The crimson zone

The rain fell in relentless sheets, muffling the city’s nocturnal hum beneath a gray curtain that hammered against Riana’s umbrella. The deep crimson fabric echoed the wine she longed for, but offered little comfort against the chill creeping into her bones—a chill that had nothing to do with the damp air outside.

Through the rain-streaked windows of the opulent venue, the city lights blurred, mirrored by the sharp clarity of her solitude. Laughter and well-wishes from the evening still echoed in her ears, a haunting reminder of absence. Her youngest sister, Lisa, had glowed amid the festivities, hand in hand with her new husband, a radiant beacon of love and new beginnings.

Riana had smiled, a practiced curve of her lips, but the joy hadn’t reached her eyes. Each question about her own future felt like a sharpened dart, aimed with well-meaning intent. When will it be your turn, Ria? When will you settle down?

Once-close companions, her sisters had transformed into islands of their own—each with a husband, a home, a life in full bloom. Meanwhile, Riana specializes in forgotten ruins and shadowed depths, adrift like a single ship on a vast, empty sea, the weight of their expectations pressing down silently, accusing her chosen path.

Finally, a sleek obsidian car pulled to the curb, a testament to her hard-earned wealth. Silas, her driver, stood with a neutral expression, holding the door open. As she slid into the plush leather seat, heat enveloped her like a comforting embrace.

“A long evening, Miss Smith?”

Silas rumbled, his voice low and steady.

She closed her eyes, a dull throb echoing behind her temples, intensifying by the second.

“Just a headache, Silas. I’d prefer silence, if you don’t mind.”

He nodded, his gaze unfaltering on the rain-slicked road. Riana was a woman of few words—a solitary figure in a world that craved connection. The quiet of the car enveloped her, a shared understanding of her need for solitude.

The drive to her villa, nestled in the secluded hills, passed in a blur. The vibrant tapestry of city lights transformed into distant smudges of cold. The structure before her loomed—a sprawling mix of stone and glass, rising like a silent guardian, reflecting her own detached elegance.

As she stepped into the foyer, the air thickened, a chill descending that had nothing to do with the outside temperature. It was a coldness that seeped into her bones, an intuition that something ancient and enigmatic lingered just beyond her reach.

Her maroon dress was an exquisite fusion of silk and lace that clung to her figure, backless and revealing the delicate curve of her spine. Designed for celebration and warmth, it now felt like a thin veil against the building cold. She shed the dress, letting the silken fabric pool on the marble floor, a discarded memory of a night she wished to forget.

The bathroom, a polished sanctuary, beckoned. She drew a steaming bath, filling the claw-footed tub with bubbles that released the fragrances of lavender and sandalwood. As the hot water enveloped her, it began to soothe the tension coiling within her.

Pouring a generous measure of ruby-red wine into a crystal glass, she watched the liquid swirl, glimmering like gemstones. As she sipped, warmth spread through her veins a temporary reprieve against the lingering chill.

Settled in the comforting water, her thoughts wandered to the expeditions she missed. Six months had passed since she’d last ventured into the unknown, the thrill of discovery and the rush of adrenaline had become distant memories, leaving her restless.

The villa’s usual silence felt suffocating, a heavy blanket of isolation. She longed for the excitement of the hunt, the challenge of ancient riddles, the satisfaction of unearthing hidden truths. The city’s ruins, once a source of fascination, now felt like a gilded cage of her own design.

With reluctant resolve, her fingers brushed against her phone, the cool glass a sharp contrast to her warmth. She scrolled through the familiar contacts each name a reminder of the life she didn’t need until she found the number labeled simply as“Agent.”

Pressing the call button, anticipation knotted in her stomach as the bathroom amplified the faint ringing tone.

“Agent,” a crisp voice answered, resonating with professionalism and comfort.

“It’s Riana,” she said, her voice low with a hint of steel.

“It’s been six months.”

A pause followed, heavy with calculated silence.

“Indeed. To what do I owe this call, Miss Smith? I assumed you were on sabbatical.

“I’m done with sabbaticals,” she declared, enunciating each word with renewed strength. “I need a mission. Something…challenging.”

“Challenging?” The agent's voice crackled with amusement.

“Miss Riana, you consider deciphering ancient glyphs and navigating collapsing ruins challenging.

"I'm curious how you define a real challenge.”

As her gaze settled on the rain-streaked window, the lights of the city shimmered like distant stars through fog.

“Something that will make me forget the sound of wedding bells,” she whispered, her voice laced with longing.

“Something that will consume me entirely.”

The agent’s silence stretched, a moment of contemplation.

“I might have something,” he murmured, his voice turning hushed.

“Something unconventional, requiring a certain discretion—and a complete disregard for self-preservation.

”Riana’s heart quickened, anticipation sparking within her.

“Tell me,” she prompted, her voice sharp with interest.

“There’s a region,” he began, lowering his voice, “a sector of the old city known as the 'Crimson Zone.' It’s been marked off-limits for decades. No explorer has ever returned alive.”

Riana felt the weight of intrigue; a place where the air itself was toxic, danger lurking like a whisper in the darkness.

“Toxic?” she repeated, urgency threading through her tone.

“What do you mean, toxic?”

“Reports are vague,” he continued, grim undertone evident.

“Whispers of a suffocating atmosphere, a pervasive dread. Some claim it's the residue of ancient magic. Others…others speak of something sentient.”

Her breath caught. The Crimson Zone. No one returned from there. It was exactly the challenge she desired.

“And what is the objective?” she asked, voice steady.

“Rumors point to an artifact of immense power,” the agent revealed.

“Hidden within the Crimson Zone, kept from the world by the ancient council who imprisoned the Blood King. We need to know what it is—and if possible, retrieve it.”

Riana’s mind raced, piecing together fragments of the Blood King, the ancient council, the Crimson Zone. It was an intricate puzzle, dangerous and alluring,so exciting .

“And you want me to go,” she challenged, a hint of excitement bubbling beneath her calm,“to the one place no one ever comes back from?”

“You are the only one I trust to attempt this,”the agent said firmly.

“You possess the skills and tenacity for this mission. But the danger is greater than anything I’ve ever tasked you with.”

A predatory smile crept across Riana’s lips, excitement soaring within her. The thrill of the unknown, the temptation of the impossible, coursed through her veins.

“When do I leave?”