Marco and Samantha retraced their steps through the echoing marble hall, the polished floors amplifying every tap of their boots. Light spilled unevenly from the high windows, striking the golden doors that marked each deity’s domain. Most of the puzzles proved straightforward: a flicker of a heal spell here, a sprinkle of Wraith Powder there, a sacrifice of Chubrat flanks in another, and a heaping of bizarre chants aligned with Samantha’s knowledge of the pantheon.

  However, the broken Dionysus statue defied them, the final puzzle mocking their efforts. They cycled through every logical input: blasts of fire, focused beams of healing, even a desperate attempt to ignite Chubrat meat dusted with Wraith Powder. The shards remained inert. Nothing seemed to work. The thought crossed both their minds: perhaps the statue was just broken. And if so, were they doomed to remain trapped in this hall forever, waiting to be unplugged?

  “Well… do we have any super glue? Maybe we can put this thing back together?” Samantha muttered, crouching over the scattered shards. The magnificent statue of Dionysus now lay in dozens of jagged, worthless pieces, evidence of a clumsy encounter with a lurking Echo Wraith.

  Marco shook his head, peering at the fragments with a wizard’s eye. “Try the Wraith Powder again. It’s the concentrated essence of a psychological wound, it has to do something like that for sure. But this time, let’s cry into it. Maybe this god demands a sacrifice of anguish rather than meat or health.”

  Samantha hesitated, unsure if she could muster tears on demand, but she proceeded. She sprinkled the faint, dark dust over the shards. Then she rubbed a bit of the substance into her eyes causing them to water. A few tears fell onto the powder covered shares. A soft, icy purple glow shimmered along the jagged edges where the powder settled, highlighting the object’s fracture lines.

  “The shards are… glowing,” Samantha whispered, eyes still stinging from the experiment. She started dosing her eyes with water to clear them out. “Think it worked?”

  Marco’s brow furrowed, his attention fixed on the massive golden door looming nearby. “Nope. The symbol for the next god remains dim. It refuses to accept the sacrifice. Maybe stick the pieces together with the powder?”

  “So I risked going blind for nothing! Let’s see if that damned powder can act like glue.” Samantha picked up two matching shards, sprinkled powder on the joint, and pressed them together. She held them for a moment, but when she released her grip, they crumbled apart instantly. “That doesn’t work either.”

  Marco scratched his chin. “Well, crap. What does this god represent again?”

  Samantha quickly consulted the list of symbols etched above the golden archway. “Dionysus. Wine, fertility, ecstasy. Basically, the fun god.” She paused, a thought striking her. “Hey, I know something we haven’t tried.”

  She rifled through her pack. Her fingers closed around a small, tightly corked bottle of fermented grape drink she had looted from a dusty chest in the starting room. She had forgotten it until now. “Maybe this will appeal to him.”

  She uncorked the bottle and poured a dark, viscous trickle of the low-quality wine over the fractured statue. The shard that vaguely resembled a mouth drank the liquid, soaking it up like a thirsty phantom.

  “Something’s happening, Marco!” Samantha said frustrated that she didn’t think of this simple solution before.

  She continued to pour. As the last drops seeped in, the purple shimmer intensified. A flamboyant, muffled voice, rich with a theatrical baritone and an unsettling hint of mania, erupted from the assembled fragments.

  “Oh, darling! A libation! Finally, someone understands how to properly greet a deity! Though this vintage is dreadful.”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Marco jumped back as the voice boomed. The Dionysus glyph above the door flared into brilliant life.

  The voice continued, clear and demanding. “The pieces are still separate, aren’t they? I won’t be whole until they are all united, woe is me. Though I certainly am still thirsty for more fermented drink!”

  Marco and Samantha exchanged a wary look. “It wants more wine?” they asked, almost in unison.

  Samantha, her desire to move on eclipsing caution, poured the rest of the wine into the largest shard’s mouth—a trembling ritual that felt part spell, part desperate offering. The last dark drops vanished instantly.

