Brown hair rippled in the wind as heavy footsteps echoed through the crowded corridor. Agitated voices rang out behind him.
His dark eyes scanned the fastest routes, and he followed them without the slightest hesitation.
A lone Lost moved through the halls. He was the first heading to the portal; checking its condition mattered more than his own life.
Cold sweat ran down his forehead, clinging to his skin, but he couldn't afford to worry about something so insignificant when a monster had escaped.
Running urgently, he crossed the outer ring, breath ragged, fearing what might happen if the portal hadn't been destroyed.
"No… we can't let that beast get away…"
Even under a suffocating sense of dread, he kept running. It was his duty.
Still, it took time to cross the outer ring and finally reach the central Temple.
His hands trembled, anxious that maybe he was already too late.
Before the strange cathedral, he lifted his gaze. The flat ceiling seemed to stretch toward the horizon. The floor, in contrast, curved downward like an enormous bowl, crossed by seams of stone that rose like suspended bridges and narrow pathways.
Despite the confusing architecture, he knew every inch of that place.
Taking a deep breath, he approached the wide stone platform.
And then—relief.
The portal was destroyed.
His legs nearly gave out under the weight of accumulated stress.
The platform lay covered in debris, large fragments of black obsidian piled where the dark altar had once stood.
Carefully, he descended toward the central area.
An unnatural silence hung there, as if no soul dared approach that point.
"Who destroyed the portal…?"
Without warning, a figure emerged from behind the platform.
The blond-haired young man was breathing with difficulty, his face smeared with blood. Leaning against the wall, he looked on the verge of fainting.
"Toshi?!" Concern broke through the Lost's voice.
Toshi slowly slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. The scrape of armor against stone made a harsh, uncomfortable sound.
"Hey, Olly…"
Olly hurried over, kneeling beside his injured companion.
"What happened? Why are you like this?!"
Toshi rolled his eyes, exhausted, like someone who had just survived an impossible fight.
"I destroyed the portal…" he murmured, clutching his own arm, twisting in pain.
"Urgh… and after that… I saw it…"
Genuine terror trembled in his voice.
"I saw the monster…"
Olly's eyes widened, his fists clenching.
"It… that thing did this to you?"
Toshi's pallor deepened with every second, as if life were draining from the inside out.
"Yeah… I managed to run… but… it hit me…"
A thin line of blood slid from the corner of his mouth, pulling a weak cough from him.
Toshi grabbed Olly's hand with both of his.
"Can you tell… Nana… that I love her?"
The grip tightened. There was hope in his eyes.
"Leave it to me…" Olly replied, squeezing back.
With a deep sigh, Toshi's eyelids slowly closed.
His breathing stopped.
Toshi was dead.
Olly remained there for a moment, staring at the friend he had known for years.
He had never imagined his companion's end would be so empty. So silent.
He rose slowly, feeling the weight of reality settle onto his shoulders.
He needed to regroup with the others—it was their only chance of survival.
Drawing in the temple's cold air, he stepped away.
He cast one last glance at the destroyed portal, a trace of resentment tightening his chest. If that portal hadn't been broken… maybe Toshi would still be alive.
Then, a rustle behind him.
Probably his mind playing tricks.
But something didn't add up.
Why was Toshi still wearing his armor after death? It should have vanished, just like all the memories he possessed.
Also, even if Toshi had been bleeding, why were there no signs of a fight? Even his clothes and sword were untouched.
A chill ran down his spine.
Before he could fully form the thought, the world seemed to spin.
No—the world wasn't spinning.
Olly was.
"Gurg…" something caught in his throat. But… where was his throat?
Without knowing when, he was on the ground. But the view was too low, as if he had shrunk.
Wait a second.
That… was his body?
Why was his body standing?
A sudden weakness overtook his consciousness.
Then Olly saw his own body collapse to the floor. As a figure rose behind it.
The man held a standard Valor sword, moving it with ease.
That was Toshi…
Or something wearing his face.
"You…" was Olly's last word.
The eyes staring back at him were not his friend's.
Was it just him, or was there something deeper in those silver eyes?
Maybe guilt?
Maybe contempt?
Or simply calculation?
Olly didn't know—and honestly, in the end, it didn't matter.
A comfortable cold wrapped around him, guiding him into the shadows.
The world began to darken at the edges.
His ears caught Toshi's voice, no longer energetic, but calm.
"Your nightmare is over."
There was a pause.
And then:
"Rest in peace."
Resignation came.
Weariness.
Maybe it was better this way.
Maybe the nightmare had truly ended.
Darkness closed in completely.
No pain, no light… no return.
---
The body fell before the blood had time to warm the floor.
The sound was low, almost discreet—a dead weight meeting stone. Even so, it echoed through the empty temple like an irrevocable sentence.
Mordret remained still for a few moments.
The blade was still extended, perfectly aligned with the strike he had just delivered. He watched the metallic edge, following with his eyes the dark trail sliding slowly toward the tip.
The cut had been clean.
There had been no hesitation, no real resistance.
Olly had not suffered.
With a slight flick of his wrist, Mordret let the blood run off the sword. Thick drops fell one by one, marking the stone with small stains that began spreading into irregular shapes.
His silver eyes settled on the fallen body.
The face still carried traces of confusion—as if the mind had been unable to accept what the eyes had seen in those final seconds.
Mordret tilted his head slightly, studying that expression.
No emotion crossed his features.
No satisfaction.
No regret.
Only acknowledgment.
Making him suffer might have brought pleasure.
But it would be wasteful to let fear drag on. To let pain stretch without purpose.
So he would not turn it into a show of horrors. Unnecessary suffering was simply… inefficiency.
Or at least that was what he told himself, as the silence around him seemed to press his thoughts against the temple walls.
'Don't worry, you get used to it after a while.'
"…"
The phrase echoed in his mind with uncomfortable familiarity.
Mordret wiped the blood from his own face with the sleeve of his armor, feeling the cold texture of metal against his skin.
When he began to walk, there was no rush in his steps.
They were firm and deliberate.
A few meters from the exit, he stopped.
He turned slowly.
His eyes swept over the scene once more.
The destroyed portal—now reduced to scattered obsidian debris like broken bones.
The walls blackened by the impact of battle.
And at the center, the motionless body.
A small pool of blood was beginning to form around it, spreading in an irregular circle that faintly reflected the lamplight.
A low sigh left him, his hands trembling slightly.
A small obsidian knife spun between his fingers, turning idly, catching the light and returning it in dull reflections.
When he reached the temple entrance, the air felt different.
Heavier.
Then he heard it.
The echo of dozens of boots against stone, blending into an uneven cadence.
Voices overlapped—some tense, others indignant, others ruled by fear they tried to disguise.
In the flickering lamplight, elongated silhouettes stretched across the temple's curved walls, distorted, multiplied, merging into one another like a living mass.
They were the Lost, all guided by the Masters.
His silver eyes reflected the approaching group like a cold mirror.
'Are you ready? Or do you need someone to hold your hand first?'
Slowly, very slowly, his lips curved.
"Keep it."
A familiar smile appeared on Mordret's face.
"Let them come."
And the once-silent temple began to breathe again.