Romero: Echoes Of The Void

Chapter 9: Whispers of Awakening

John strode through the bustling streets, his sharp black attire blending into the evening shadows. Starla's pass card rested in his pocket, its weight a silent reminder of her influence in this unfamiliar world. He was still getting used to Romero—the towering structures, the glowing street lamps humming with energy, and the strange dialects of the locals murmuring in the background.

His destination loomed ahead: the inn Starla had directed him to. It was an architectural masterpiece, sleek yet imposing, with golden lanterns lining its walls, casting a warm glow across the cobbled pathway. But something felt… off. For a place this luxurious, why did it only have ten rooms?

Shrugging off the thought, John pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped inside. The air smelled of aged wood and expensive incense. A well-dressed innkeeper stood behind the front desk, his hawk-like eyes scrutinizing every guest who entered.

John approached with his usual cool demeanor and slid the pass card across the counter. "Starla sent me."

The innkeeper's eyes flickered with recognition the moment he saw the name. Without a word, he retrieved a small metallic card from beneath the desk and handed it over.

"Room nineteen," the man announced, his voice laced with an edge of nervousness.

John took the card without a glance. Whatever reaction the innkeeper had to Starla's name didn't concern him. Instead, he took his time, walking at an unhurried pace, his eyes absorbing every detail around him.

The inn's hallways stretched endlessly, lined with ornate golden sconces and crimson rugs that softened his footsteps. Despite its deceptive exterior, the place was far larger than he initially thought. As he moved toward his room, fragmented conversations reached his ears.

"…Awakening Ceremony… five days from now…"

"…A chance to enter the Crucible…"

"…Fifteen-year-olds only…"

John's footsteps slowed. The Awakening Ceremony.

He had dismissed it before, not seeing the point in learning about something that didn't apply to him. But now, hearing it mentioned over and over, curiosity gnawed at him. He had never been one to ignore something that held the world's attention. Maybe he needed to rethink his decision.

Eventually, he stopped in front of a black-engraved plaque. Room 19.

"So much for a ten-room inn," he muttered, shaking his head as he swiped his key card against the sensor. The door clicked open, revealing a sight that made him pause.

The room was beyond extravagant. Velvet curtains draped from the ceiling, and the bed was large enough to swallow him whole. A polished wooden desk sat beside a massive bookshelf, filled with thick tomes. The glow of enchanted crystals embedded in the walls provided a soft, ambient light, unlike anything he had seen before.

"Not bad," he murmured, stepping inside.

He took off his coat and tossed it onto the bed before settling into the plush chair at the desk. His fingers trailed along the surface, feeling the cool, polished wood. His gaze fell upon the thick book he had brought with him—The History of Romero.

Might as well learn more about this world.

John flipped it open, his dark eyes scanning the pages. The first few chapters recounted the great war that had shaped Romero, a conflict between the Riftblades and the mysterious entities known as Void Wanderers. As he read further, he reached a section outlining the laws of the land.

1. Only potential Riftblades were allowed out of the cities for missions and errands.

2. A strict curfew was enforced to prevent unnecessary night activities.

3. The Awakening Ceremony was exclusive to fifteen-year-old youths.

John's fingers drummed against the desk. The third rule stood out the most. If only fifteen-year-olds could participate, then what happened to those who failed? Were they left behind, or did they get another chance?

He turned the page.

One word.

Chaos God.

John froze. A strange sensation crawled up his spine. The ink on the page was bold, slightly smudged, as if hastily written—or ancient, left to decay over time.

But that wasn't what disturbed him.

It was the name itself.

Chaos God.

Why did it feel… familiar?

A sharp pulse throbbed in his head, brief but intense. His breath hitched, and for a fleeting second, the world around him darkened. He saw nothing, heard nothing—just a vast emptiness stretching infinitely in all directions. Then, just as quickly, it vanished.

John snapped the book shut.

His hands had tightened around the cover, his knuckles white. He exhaled slowly, steadying himself.

This world had secrets buried beneath its surface, and John had a feeling he was just scratching at the edges.