The blue and golden stars shimmered across the black sky above, scattered like specks of jade dust in breathtaking splendor.
From where he lay, Kalm could hear the roaring of the massive waterfall—the very reason he now crawled. A cold breeze wrapped around his battered body, sending chills through him.
Behind him, his body had carved a long crimson trail across the surface, as if he were dragging a corpse along the ground—though it was his own body he dragged forward, relentlessly, with eyes blazing in unyielding flame.
He pushed forward with his one working hand, crawling with grim resolve toward his goal.
He paused only for a breath, just a moment, before reigniting the fire in his chest and pressing on.
Kalm swept away every foolish, complicated thought from his mind. Not one of them was allowed to linger. He was desperate—even hopeless—yet utterly focused on reaching the mausoleum.
His blood-soaked eyes were locked onto it—his salvation, his chance at a new life.
Above, nearly forty meters high, the crimson light had begun to dim, gradually scattering into the air.
Even that strange detail, worthy of curiosity, earned no attention from Kalm. He simply didn't have the strength to care. He had already covered half the distance—only the other half remained.
So he decided not to waste energy on questions.
He clenched his teeth, steeled his heart, and crawled forward—slowly, steadily.
At his current pace—agonizingly slow—it would take at least an hour, maybe two, to reach his destination.
Roughly the same time it had taken him to get halfway, despite all the curses he'd hurled into the wind.
Earlier, when he had felt he'd reached his limit, Kalm had tried summoning his calm projection to help him—but the moment it appeared at his side, the crimson light flared up with fury, pulsing with rage and chaos…
And in an instant, it expelled the projection again.
**"Damn it… it's literally me. We're the same damn person. And I'm not even allowed to help myself…?"**
Kalm continued crawling, cursing and mocking in his heart.
The one upside to all this madness: no monsters had appeared. Not a single one.
The place, strangely, was both well-protected and completely safe.
Kalm gasped and dragged himself forward—ten more minutes of pain passed, and the mausoleum grew ever closer.
Bit by bit, it came into view.
After what felt like an eternity, Kalm finally stopped—ten meters away from the eerie, imposing structure.
He collapsed, unable to drag himself further. He greedily sucked air into his lungs and coughed violently. He was at the final step. He needed to gather what little strength he had left.
Lifting his gaze toward the mausoleum, he saw four white steps made of a strange material—neither marble nor stone, but something entirely different.
Atop the steps stood a massive stone door, etched with strange, marvelous carvings.
He hadn't been able to see them before, but now—so close—they were clear… though their meaning was not.
The door was split in two.
On the right side were nine figures. Their faces were blank—no features drawn—but Kalm was sure they all looked identical in form and height. Perhaps they were the same person.
What distinguished them were their armor and the auras painted around each.
Each one embodied something unique.
One of them holds two great swords enveloped in darkness, while a real, tangible darkness surrounds his body as if he were one with it .Beside him was written: **The Harsh, The Warrior.**
Another soared in the sky, arms transformed into wings of bright orange flame, his feet blazing with four fiery talons. Three majestic tails trailed behind him like a legendary phoenix. Next to him: **The Uncaring, The Chaotic.**
Beside them was a figure with palms pressed together in reverence, light radiating from his body. Behind him stood a golden spirit, giant and ethereal, with more than a hundred arms and two wings on its back. Written beside him: **Honor, Valor.**
Another gripped a strange black blade, while a deep, ominous shadow rose from the earth and wrapped around him. The presence he emitted was both majestic and menacing. His label: **The Calm, The Composed.**
These were four warriors, each marked by a distinct power, each possessing a commanding presence.
But the remaining four figures…
They revealed nothing.
No aura. No weapon. Nothing visible to set them apart. As if they were veiled by something unseen.
They stood there, shrouded, their essence unreadable.
Perhaps they had no identity... or perhaps Kalm simply couldn't perceive what made them unique.
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to understand.
There were eight in total. They closely resembled the "walls" within the ocean of his soul.
The Calm one represented shadow.
The others—each must represent a force, like the three on the wall.
And the four walls wrapped in white mist…
They matched the four veiled figures behind the others.
**"What does this mean...?"**
Was the damned Lost One toying with him again through puzzles and symbols?
Or was he meant to search for the truth himself?
A complete truth within his own soul.
There—the Calm, the Uncaring, the Stoic Warrior, the Hero of Honor.
But what of the other four?
What did they represent? Emotions too? Or something else entirely?
Kalm didn't dwell on it long—his mind wasn't in any condition to solve riddles.
He glanced at the other half of the gate…
It was drawn in a radically different way.
The artwork was divided into three sections, separated by a clear thread.
The first section was bathed in golden light—sun-colored.
There stood eight massive, faceless bodies.
They were drawn in gold—no flesh, no skin, no bones—nothing remotely human.
And in the center of each was a large sphere, like a core.
Each sphere pulsed with a distinct aura, from which strands of black, white, red, and many other colors flowed outward, feeding into the towering body around it.
They were magnificent.
Terrifying.
Something far beyond human comprehension.
**"Wonderful... Another riddle, you damned Lost One..."**