Seeker of Truths

Step by step, Claude meandered through the messy streets, approaching ever nearer to the massive building he had spotted earlier. His boots crunched through broken stone and dirt as his thoughts wandered, distracted by the building's peculiar nature.

Everything else around it had succumbed to chaos—buildings collapsed or crumbled to rubble, with the Bloodborne rampaging earlier. But this structure stood tall and pristine, untouched by the madness outside.

A single thought echoed through his mind.

'Why… Why is this building unaffected…?'

His brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of it. No other place had been spared. It was as if an invisible force shielded this temple from the destruction wrought by the Bloodborne.

'Unless they were involuntarily avoiding it?'

Claude considered this possibility.

If so, why? What made this place so special that even the Bloodborne wouldn't dare to approach it?

His gaze climbed the imposing façade as he drew closer. The building loomed overhead, its sheer size only adding to his sense of unease.

Was this connected to that supposed God of theirs?

The temple's exterior was unlike anything Claude had ever seen. Its stone seemed foreign, shimmering with a soft golden hue that caught even the dim light of the twilight above. It wasn’t marble or granite, but something else entirely—something unknown.

At the heart of the building, a massive spire rose skyward, an architectural marvel that pierced the heavens. At its peak, a gilded sun symbol shone brightly, seemingly defying the darkness that enveloped the world around it. The contrast was jarring—the temple appeared as a lone beacon of light in an otherwise shadowed land.

As Claude approached the grand entrance, his curiosity deepened. The temple doors stood tall and heavy, etched with cryptic symbols that seemed to twist and pulse under his gaze. He pushed them open cautiously, the creaking of the ancient hinges filling the air with a low groan.

Upon entering, Claude was greeted by an unexpected brightness. He blinked, momentarily disoriented. Outside, the world languished under an eternal twilight, but here, inside this sacred place, the air felt almost vibrant, lively even. The stone walls seemed to capture and magnify the light from the torches lining the chamber, which burned with a steady, unnaturally bright flame.

'How are these torches still lit? I can't imagine the Bloodborne maintaining these…'

Claude paced further in, studying his surroundings carefully. Unlike the ruined churches and cathedrals he had passed in his travels, this temple had no intricate stained glass windows and no colourful depictions of saints or gods.

Instead, large, regular openings punctuated the stone walls, allowing what little natural light there was to seep inside. It was as though the temple had been built to accommodate a different kind of light—a light that no longer existed.

"I wonder how this would have looked with actual sunlight…?" Claude mused aloud, his voice reverberating softly against the stone walls.

As he continued deeper into the temple, a metallic sound interrupted his thoughts.

Clang!

Clang!

Claude’s eyes darted downward. The noise reverberated from below his feet, a harsh contrast to the serene quiet of the temple above.

'It's coming from below…?' he wondered, squinting as he tried to pinpoint the source. His gaze swept the chamber until it landed on a narrow corridor tucked away in the far corner, concealed by the little shadow present inside the temple.

His footsteps echoed against the stone as he moved toward the hallway. He could feel the air grow heavier and colder, the closer he got. Eventually, he discovered a staircase—an ancient, spiralling descent that led into the bowels of the temple.

Descending the staircase, each step took him further away from the warm light of the torches above, the darkness below becoming thicker with every turn of the spiral. Yet, even here, the odd torches continued to line the walls, their flickering light guiding him downward.

Clang!

The sound grew louder, more urgent. Claude hastened his pace, gripping the cold stone wall to steady himself. Finally, at the bottom of the stairwell, he found the entrance to a room bathed in a harsh, almost blinding light.

He shielded his eyes for a moment, letting them adjust before stepping forward.

As his vision cleared, Claude’s breath caught in his throat. He stood amid a cavernous chamber, its vastness overwhelming.

The room was bare, save for a single focal point—a massive altar crafted from what appeared to be solid gold and images etched into the wall behind it. But it wasn’t the altar that froze Claude in place—it was the people chained around it.

Dozens of them, men, women, and children alike, were shackled to the floor by thick, rusted chains. Some lay motionless, unconscious, while others weakly stirred. A few conscious ones looked at him with hollow, pleading eyes, their faces gaunt from hunger and fear. Among them, a young boy no older than six blinked rapidly, his small body trembling as he tried to catch Claude's attention.

'What… What is this?' Claude's mind reeled.

Was this some dark ritual? A sacrificial offering?

Raymond had once spoken of practices like this—where entire communities were offered up to appease vile gods.

Yet, in his world these practises should be vestiges of a time long gone, but here... In this world and perhaps others, this may be much more commonplace,

The young boy’s eyes met Claude’s, full of desperation and a silent cry for help. He wriggled against his chains, though he was too weak to speak. The sight stirred something deep within Claude.

Claude stepped forward and raised his hand. Water swirled at his fingertips, forming several small discs that danced in the air. With a flick of his wrist, the discs darted forward, rotating rapidly as they sliced through the chains that bound the captives. Metal clanged to the floor as one by one, the shackles were severed.

As they were freed, some of the conscious captives burst into tears, embracing one another in relief and disbelief. The young boy stumbled toward Claude, his lips quivering.

“Th- Tha- Thanks for saving us, mister,” the boy stammered, his voice thin and shaky.

Claude knelt and ruffled the boy’s hair gently. “No need for that, kid. You're safe now.”

The others, now realizing the chains had fallen away, rushed to Claude’s side, offering their gratitude through tears and trembling hands. They looked at him not with fear, but with awe, as if he were a figure from legend.

“Ehrenlied,” one of the older survivors murmured, his voice laced with reverence.

Claude frowned slightly, unfamiliar with the term.

Despite the inhabitants of this world using the same language as he did, they still retained some unique words in their dialect due to the older remnant tongues that were once spoken.

Ehrenlied from what Claude could understand from his time with Karl and the others should mean…

Honoured One.

The survivors continued to murmur among themselves, but Claude’s focus shifted. He couldn’t ignore the gnawing questions.

“Why were you all left here?” Claude asked, his voice quiet but firm. “Chained up like that…?”

An elderly man, his frail body leaning heavily on a fellow survivor, stepped forward. His skin was wrinkled, his frame gaunt from years of hardship. His eyes, however, held a glimmer of wisdom and clarity despite the torment.

“I think I may have the answer,” the man whispered, his voice cracking in the process. “Sacrifices. We should have been brought here as sacrifices..."