Deep in the Smoky Mountains, a lone rider biked his way up a winding trail. His lungs burned as his legs pumped up and down, up and down. The cool mountain air played across his skin, and his breath came in ragged gasps.

  Ember Marks forced his legs to move, letting the burn of the ride clear all his thoughts. Or at least he had hoped. He wasn’t that lucky.

  I can’t believe I’m failing. Three years of work for nothing. Was biology even worth it in the first place? He grunted and let the anger fuel him as he hopped over a stream. Now what? I exist in the primordial purgatory that is job searching? Fuck.

  On this particular morning, he rode his usual route—one he had taken hundreds, if not thousands, of times. Every now and then, his phone buzzed. Ember silenced it. No doubt his parents still trying to understand why he was struggling.

  What was the point? They wouldn’t understand. They lived a life without worries, passing college and living the typical middle-class life. But Ember wanted more. Being a stat on the page was a death sentence for him. And now he had just solidified his very own plot point at the bottom of said page.

  Just the thought made him bike harder, but something felt off. The shadows seemed to fall at odd angles, and the familiar bird calls carried a strange echo he couldn't quite place.

  At the peak, Ember stopped at his usual perch: a large, flat rock overlooking a small valley shadowed by the ring of mountains around it. The sight was gorgeous, one he had stared at countless times. He wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to live in the mountains full-time, away from the suffocating normalcy of everything else. He shook his head, grunted, and climbed back onto his bike. His moisture-wicking bodysuit kept the sweat at bay. After several gulps from his hydration pack, he set off again.

  But something was definitely wrong. At the usual turn down the mountain, he spotted a path branching off to the right. It looked well-worn, well-traveled—a trail that absolutely had not been there yesterday, or any day before.

  Ember braked hard, his tires sliding on loose gravel.

  "This doesn't make sense," he murmured, staring at the impossible path. "I know every inch of this mountain."

  I would know if there was a new path. Besides, it’s not the right season for an expansion.

  The familiar sounds of wind through pine needles filled the air around him, but even they seemed muted somehow. He sat astride his bike, heart rate climbing for reasons that had nothing to do with the ride. I should go back. This is how people disappear.

  But curiosity had always been his weakness. Well, I don't have anywhere else to be.

  With that fateful decision, he pedaled onto the mysterious trail. His heart pounded as unease tugged at him. The trees shifted from the familiar oaks and maples to towering pines—another impossibility he couldn't explain.

  There are no pine forests on this part of the mountain. I would have noticed.

  The path widened into a massive courtyard of white stone, easily the size of a basketball court. At its center stood an ornate fountain—dry and silent—with a sword embedded in a pedestal at its heart. Behind it rose a cathedral of the same pristine white stone, three or four stories at its tallest spire. Stained-glass windows caught the filtered sunlight, though from his angle, Ember couldn't make out the images within.

  The scene had a certain hollow reverence to it. The way the sunlight hit the structure gave it an almost ethereal look. The wind and trees seemed muted, but not entirely silent.

  "What the hell is this place?" he whispered.

  He parked his bike behind the fountain, noticing another mountain bike already there—newer than his, expensive-looking. Carbon fiber frame, custom-made wheels. Someone else had found this place. That thought should have steadied his nerves, but somehow it made everything worse. He couldn’t place why.

  Every instinct screamed at him to leave, but Ember stepped up to the cathedral's massive doors and pushed them open. They moved silently on well-oiled hinges. Strange. You’d think these would be open if someone else went inside.

  The interior was stark: polished marble floors, no pews or furniture, just a long aisle leading to an altar. At the far end stood a man with his back to Ember, dressed in a form-fitting suit similar to Ember's biking gear.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

  "Hello?" Ember called, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Do you know what this place is? How did you find it?"

  As soon as he stepped past the threshold, the doors slammed shut behind him with a sound like thunder. He spun and yanked at the handles.

  "Hey! What's going on?"

  The sound of fabric hitting stone made him whirl around. The man was gone. Only his clothes remained in a crumpled heap on the marble floor, as if their owner had simply vanished from within them.

  Ember's blood turned to ice. "No, no, no..."

  There, lying beside the empty clothes, was a double-edged sword with a blade so black it seemed to drink in the cathedral's dim light. Gold inlays swirled down its center in patterns that hurt to look at directly. A wallet had spilled from the abandoned clothing—credit cards and a driver's license scattered across the stone. Michael Chen, 23, Charlotte, NC. Someone's son. Someone who would never go home.

