bearings. Exiting the workshop, he makes his way through the city, crossing Casturbon River and arriving in the festive atmosphere of Castra Square.

Once inside the Artisans Guild office, Morgan looks around. He notices a large group of people loudly discussing amongst themselves. Some of them glance at him as he stands by the door.

Morgan ignores them and looks towards the counter, where the guild workers stand behind, to find a familiar face. He spots the same woman who attended him during his previous visit and walks towards her. Some idling businessmen, well-dressed in embroidered clothes, observe him with an aura of superiority as he passes by.

“Hello, miss,” Morgan says, “I’m Kelly Morgan. You helped me find a blacksmith to build my invention yesterday.”

“Oh, Mister Morgan. Of course,” she says with no enthusiasm. “I trust everything is well?”

“Yes, here’s the invention.” He takes out the roller bearing and sets it on the counter before spinning it. “With this, I can get the patent, right?”

“Yes, this is good. To begin the review process, you shall pay ten shillings, Mister Morgan.”

“Woah, you didn’t mention a fee yesterday. What if I can’t pay it?”

“Master Sevak’s work is not cheap. I’m sure you can afford it.”

“Really. Then you wouldn’t mind if I asked another guild worker to confirm the ten shilling fee.” He looks to find another receptionist to ask.

“Eight shillings,” Rodelinda suddenly says.

Morgan smirks as he turns back to her. “There it is. But now that you gave it away, why should I keep talking to you?”

“Six. And I’ll tell you something none would.”

“How trustworthy is it?” he asks.

“I’d want your trust if you had coins to offer,” she says with a mischievous smile. “That’s the benefit of working with merchants.”

While it eluded him at first, Morgan isn’t too surprised that someone would try to exploit him. At the least, Rodelidna isn’t trying to deny it.

Morgan takes out and clutches several coins in his hand. “Well?”

“Should you be offered employment by a respected merchant, never refuse it.”

“Why?”

“They despise newcomers—especially those who do not work for them. Expect to be threatened if you wish to be an independent inventor, Mister Morgan. They may see you as a threat.”

“What, like a threat to the established upper class?” he asks, to which Rodelinda nods.

Morgan puts out his hand to give her the coins but pulls his hand back right before she takes it. “Are you sure there’s a patent registration fee?”

“That, there is,” she says as Morgan drops the coins in her hands. Rodelinda then smiles and says, “Howbeit, these are for myself.”

“Of course,” he responds with a defeated laugh.

“Return in a week. The review process will take some time before your patent is ready. In the meantime, I can provide you with a temporary certificate of ownership.”

She takes the bearing and reaches under the counter to prepare paperwork. Morgan takes a glance at the crowd behind him. Some of the businessmen continue eyeing him, probably because of what Rodelinda said. But it still makes him uncomfortable.

“Hey, what was your name again?” Morgan asks as he turns back to the receptionist.

“Rodelinda,” she says. “I hope not to be forgettable.”

“No, not after robbing me,” he calmly says.

Rodelinda softly chuckles before handing him a document. “Here is your certificate. I expect to see you again.”

Morgan folds the certificate and puts it in his pockets. “Yeah, I bet you do,” he says before walking away. The businessmen continue watching him from afar.

.

.

Hours later, in the Silver Moon tavern/inn, a young woman with her hair tied up named Agnes Brewster is serving drinks to the swarms of customers in the tavern. The sun had already gone down, and the crowd inside the tavern was slowly declining from its numerical peak.

Agnes’ workload only starts to lighten as the progressively drunk patrons start slowing down. It is nearing midnight, and the only light sources are oil lamps scattered around the tavern.

Although the tavern is swarmed by chatter, Agnes’ attention is taken by two particularly eccentric customers.

“I’m telling ya! War is nigh! Do you verily think the New World will not bring war?” one of them says.

“Oh, what have the Visantis to gain from the New World? Dirt and rocks, for all we know! It changes nothing! Besides, what has Scorcia to do with it? The kingdom is safe,” the other says.

“It matters not what they find. What have the Great Powers to say? They will not be silent, no. Not the High Elves. These lands will scorch once more. I’m sure of it!”

“Come the Triennial Summit in two years. It will be there should anything happen at all.”

“Blah! You know nothing!”

Recently, Agnes has been hearing about what everyone calls the ‘New World’. Last year in 665, explorers from the Empire of Visantium, commonly called the Imperium, ventured west into the vast Mehadic Ocean, hoping to circle Tammus and capitalize on new potential trade routes. It was the first dedicated expedition by any major country to circle the globe. It later shocked everyone when the Imperial Government revealed that they had discovered new lands with sprawling civilizations. Then, as people were still wrapping their minds around the shocking revelation, the Emperor unexpectedly announced his intent to conquer it and threatened everyone in the ‘Old World’ with war if they attempted to even travel to the New World.

