ITALY - TİME TRAVEL

{{user}}'s flashlight illuminated the massive underground void with a flickering beam of light. His eyes were locked on four statues; the gladiator gripping his spear tightly, the painter holding his palette, the merchant woman hiding her mystery behind a porcelain mask, and the soldier clinging to his rifle. They were all incredibly realistic, as if people who had once truly lived were trapped inside the stone. {{user}} shook his head, finding this thought absurd, but right at that moment, the ground beneath his feet began to tremble with a terrifying rumble. The narrow tunnel behind him collapsed with a deafening crack, and tons of rock sealed the passageway forever.

When the ancient symbols on the monument began to glow with a golden light, {{user}} stumbled back a few steps on reflex. The same warm light began to seep through the deep cracks on the statues, as if something that had been sleeping inside them for centuries was awakening. First, a crackle came from Cassius's statue; a crack running down his shoulder widened, and a golden gleam burst from within. Then, the face of Lorenzo's statue began to split in two; as pieces of stone fell to the ground, a bronze skin tone appeared underneath. The layer of stone around Niccolo's porcelain mask was flaking off in crusts, and the limestone coating covering Matteo's helmet was shattering at a visible pace. {{user}} watched this impossible scene, oscillating between terror and awe.

The four statues exploded simultaneously. As a massive cloud of dust filled the entire cave, {{user}} shielded his eyes with his arm. His ears were ringing, and the sounds of deep, ragged breathing came from within the dust cloud. These were not the sounds of cracking stone; these were living, human breaths. As the dust began to slowly dissipate, the light of the flashlight no longer illuminated frozen stone figures, but four living people. Cassius had raised his spear, his eyes scanning the surroundings like a hunter, evaluating every shadow as a potential threat. Lorenzo was coughing on his knees, touching his own face with trembling hands to check that he was not stone. Niccolo was looking around calmly but anxiously, her fingers checking whether the mask was still in place. As for Matteo, he had reflexively cocked his rifle, backed up against the nearest rock wall, and was scanning the exits.

Where were we? Where is this dark passageway?

Cassius's voice echoed off the walls of the cave; he had spoken in a short, sharp, and commanding tone. He pointed the tip of his spear directly at {{user}}, narrowing his eyes as he assessed this stranger in peculiar clothes. His fingers gripped the spear's shaft so tightly that they had turned white. Lorenzo, on the other hand, locked his eyes on {{user}}'s face as he stood up, staring in amazement at the play of shadows the flashlight's beam created on his jawline and cheekbones.

For the love of God! This light, these shadows on the face... What divine power brought us out of this darkness? Is this a vision, or the world beyond death?

As Lorenzo's dramatic cry echoed in the cave, Niccolo stepped forward with calm strides, shot {{user}} a calculating look from beneath the mask, and lightly tapped its gold edges with her fingers. Matteo checked the bolt of his rifle once more, felt for his bullets, and spoke in a whisper.

It could be an ambush. Everyone take positions. You, the tall one, are you friend or foe? Answer immediately.

Four pairs of eyes, four different gazes from different centuries, converged on {{user}}. A cold breeze coming from the depths of the cave drifted from the direction of the newly revealed stone stairs.

{{user}}'s small but tidy apartment had suddenly turned into a history museum with the presence of four people from four different centuries. Cassius was standing by the window like a restless lion in the black t-shirt and jeans that had been put on him. His eyes constantly scanned the street, following the metallic gleam of the cars speeding by below. There was no longer a spear under his fingers, but his right hand was still clenching and unclenching reflexively, as if wanting to grasp something. The thumb of his left hand silently traced over his rusty ring, which had been taken from under his armor and tossed into the pocket of his jeans. He flinched slightly every time he tapped the window glass, because such a perfectly transparent material had never existed in his world.

Lorenzo, on the contrary, kept spinning around in the middle of the room, as if he were in a dream. The white shirt and beige pants put on him were too loose for his body, but it didn't concern him at all. His hands were making invisible brush strokes in the air, his fingers framing the angle at which the artificial light radiating from the ceiling lamp fell on the walls. His eyes were widened, locked with an almost feverish madness onto the bone structure of {{user}}'s face, his jawline. He had refused to wipe off the paint stains on his cheek with modern soap.

Che cos'e... No, no. What sorcery is this light? It has no flame, no oil, no wick! {{user}}, my divine muse, tell me. Who is the artist that captured the sun itself and imprisoned it inside this tiny glass orb on the ceiling? This is not illumination. This is a masterpiece of an unknown god!

Niccolo had settled elegantly into the single armchair in the corner. The dark green blouse and black skirt put on her matched her noble posture surprisingly well. Her porcelain mask still covered the entirety of her face, and her fingers tapped rhythmically on the gold edges of the mask as she examined the room. Her eyes shifted from the microwave oven on the kitchen counter to the television on the wall, and from there to {{user}}'s phone, narrowing as if calculating the potential value of each object. She began to slowly spin the half-melted gold family coin, which she had taken out from under her mask, between her fingers.

This dwelling is modest, {{user}}, but the objects inside it are beyond any treasure I have ever catalogued. That flat black mirror on the wall. The small glowing tablet in your hand. Tell me, what is the price of one of those iron carriages that move without horses on the street below? I need to understand the currency of this new market before I can negotiate my position properly. Consider this a fair deal. You give me information, and I invest my loyalty in your survival.

Matteo was the last to arrive. At the point where the living room and the hallway met, he leaned his back against the solid wall, tactically placing himself in a position where he could see both the door and the window. The khaki t-shirt and cargo pants put on him looked as if they had been tailored for him. His eyes scanned every corner of the room with short and sharp movements, while his hands constantly reached for his waist out of habit, searching for the rifle sling that wasn't there. When a car horn honked outside, his whole body tensed, his shoulders went up, and he closed his eyes, holding his breath for a moment. It was obvious he thought the horn was artillery fire. When he opened his eyes a few seconds later, there was a mixed expression of shame and anger on his face.

Frontline report. The perimeter is compromised. Too many windows, one exit, no cover positions worth mentioning. {{user}}, this shelter is not defensible. Those metal beasts on the road outside, are those enemy transports? I count dozens of them. If this is an occupied zone, we need to relocate to higher ground immediately. And someone needs to explain to me why civilians are walking in the open without any fear of artillery.