  “Oh, much better! Though still a shockingly poor vintage,” the shard sighed, sounding deeply contented. “Now, cast heal, my pretties. A touch of renewal is always needed after a lengthy incarceration.”

  Marco didn’t hesitate. He recognized the pattern now: the divine theme required the corresponding emotional action. He focused on a memory of his old dog, channeling the love he felt for the animal, and whispered the command.

  He looked at Samantha. He thought about her trajectory—from graduate student to assistant, and now to a partner who had saved his life mere minutes ago. That connection provided the necessary emotional threshold. His hand tingled.

  “Heal.”

  A soft green glow spread across the fragments. Slowly, impossibly, the ceramic shards shifted. They didn’t simply melt; they coalesced, fusing first into the rough shape of a marble statue, then, astonishingly, into the refined, living form of a man.

  Marco and Samantha instinctively took a defensive step back.

  The man who emerged stood tall, lean, and elegantly theatrical, with dirty blond curls falling to his shoulders. He moved with liquid fluidity, brushing off an imaginary coat with exaggerated flair.

  “Ah, freedom! I had begun to forget the sensation of standing without stone encasing every limb,” he sighed, his voice lilting and resonant. He surveyed the two scientists with an unnerving, amused intensity.

  Samantha’s voice remained cautious, her mind scrambling to categorize the impossible occurrence. “Who… who are you? And what was that?”

  The man swept his arms wide in a grand, mocking gesture. “Ah, greetings! Dionysus, god of chaos, pleasure, and drunken debauchery. But you, my dear little mortals, may call me Don.” He winked, his light eyes sparkling. “And what you witnessed, my sweet, was a resurrection. Like you, my flesh was once hooked to machines, trapped in some dreary hospital basement, guarded, of course, by that towering glass of water, Sebastian. Mmm. Delightful.” He tapped his temple. “This is a much better vessel, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Marco’s mind raced, finally connecting the mythological puzzle to the dark reality of ALAN. “You’re… one of the subjects,” he realized, dread sinking in his stomach. “A personality fragment given form by the system.”

  Don smiled—a chillingly genuine flash of amusement. “A fragment? Hardly. I’m the core, or rather, the cure. The moment you applied your pathetic little powder of trauma and followed it with a prayer of healing, you completed my exodus. And now, darlings, you get me as a guide of sorts.”

  Marco’s brow furrowed, a hairline fracture appearing in his analytical composure. “Wait… you’re human?”

  Don’s gaze swept over them, mischievous and theatrical. “I was inmate #688990, Donald Brome, volunteer #4 at Meadow Creek Correctional Facility. Schizophrenic diagnosis. Dabbled in extra-legal activities—let’s call it ‘manufacturing meth.’ A modest résumé, yes?” He gave a dramatic, sweeping bow.

  “And ALAN?” Marco prompted.

  Don sighed, a sound both theatrical and genuinely wistful. “The voices were relentless, the fits of madness overwhelming. I prayed for a cure. The warden, bless his profiteering soul, plucked me from my cell after I injured a guard—or three—and had me sign some papers. Here I am. Unfortunately, I got trapped in this statue while attempting to exit the system a bit prematurely, just before they removed the manual eject.”

  Samantha’s eyes narrowed. “So you were stuck here, encased in the marble, until we came along and offered a sacrifice?”

  “Precisely, my delicious woman,” Don said with a sly wink while Samantha’s face contorted with disgust. “Trapped in stone, forced to contemplate the shocking lack of decent entertainment.” He stretched. “And now that golden door awaits.”

  Marco’s mind worked through the logic. “If you’re tethered to the door, our actions here could affect you. Or worse, the system itself.”

  Don chuckled. “Ah, the ever-cautious! Fear not. ALAN and I are compatible. My existence here is a magnificent paradox.” He pointed toward the golden door. “But prudence is a virtue. That door does react to me, yes, but your ingenuity will determine whether it opens smoothly or spectacularly explodes. Just kidding. But do be prepared for what lies ahead!”

  Masking his concern with professional focus, Marco nodded. “Let’s do this.”