The whisper still echoed in Arthur's mind for a long time, as if the very night itself had spoken to him. His heartbeat quickened, but his expression remained composed. Tomorrow. That was all the time he had left before everything changed.
Arthur took one last glance at the city sprawled beneath him. It looked so peaceful from this height, a stark contrast to the storm brewing within him. He had a single night to prepare, to push his body to its limits, to ready his mind for the unknown. He had no room for hesitation.
Not only that, but he climbed down from the ruined tower, his landing light against the cracked stone floor. His movements were more fluid than before, as if the looming trial had already begun reshaping him. He knew he had to return home, gather what little he had, and steel himself for what was to come.
The streets were still and silent, save for the occasional gust of wind. The tavern's words lingered in his thoughts—power came at a price. But Arthur was willing to pay whatever was necessary. He would rather burn himself to ashes than be snuffed out like a weak flame.
By the time he reached his small room in the outskirts, the weight of exhaustion began to press against him. He took out the few belongings he had: a dull dagger, a tattered notebook filled with sketches and thoughts on the trials, and a single iron ring that had belonged to his father.
Arthur sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, placing the ring in front of him. He closed his eyes and focused, trying to feel the curse again, trying to grasp the soul essence that had briefly flickered to life atop the church tower.
At first, there was nothing but silence, the faint crackling of the lantern the only sound in the room. Then, like the slow ignition of a fire, the warmth of an unfamiliar energy seeped through his veins. His breathing steadied as he followed the sensation, attempting to control it, to understand it. But just as quickly as it came, it faded, slipping through his grasp like smoke in the wind.
He opened his eyes, frustration tightening his jaw. He needed more time. But time was the only thing he didn't have.
Instead of dwelling on it, he shifted his focus. He had trained his body for years on the streets, but it was not enough. He had to be sharper, faster, stronger. Likewise, he stood and began moving through his exercises—push-ups until his arms trembled, squats until his legs burned, strikes and dodges as if shadowboxing an unseen enemy.
But probably these exercises would be of absolutely no use in his trial against the monsters.
The night stretched on, but he didn't stop. Sweat dripped down his brow, his muscles screamed in protest, but he embraced the pain. Every moment he spent training was a moment he stole back from death.
By the time exhaustion finally forced him to stop, the first hints of dawn were creeping through the cracks in his window. His body ached, his mind was foggy, but he had never felt more alive.
He collapsed onto the bed, his breaths heavy, his limbs refusing to move. Tomorrow. No, tonight. That was all the time he had left.
As the sun climbed higher, he allowed himself a few hours of rest. But sleep did not bring peace. It brought dreams, visions of dark forests, of monstrous figures lurking in the shadows, of a looming crimson moon watching him like an unblinking eye.
This was probably the last time he would be able to dream for a long time,
When he awoke, the sky was already shifting to twilight. His heart pounded, not from fear, but from anticipation. He gathered his things. He was as ready as he would ever be.
Furthermore, he stepped outside, the night air cool against his skin. The moon had begun its ascent, its glow illuminating the streets in pale silver. He could feel it now, something stirring deep inside him. A shift in the air, a heaviness settling in his chest. The moment was close.
Under normal circumstances one had to be under supervision of a cursed, because should one fail his trial which means death, the monster that killed him would create cracks in one's soul and reach the real world.
But Arthur didn't even have any knowledge on where to find a cursed, they were pretty rare after all.
Far under 1% of the world population was infected with the Curse.
So Arthur made his way back to the church tower, alone... his steps steady, his mind focused. He climbed once more to the peak, where the wind howled through the broken windows.
He stood there, staring at the moon that was now fully emerged in a white glow, and exhaled slowly.
Then, a familiar, cold voice whispered in his mind once more.
[ Arthur Moonlight, Your Trial of Beginning starts now. ]