CALAMITY : Legends Of The Chosen

Interlude: "The Watcher in the Dust"

"I died long before the world was born."

That was the first thought that echoed when the desert winds passed over the shattered peak of the pyramid — the only place the sun never dared to kiss.

Deep beneath the sand, in a tomb untouched by time, she waited.

Centuries ago…

Saria was once nothing. No power. No bloodline. No prophecy.

Just a tomb digger. A girl with cracked fingernails, sunburned skin, and dreams of treasure.

She crawled through holes no sane man would enter, broke into ruins sealed by time itself.

And then she found it —

The Totem.

Older than time.

No dust. No scratches. No origin.

Just a presence. Watching.

When she touched it… her flesh dissolved, her soul was rewritten, and her body was cursed.

She became a mummy, sealed in that pyramid forever.

A relic.

An artifact.

But eternity does not pass in silence.

From her sarcophagus, in the hollow walls and gold-veined ceilings, she watched.

When the first Chosen rose to face the gods, she saw them.

When the wars broke out, when Purgatory first cracked open,

When the Primordials wept fire and flooded the sky with blood—

She watched.

Generation after generation.

She watched the Noble Six, brave and bright.

She watched the Fallen Twelve, who nearly broke the seal too early.

She watched the Reforged Nine, half-demon, half-god.

She watched the Broken Eight, torn apart by betrayal.

And finally…

She watched the Damned Ten.

Ten souls, burning too brightly for fate to ignore. One cycle too many. One seal too loose. One mistake too deep.

From behind walls of gold and sand, Saria mourned them all.

Every Chosen who passed through this world thought they were alone in their pain.

They never knew someone watched every moment.

Their victories. Their laughter.

Their final screams.

She was never strong enough to speak to them. Never free enough to intervene.

Until now.

Then came Max.

The first Chosen to reach her soul.

To make her feel alive again.

To fight her. To impress her.

To accept her curse not as a burden — but as a promise.

Saria's Thoughts, Alone in the Dark (as the scene closes):

"I loved them all. But I could never reach them.

I died watching the first Chosen fall.

I lived long enough to witness the last ones rise.

And now… I have touched one.

For the first time in all eternity… I am not alone."

And for the first time…

The dust inside the pyramid did not feel so cold.

"I lied to them."

The wind howled across the empty sands, brushing against the pyramid walls like ghost fingers. Inside the throne chamber, Saria stood still—gilded, radiant, alone.

The others were gone now.

Gone like all the others.

Max had kissed her goodbye with laughter still on his lips. He had no idea. None of them did.

She sat on the stone dais where the seal once glowed, letting her limbs slowly unravel—bandages loosening like threads of truth. Her golden armor faded. Her eyes dulled. The queen became a corpse again.

And she whispered to herself.

"Every time… I tell them they'll make it. That they're different. That I'm just a backup plan. A helper. A forgotten guardian."

She chuckled bitterly. Not from joy. From exhaustion.

"But I've buried them all. Nine generations. Eighty-seven Chosen in total. Each one blessed. Each one broken."

A wall of sand shifted behind her.

In the darkened chamber, statues lined the stone pillars—dozens of golden figures, half-eroded by time. Men, women, teens. Some held weapons. Others knelt. A few looked as if they were mid-scream.

These weren't trophies.

They were tombstones.

"The first ones were arrogant. The second were cautious. The third, brilliant. The fourth… loving. But ARAE doesn't care."

She looked up at the roof of the pyramid, where ancient carvings flickered dimly. One glyph showed a blazing tree. Another, a monstrous maw. Yggdrasil and ARAE—creation and end.

Saria hugged her knees and rested her chin there.

"They all thought love would save them. That unity would protect them. That their Primordials would watch over them forever. But no one came back. No one."

She looked to a cracked pedestal where a rusted sword once stood. The name etched on the base was nearly unreadable.

Liora.

Saria brushed the dust from it.

"Even I can't remember their faces anymore. I remember how they fought. How they screamed. How they hoped."

A golden tear slid down her cheek. It didn't sparkle. It dulled as it fell, hitting the stone with a hollow plink.

"I told Max he was the strongest. That he was different. That none of the Chosen has ever died."

"Because if I told the truth… they would never have tried."

She stood once more, draping her wraps across her chest with quiet dignity. The wind picked up again, and the chamber darkened.

One final whisper:

"The Damned Ten are not the last chance…

They are the final prayer of a world that forgot how to beg."

The scene fades.

And with it—her hope.