This is the basis for the current political climate. The Imperium isn’t known to shy away from risk, even if it’s reckless. If they promise war, there will be war. And with Casturbon at the center of the all-important Otho Iter maritime trade routes, the Kingdom of Scorcia itself could become a battlefield once more.

Agnes continues to listen to the two men bicker about international news. It’s all patrons have been talking about. It’s worrying to hear that war is one wrong step away, but she remains hopeful that war can be avoided, if only for a while longer. The Kingdom of Scorcia is still recovering from its own conflict: the Scorcian Civil War, ending only five years ago in 661.

While the tavern remains lively, the front door opens to the Indigo team, with Matt in front. Agnes doesn’t recognize any of them and assumes they are new arrivals to Casturbon. Possibly, merchants.

The four of them sit around an empty table and start to talk amongst themselves. They have returned from a long, exhausting day spent at Sev’s workshop creating the roller bearings.

A moment later, Agnes walks towards the table to take the group’s order. But before she can ask anything, one of the other customers stumbles to their table and interrupts.

“Hey!” he says, visibly drunk from all the alcohol he’s been drinking. “You lot talk funny, you be Mircetons, yes?”

“Are we what?” Raymond asks.

“How ‘bout you tell us something, hmm?” the drunkard says. “Have you anything to say about those Visantis, hmm? How long behind the Summit will your empire cower for? One of the ‘Great Powers’, are you not?”

Two of the man’s companions, embarrassed about his behavior, walk over to him and push him back toward their table.

“We apologize about our friend here,” one of them says. “He has not a strong tolerance.”

“Sure, but what was that about?” Raymond asks.

“Oh, he thought you a Mircetan, with your accent and all.”

Raymond glances at his teammates with a questioning gaze, but none of them know what the man is talking about.

Agnes makes her presence known to the group and says, “Apologies. Not usually does he do that.”

“Hello, are you the barkeep?” Jack asks her.

“That I am. My name is Agnes.”

“Where’s Arthur?”

“Oh, that would be my father,” she happily says. “You must have met him earlier.”

“Oh yeah, seems like a great guy,” Raymond says. “Very friendly.”

“I’m so glad you like him! He’s friendly with just about everyone.”

“Is he on break? Or is there any other reason he isn’t here?” Matt asks.

“He has gone home. I take over the tavern during late hours.”

“Well, it’s always great to meet someone so beautiful,” Raymond says. “By the way, I’m Raymond. My friends here are Matt and Jack, and right there is Kelly.” He points to everyone in the group.

“A pleasure to meet you all! Would any of you like anything tonight?”

“An ale for all of us,” Matt says.

Raymond raises his hand like a school kid and says, “Do you have a pie or something similar?”

“We have an apple tart available, but it’s gone cold.”

“I’ll take it. I’m hungry.”

 “I will be back soon,” Agnes replies before leaving.

Jack looks around at other people in the tavern before turning to the group. “So what do we make of it?”

“Of what?” Matt asks.

“Everything, man. Those guys over there called us Mircetans. You guys know anything about that?”

“We know a little about the Great Powers. We heard about it along the boat ride getting here. Visantium, that empire the agency is worried about, is one of them,” Morgan says.

“Based on how that guy acted, it doesn’t look like they’re seen in a good light. At least here,” Matt adds.

“Then that’s good for us, right?” Raymond says. “Easier to cause them problems when people already don’t like them.”

“Maybe,” Morgan says. “You think the barkeep will know anything?”

“Why don’t you find out,” Jack says as he points to Agnes.

Agnes arrives at their table with other employees, who set down four wooden cups of ale and an apple tart.

“Here you are,” she says.

“Ah, it looks delicious,” Raymond says.

“So Agnes,” Morgan interjects, “about that guy earlier.”

“Yes, I’m terribly sorry about that. People here get rowdy sometimes.”

“He called us Mircetans. Can you tell us what that means and why he seemed to have a problem with it?”

Surprised that he would even ask, Agnes explains to the group what was meant. It’s supposed to be common knowledge that the Empire of Visantium is locked in a bitter rivalry with two other empires. That of the High Elves, Yhtenaissy, and that of the Mircetans, the Mircetan Empire. These three powerful countries are among the few widely recognized as ‘Great Powers’, a distinction given only to those invited to the ‘Triennial Summit’, an international conference between Tammus’ most powerful nations. At least in the Old World.

After the Imperium promised to wage war on whoever challenged their claim to the New World, discussion arose on whether or not the Mircetan Empire would act. Mirceta, as it’s often shortened, has so far done nothing, which has brought about criticism of weakness.

“So why did they think we were Mircetans?”

“Because of how you speak, most likely,” Agnes says. Even so, she can tell they are not Mircetan.

“You speak similar to them, but you carry accents different from any Mircetan I have met,” she says. “May I ask where you come from?”

