The voice urged Arin to read the message carved into the wall.
If you have come this far, you can surely complete the remaining trials. Go on. Fight. Take the orb. Once you consume it, you will learn our language. In the next trial, you will be granted a powerful spell—one necessary to wield what follows.
A faintly glowing blue orb rested in the center of the chamber. Arin hesitated, his throat tightening, then swallowed it whole.
The world vanished.
He saw it then—
a vast yellow, divine aura descending upon the world. Not light, not fire, but something absolute. It erased mountains, cities, civilizations, as if they were errors to be corrected. Arin felt it. The pressure. The judgment. A presence more terrifying than the death god himself, reigning over all things.
Such forbidden art must be destroyed.
The aura surged toward him—
Arin jolted awake, drenched in sweat.
Hanase and Neblaheim were beside him, calm, unaware.
"How long was I out?" Arin asked, his voice unsteady.
"Ten seconds," Neblaheim replied.
For Arin, it had been an entire day.
They prepared to leave. As Arin jumped up the stairs, his body felt strangely light—too light. He landed several steps higher than intended, almost floating.
He frowned.
You have gained a fraction of our power, the voice said. It will aid you, boy.
Arin bowed instinctively, gratitude outweighing his fear.
They ascended further—then stopped.
Blood stained the stone. Bodies lay torn and scattered. Hanase froze, her breath hitching as she stared at the carnage.
A scream echoed behind them.
Arin turned.
A creature stood there—humanoid, skinned, wearing a crimson red coat slick with blood. It held a man by the neck, lifting him effortlessly. The monster twisted its head slowly, meeting Arin's eyes.
A grin stretched across its exposed flesh.
"Don't worry," it said calmly, tightening its grip.
"You will be next."