"Hey, buddy. Aren't you being a bit too much right now?" Winlow said, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. Rengall was being unusual.
"Why don't you just give him a bone, eh mate?" one of the idiots from the archaeology team said.
"He doesn't eat bones!!" Winlow snapped. This was the last time he was going to hear about the bones. A hundred times he had explained, and a hundred and one times they repeated giving bones. Rengall was scared of bones. When he was a little puppy, he had seen a skeleton—it frightened him forever.
"All right, chill out, mate," another team member said.
Their team had been working for hours, digging into the famous Lostworld Cave. Legend had it that the cave held a treasure so ancient that it was beyond comprehension. But no one had ever seen it before. Winlow was about to give up when Rengall suddenly started digging into the ground. He had found something. Winlow was sure that Rengall wouldn't do this unless something was truly there. They all started digging until one of them struck metal. They had done it. Finally, after twelve years of hard work, they had found the Lastworld Chest. Winlow opened it. The contents surprised them all. Inside was a single cookie and a note that read: "Enjoy."
Then, there was light. And then, everything turned dark. And then light again. Somehow, all of them had been teleported elsewhere. But what was this place? Where were they?
"What just happened?" one of the members muttered. "Wh—argh!!!"
His voice was cut off, a sword piercing through his chest, blood dripping like water. The enemy was unseen. The team scattered like frightened sheep, except Winlow and Rengall, who stood frozen, staring at the body. Figures starting sprinting around them, taking the team and dragging them away in the darkness. Only screams could be heard. Winlow had only one instinct—to survive. He pulled the sword out from the man's chest and prepared to kill whatever came his way. He had to survive—for Rengall's sake.
Three years had passed. Winlow had grown wise. He had become smarter, more cunning, and ruthless. He and Rengall had faced unimaginable perils, surviving, hunting, and becoming famous throughout this place, which the natives called the Void of Dark.
They had traversed through lands with gravity so intense that even crawling seemed impossible. Valleys where dragons swarmed like ants. Depths filled with such creatures which were not humanly describable. Deserts filled with ruthless riders and silent killers lurked in the dunes. Yet, Winlow had beaten them all. He was no longer just Winlow. He had become the Glorious Knight, clad in armor of purple and black. Everything was smooth except for one problem—the nightmares. Winlow would often wake up as a child in his room, happy and carefree of any worries, he would go to his mother who would be preparing breakfast for him and rengall when he was just a little pup, he remembered laughing that childish laugh, living that childish life, only to realize it was all just an illusion, a curse put upon him from the one who put him there and others like him.
He had conquered every place except one: The Abyss, the epitome of darkness, the home of the night. His only companion, Rengall, had grown into a fierce beast, now towering over Winlow himself. He was known as the Great Wolf. Together, they had decided to face the Lord of Darkness—the Void King, he was the one whose curse had trapped him and only god knew how many others in the Void of Dark. Winlow had hoped this would set him free and that it would take him home, away from the nightmares, away from these enemies who had constantly chased him, nor looking at time nor place.
They stood before the Hole of Dark, the entrance to the Abyss, it was a hole so dark and deep that one could only imagine its depth. They both looked at each other, rengall nodded, and they jumped in. Just as they reached the edge, Winlow knew it was over, he had accepted defeat. They saw ghosts—the spirits of their old team, cursing them for leaving them behind. But Winlow knew the truth. He had killed them all with his own hands, they had turned into the enemy and they had attacked both of them, Winlow had to survive. They stood in the Abyss, waiting for the King to show himself. Then, suddenly—it happened. The darkness hit them. The Abyss itself. It crashed into them like a tidal wave. WInlow knew that the darkness would never stop until they were both consumed by it and turned into one of the Void KIng's soldiers. Winlow knew what would happen if he turned into that soldier, the destruction and chaos it would cause.
Without hesitation, Winlow used his last resort. He transported Rengall to the surface using a relic he had saved for emergencies, for saving himself. Rengall resisted, trying to fight the magic that pulled him away. He knew what this meant, he knew what would happen to Winlow. Once Winlow used this, he would be defenceless, nothing would be able to help him. The darkness would consume him.
"Dearest Rengall, you were my only companion, like a shadow by my side. But now, I must cast you aside, for where there casts no sun, there lies no shadow. You may hate me for this, but you must survive, and don't you dare let anyone enter this place."
Then he did something yet unexpected, he closed the gates to the Abyss, only a person using the Ring of the Dark would be able to enter, and the ring was personally hidden by Winlow, and no one could ever possibly hope to find this.
Winlow took a final stand, waiting for The Abyss to take over him and turn him into a mindless creature capable of only killing. But wasn't he already that?
He had killed hundreds—no, thousands—all in the name of survival. All for Rengall. Funny, isn't it? How a man can become so cold and emotionless, all to protect the ones he loves. And as Winlow waited down there, he realized something. It is not always the light that conquers the dark. Sometimes, the dark wins too. For why would light exist—if not for darkness?
Rengall stood before the entrance, trying to jump back in. But the path was blocked. Rengall cried. He wailed for his master—no, his father—who had sacrificed himself. And from then, for every single night, Rengall howled at the sky—a warning to all.
No one must enter. No one will enter. Ever again.
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