When Auren opened his eyes, his vision was a blur—shapes swimming in the dark, like shadows trying to remember what they once were.
He didn't move right away.
His cheek was pressed against cold sand, but something felt... different. The usual howling wind that haunted the black desert was gone. Muted. As if they were enclosed somewhere. Protected…or trapped.
Auren stirred, groaning softly as he pushed himself upright.
Strangely, his body didn't protest. He felt… rejuvenated. Not healed, not strong—but no longer on the edge of death. And all he'd done was sleep.
He remembered the last message before blacking out.
'You've grown slight resistance to fatigue…'
His brows furrowed. First he gained more endurance to pain by being in serious pain, now, he gains slight resistance to fatigue by beint tired…
He wanted to dwell on it—trace every thread of logic, break it down, understand it fully—but any thought of peace died under the Paladin's glare.
The man was seated on a jagged black stone protruding from the desert floor, his presence cold and oppressive. He didn't speak. Just watched. Eyes narrowed. Waiting.
Auren shifted his gaze, taking in their surroundings. Walls. Real ones. Jagged, towering slabs of stone that curved inward like collapsed remnants of an ancient fortress—weathered by time, scarred by storms.
Shelter.
Or a grave.
He glanced back at the Paladin, then slowly moved, finding a smaller rock and sinking down onto it. His body welcomed the brief stillness. He checked himself—no fresh wounds, no sword lodged in his shoulder and the small ones while they were walking had been healed.
But his mind?
Still bleeding.
And his eyes—cold, locked onto the Paladin's with a smoldering threat.
'You're not safe. The second I get the chance—I'll end you.'
That promise sat heavily behind Auren's gaze, simmering in silence.
Throughout their grim journey, he made no effort to hide it. If anything, he wanted the Paladin to feel it. To know.
He would kill him.
At the very first chance.
'...or should I let him kill me instead? I could gain his skill.'
The thought slid through his mind like a knife—sharp, terrifying, true.
It was reckless. Insane. But at this point, what wasn't?
He didn't know how long he could keep his thoughts from unraveling. Something in him had shifted—splintered, even. The pain had carved more than just flesh; it had chipped at his psyche, hollowing places he hadn't known existed.
Not a complete breakdown. Not yet.
But he could feel the fraying edges. Like he was standing on a cliff—watching the cracks form beneath his feet.
His mind looped back, replaying the chain of events.
He tried to think of what he could've done differently. How he could have avoided this hell.
But no matter how he turned it over—nothing changed. No better move. No smarter play.
Going back to the coffins had felt right.
And now, maybe… maybe he had more answers.
More puzzle pieces to fit together.
From what he could piece together...
He had most likely woken up from the coffin with the strange symbol. And the more he considered it—the more it curdled his gut—the more he realized…
Dawn might be sealed inside of him.
The realization was cold. Hollow. Heavy.
And if that was true...
Did that mean he was from the Kingdom of Heart? The same kingdom that tried to steal the Dawn?
It made sense.
Maybe the Highrise Kingdom found out. Maybe that's why they were attacked.
That seems like the plausible thing to happen…
The Highrise Kingdom must have found out somehow—perhaps about the Kingdom of Heart's plan to drown the night in eternal darkness. Maybe they moved to stop it.
But they were too late.
A small-scale war broke out. He'd been captured. And sometime after… he awoke in the prison.
'So I'm what we need to finish this trial…'
The realization was appalling.
A dozen questions began clawing at his thoughts, multiplying the longer he sat with the truth.
'How do I even end the trial?'
The obvious answer felt like releasing Dawn—bringing the world back into balance, letting light return to break the endless night.
'Would that even help…?'
The truth was murkier.
The two kingdoms were already at war—one worshipped Light, the other Darkness. Even if Dawn returned, there was no guarantee peace would follow. If anything, the Highrise Kingdom might already be planning to find and seal Dusk—if such a force even existed.
'It does… I can't afford to think small.'
After all, Dawn was gone. Hidden inside him.
So maybe returning the morning wouldn't fix anything. Maybe it was never about that.
And maybe—just maybe—the trial didn't require that either.
They just needed to find the core of the trial. The axis everything turned around.
And deep inside, Auren felt like he already knew what that was.
And if his theory was right, then he was never meant to survive this trial.
He wasn't the challenger.
He was the instrument.
The sacrifice.
It made him question everything.
Were the Archons truly in control of these trials? Were they really guiding him? Or was he just a puppet—crafted, placed, and pushed into motion to serve as some twisted benchmark for others?
He wanted to believe that. He almost did.
But his instincts screamed otherwise.
It started with that word—Fester.
Auren had never seen it used like this. Not in the ancient texts. Not in any scripture of the Archons.
So if this was both a Trial and a Fester… then something else—something deeper—was pulling the strings. A force he didn't understand.
He didn't trust it. Not even close.
But right now, it was the only thing he had left to lean on.
And if it was truly what he thought…
Auren grimaced, his expression darkening.
Then—suddenly—he felt something.
A strange sound, low and distant, sliding in through his subtle perception of darkness. It rumbled beneath the ground, like the movement of something impossibly large stirring beneath the sand.
He turned, eyes narrowing.
The Paladin was still seated, staring at him with that cold, judgmental look. But he hadn't noticed it yet.
'Ah… how refreshing…'
Auren exhaled through his nose, his thoughts colder than the night air.
'Come swallow us whole… Sand Worm.'