The Hunter's Ill-Fated Trail
Orion was no common hunter.
E.g. ：The DNA Test That Shattered My Wedding and My Heart
- 1、The Hunter's Ill-Fated Trail
- 2、The Centaur's Somber Vigil
- 3、A Glimpse Behind the Veil
- 4、The Opening of the Ancient Seal
- 5、Medusa's Whispered Accusation
- 6、The Weight of a Terrible Truth
- 7、The Unspoken Pact
- 8、The Guardian's Eternal Burden
His family lineage, though fallen from its former glory, spoke of scholars and explorers, not just game-trackers.
He pursued ancient myths, whispers of forgotten powers, and the lost knowledge of the elder world.
This quest had led him deep into the untamed heart of the Aetolian mountains.
His current pursuit wasn't for boar or stag, but for the elusive "Whispering Stone," an artifact rumored to possess untold knowledge.
Legend claimed it lay near a sanctuary swallowed by time itself.
For days, he had followed faint, almost invisible, markers.
Then, the hoof prints appeared.
They were massive, far too large for any known wild horse.
They pressed deep into the loam, unmistakably fresh, leading him away from his intended path.
A prickle of unease, then excitement, coursed through him.
This was no ordinary animal.
The tracks led deeper still, into a part of the forest where the trees grew unnaturally twisted, their branches like grasping skeletal fingers.
An oppressive silence settled, broken only by the crunch of his boots on ancient leaves.
He finally emerged into a clearing.
Before him stood a colossal, moss-covered stone archway, seemingly carved from the mountain itself.
It was undeniably the entrance to a forgotten sanctuary.
And blocking the sole entrance was a figure that defied mortal comprehension.
The Centaur's Somber Vigil
The creature was a Centaur, ancient and immense.
His equine body was the color of rich earth, his human torso scarred with the marks of countless battles.
His mane and tail, once perhaps lustrous, were now matted and gray.
A heavy bronze spear, pitted with age, rested in one of his powerful hands.
His eyes, when they met Orion’s, held a depth of sorrow and weariness that seemed to span centuries.
"Turn around," the Centaur's voice rumbled, deep and resonant, not aggressive, but heavy with warning.
It echoed through the silent clearing like a tolling bell.
Orion instinctively tightened his grip on his own bronze spear, but he did not attack.
He had faced beasts, but never a sentient being imbued with such ancient, palpable grief.
"I seek only knowledge," Orion replied, his voice firm despite the tremor in his gut.
"This is not a place for mortals, seeker."
The Centaur’s words were laced with a despair that intrigued Orion more than any threat.
"What do you protect here?" Orion pressed, his gaze fixed on the massive stone door behind the Centaur.
It was not a gate but a colossal slab, sealed shut, bearing carvings so weathered they were almost illegible.
The Centaur, Asterion as he was known in fragmented myths, shifted his weight.
His powerful shoulders slumped.
He did not look at Orion, but beyond him, as if seeing something only he could perceive in the distant past.
"My penance," he whispered, the words barely audible above the forest’s unnatural quiet.
It was then, from behind the ancient door, that a sound reached them.
A faint, unsettling rattle, like dry bones stirring, or chains dragged across rough stone, growing slowly louder.
A Glimpse Behind the Veil
Orion’s blood ran cold.
The sound was not that of a trapped animal, nor a simple mechanism.
It spoke of something older, more sinister, a power barely contained.
"What is that?" Orion demanded, his scholar's curiosity overriding his hunter's caution.
Asterion’s head snapped towards the door, his eyes wide with a sudden, desperate fear.
It was a fear not for himself, but for what lay within, or perhaps, for what might be unleashed.
"You must leave now," Asterion urged, his voice losing its ancient weariness and taking on an edge of raw urgency.
"The seal weakens."
Orion hesitated.
His quest for the Whispering Stone, for ancient truths, had always been about enlightenment.
But this place, this Centaur, this sound, suggested a truth far darker than he had imagined.
He felt an invisible tremor beneath his feet.
A low, grinding groan began to emanate from the stone door.
Dust, centuries old, puffed from its seams.
The rattling intensified, growing into a frantic, scratching cacophony.
The massive stone, which must have weighed tons, began to shift.
It was not pushed from within, nor pulled from without.
It moved with an ancient, inherent will, slowly, agonizingly, opening a sliver into the blackness beyond.
The Opening of the Ancient Seal
As the gap widened, a frigid, stale wind, smelling of damp earth and something utterly alien, swept out.
Orion felt the hairs on his arms rise.
Through the narrow, expanding aperture, a darkness deeper than night pooled.
Then, a shape began to resolve within it.
A woman's silhouette, tall and slender, yet radiating an immense, terrible power.
And on her shoulders, moving with an unsettling life of their own, were faint, writhing shadows.
The snakes.
Asterion let out a guttural roar, a sound of pure, unadulterated desperation.
He moved with astonishing speed for his immense size, lunging forward.
His massive equine body slammed between Orion and the now widening doorway, blocking the hunter’s view completely.
He threw his powerful arms wide, as if he could physically hold the very fabric of the sanctuary from unraveling.
His gaze, fixed on the opening, was one of terror and utter resignation.
He was not just blocking an entrance; he was trying to prevent the dawn of an apocalypse.
Medusa's Whispered Accusation
Then, from the darkness of the sanctuary, a voice slithered out.
It was not a shriek, not a monstrous roar, but a low, melodious whisper.
Yet, it was colder than any winter’s wind, and infinitely more ancient than the Centaur himself.
"You promised never to bring him here, Asterion," it hissed.
The name, spoken with such intimate venom, struck Orion like a physical blow.
His mind reeled.
This was not a wild beast Asterion guarded.
This was a being with a name, a history, and a relationship with the ancient Centaur.
Orion peered around Asterion’s flank, desperate for another glimpse, for an explanation.
"You know her?" Orion gasped, his voice raw with a mixture of fear and profound discovery.
The Centaur did not turn.
He stood rigid, a bulwark against the terrifying unknown, his every muscle tensed.
The writhing shadows behind him seemed to intensify, their faint hisses echoing the woman’s words.
Asterion’s body shuddered.