  Ember pounded at the doors until his fists bled, then hurled his helmet at the stained glass. Nothing gave. It was as though the entire structure had been carved from a single, unbreakable stone. He did this for at least two hours, keeping track using his phone.

  Sweat poured down his face as he turned back toward the weapon lying in the silence.

  "That guy touched the sword and disappeared," he said aloud, needing to hear his own voice. "But if I don't..." He looked around the sealed cathedral. There were no other exits, no windows low enough to reach. No food, no water.

  He approached the sword slowly, as if it were a sleeping predator. When he reached down to touch the hilt, warmth pulsed through the metal—not the cold of steel, but something alive.

  How long will I have to wait here? Days? Weeks? I’ll be dead by then. He looks at the sword, and then at Chen’s clothes. Well, no time like the present. Here’s hoping I have one after this.

  He looked at the empty hall once more. “I’d rather choose how I die than slowly starve or dehydrate to death,” He muttered to no one.

  With trembling hands, he gripped the hilt and pulled. The blade slid free with a sound like singing crystal.

  Nothing happened at first. Ember let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, relief flooding through him for just a moment. Then he blinked—or tried to. His eyelids felt heavy, like waking from a dream. When his eyes opened again, the light that used to brighten the room was gone. In its place was a darkness only fought back by blue-flamed candles. The room was cold, cold enough for Ember to see his own breath, and caused him to flinch at the stinging sensation on his face.

  As he stared wide-eyed around him, two things caught his eye. First, before him stood a humanoid, rock-like statue. It was smooth and angular and looked to be made of black glass. Second, dozens of statues littered the area. No, people. Frozen people. Many of the clothes from his era were worn; most dressed in hiker gear, but some were dressed like peasants from the medieval ages. A few were even covered in full plate armor. But all of them dead, frost covering their pale forms, many curled in fetal positions or scratching at the walls. One body near the center caught his eye—a woman in a bright red hiking jacket, the only splash of color in the monochrome nightmare. Her hand was outstretched toward the pedestal, fingers clawed as if she'd been crawling. Her face was mercifully turned away.

  Ember stumbled back, frost gathering in the corner of his mouth as his breath quickened. He wanted to scream, but was afraid the rock monster would awaken, so he clamped a hand over his mouth as bile rose. He forced the acidic liquid down. He glanced around frantically. I’m in a dream. A nightmare. Or maybe this is just an event.

  The walls weren’t made of white stone like before. They were black and featureless. The floor was solid black marble, just as featureless. What snapped him out of his panic wasn’t some divine calling or realization. It was the freezing of piss on his leg.

  He leaned against the back wall as his mind calmed down, the sword still in his hand. It was perfectly balanced, as if he had used it for years. Reluctantly, he slid the sword back into the pedestal, hoping it would take him back. The sound of the black metal sliding into the slot made him flinch, and he snapped his head to the rock statue. It didn’t move, and more importantly, he didn’t go home.

  Panic threatened to overwhelm him, temporarily blinding him, but he gripped the sword hard and slid it back out. The weight calmed his trembling hands. Slowly, he crept down the raised dais, every step sounding like a nuke in the eerie quiet only a place below freezing could give.

  I’m cold. I need to get warm. This single thought was what drove him forward, his bodysuit doing nothing to keep the cold out. In fact, it seemed to make things worse; the sweat he had accumulated before now froze slowly. He tiptoed around the countless corpses until he was face-to-face with the statue. The back was unblemished, but the front was anything but.

  A slash mark exposed the inside, going from the shoulder to the hip. It was hollow. This was a shell. Ember shivered. He could tell this thing was unnatural. It hummed at a low frequency that he didn’t hear until he was right in front of it. He didn’t even want to think about what came out of it. On the front of the neck, a large chunk was missing. Mustering courage he didn’t have, Ember pulled his phone out and turned on the flashlight, peering into the hole. There truly was nothing, just more black-looking glass on the inside.

  Ember quickly turned the light off and stepped away. I don’t want anything to do with this. It feels...wrong. And so he backpedaled. He didn’t take his eyes off the shell until he was halfway across the hall, and even then, it felt uncomfortable to turn his back.

  Ember stumbled over a frozen leg, and as he turned, a small yelp came from his mouth. It sounded like a scream within the silence. A scream that was answered with the clanking of armor. Fear bolted through him as two armored skeletons marched through the massive open door to the room, one he hadn’t noticed until now.

  He trembled as red pinpoint eyes stared him down.