The Indigo members glance at each other, hoping someone has an answer. Since they had no prior knowledge of this world, the DED never gave them a cover story, so they’ll have to make one up as they go.

“We’re from Madariaga,” Matt says, referring to one of the five former kingdoms in the Hirreinican Federation.

“M-Madariaga? I know not of it. Where is it?” Agnes asks.

“It’s a tiny kingdom in the far west of here.”

“If you don’t mind, since you know we’re new here, can we ask you a few more questions?” Morgan asks. He has determined that Agnes shouldn’t pose much risk to them as a friendly barkeep.

“Of course, I do not mind.”

Agnes sits at their table, and the five start conversing.

.

.

During the star-plagued night, a mystery is about to be unearthed somewhere on the Annherteyn continent. In the barren land of endless emptiness known as the Shovai Desert, an expansive network of rooms, halls, and passageways lie beneath the rocky landscape of the surface. Its only entrance is a decayed temple-like structure built into the side of a mesa.

They are called Labyrinths, and they are scattered all over the world, with many yet to be discovered. They are the monster-infested remains of an ancient race of magical beings called the Draconic. But, most people know them simply as Demons, atrocious creatures of evil.

Within this particular Labyrinth are humans wearing decorated yellow robes. They are scholars belonging to the Amateonic Church, the largest and oldest religious institution on Tammus.

The scholars calmly shuffle through the underground network’s deepest and most spacious chamber. It’s the Labyrinth’s core. Massive sandstone columns line the walls, stretching to the ceiling several stories above, where magical orbs of light illuminate the area below. They face no danger. The Labyrinth has long been cleared of hostile creatures and now serves as a research site.

Research papers and strange artifacts are strewn all over the site as they try to make sense of what stands in the middle of the spacious chamber. A large circular stone and metal structure sits on a slightly elevated pedestal. A chunk of the ring-shaped structure is missing, and its surface is severely decayed and otherwise destroyed.

They are widely called Demon Gates, portals to worlds beyond, and many Labyrinths harbor such decaying structures in their deepest chambers. Scholars and researchers have long abandoned the possibility of activating the Demon Gates. Not only because the specialized magic needed no longer exists to repair or replicate them but because of fears of a potential Demon invasion, as ancient legends warn about.

At a large sandstone table, the head researcher overviews the progress they have accomplished so far. After a lifetime of studying Labyrinths and staring at the same scriptures and artifacts, they are close to uncovering a significant revelation. A groundbreaking discovery that could shatter everything people knew of the past and present. The answer to a question that has never been thoroughly answered—who exactly were the Draconic? And what happened to them?

The researchers at the table talk in a distinct foreign tongue, complicated but smooth. As they converse, the chamber becomes crowded with concerned voices. The lead researcher’s attention moves to the subject of worry. An anomaly is happening around the Demon Gate.

Dust twists and twirls, and the magical orbs of light overhead sporadically dim and brighten. The light and space around the Demon Gate begin distorting. Everyone stops what they’re doing as they freeze with one frightening question in their mind. Is the Demon Gate opening?

“That’s not possible…” the lead researcher whispers in his native language. His eyes are wide, and his lips are shivering.

Suddenly, a violent burst of light and electricity briefly blinds everyone. Nothing like this has ever happened before. When their vision returns, they see that a black void with a fiery outline has appeared. Moreover, the lead researcher notices that the void is not within the bounds of the Demon Gate. It’s independent of the structure, but if the Demon Gate isn’t causing this, then what is?

A three-meter-tall humanoid suddenly materializes from the void and menacingly steps into the open. Its features are sharp. Its skin is gray and naturally armored. It wears some sort of fabric around its waist, like a skirt. But most noticeable of all is its face. It’s smooth and resembles a human face, yet oddly skeletal and alien, with horns bending to the back of its head. Its eyes are wrapped in fabric, but it can still see. Three eyes are arranged in a triangle; they glow blue underneath.

Sheer shock paralyzes everyone in the chamber. Some are paralyzed with fear, and others with the realization of something far greater. A centuries-old prophecy inscribed in literal stone has come true.

“Demon!”

As soon as the word echoes throughout the chamber, everyone scrambles with panic. The quest for survival consumes everyone.

The creature’s hands come together to grasp a large black sword that materializes out of thin air. With the tip pointed downwards, the Demon thrusts the sword into the ground. An explosive shockwave of magic tears through the chamber, and everything is ripped from the ground, destroyed, and violently thrown.

The lead researcher nearly loses consciousness from the shockwave. He’s bleeding, and he panics. Roars echo from the black void behind the Demon, and other monsters emerge to swarm the chamber. Minotaurs. They ragefully swing their oversized axes, destroying everything they hit and massacring the scholars.

With all his strength, the lead researcher lifts himself out of the debris and sprints towards the exit. He must escape the Labyrinth and survive. He has to warn everyone—the Demons have returned.