The starless sky above was painted in dark void, Sezel crept through the Spirit Realm's wilderness, clutching the pickaxe in one trembling hand, its weight a frail anchor against the forest's horrors. The forest ended briefly, opening into another clearing bathed in the mystic purple glow of Spirit Essence.
Sezel crouched behind dense, thorned bushes, his gaze scouring the stillness. Nothing stirred—no glint of eyes, no rustle of unseen beasts. For now, it was safe.
He exhaled, a ragged sigh of relief, and stepped into the open. His tattered clothes were soaked in sweat from neck to hem. Exhaustion overwhelmed him, and he slumped to the ground, breath heaving in shallow bursts. Hunger was a relentless foe but thirst was the crueler master.
"Water, I need water." This thought filled his mind... as he looked up at the starless sky, the empty sky resonated his own self, its emptiness a mirror to Sezel's hollowed soul. "You were also abandoned by the stars you held dear, weren't you?"
He asked the sky knowing that his question won't ever be answered. The fog of despair had lifted, clarity sharpening his thoughts, and with it came chilling realizations.
And the realizations made his blood run cold, firstly, the Spirit Beasts weren't supposed to have a hierarchy—so how did the Mighty Black Knight become king, and why did the others obey him?
But on the second thought, he was not just any Spirit Beast, he was able to talk. Sezel didn't know much about the Spirit Realm as his life had never allowed time for learning, even surviving was a test itself.
His stomach twisted, as small drops filled his vision, he thought about his sister. A memory of a fleeting promise surfaced, He had promised her that he would bring an abundance of food and water.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice breaking. "I'm a liar." Tears welled, blurring the violet glow, his heart aching for the one soul who might await his return.
A rustle in the bushes snapped him alert. He scrambled to his feet, clutching the pickaxe. He slowly retreated into the wilderness and observed hiding behind a gnarled tree.
A figure appeared stumbling on a broken leg, human sized with green skin, a Zombie. Sezel gritted his teeth, his rest ended in just mere moments. Without waiting further he continued his journey, through the forest.
He walked a little distance. He glanced back, heart pounding. Something followed him, silent but persistent, the thing didn't attack but nor did leave his stead.
He emerged onto a cracked, road-like pavement, its surface unnaturally smooth. The beast lunged from behind, Sezel turned in time, swinging the pickaxe with desperate force, its weight amplified by the rotation. The blade sank into the beast's neck.
Sezel gasped, looking at the beast laying motionless, it looked like a dog, maybe a lesser version of the Night crawler.
Whatever it was. It was not dead, just unconscious. Sezel too knew that Spirit Beasts could not be killed without using Spirit energy. "Frail as I am, I can still fight," he thought, yanking the pickaxe free and ran in the opposite direction as far as he could.
"I can't even sit for a second in this place," he cursed bitterly. 'Oh god if you are real, look at me for just a second, just once.'
In desperation to get out of this hell he even pleaded to a god he never believed in. He didn't know what that meant but he saw people doing that and claiming that there existed a god who helped everyone.
But if he really helped everyone, then why didn't he help Sezel when he was about to die? Why didn't he help his sisters parents? Was there something specific you needed to ask for or he would only help if he deemed it right?
His vision blurred mid-run, head spinning, pain lancing through his skull. "It hurts." He clutched his head, stumbling, his body no longer able to sustain flight. Slow steps replaced his sprint, each one a battle against collapse.
"Water…" His lips parted, a hoarse chant for relief, thirst consuming him.
After walking a little, he fell, barely conscious, breath ragged like a man on death's threshold. Raising his head, he glimpsed an impossible sight—a shallow dip in the earth, filled with liquid, glinting in the violet glow. Hope, faint as a dying ember, sparked. Fate it seemed had not fully left his side.
Struggling to his knees, he leaned on a tree for support, its bark rough against his palm. He stumbled to the ditch, staring at the water, its surface unnaturally still, untouched by breeze.
But how did it come here? From all Sez had noticed Spirit realm was devoid of rain. But it didn't matter, all that mattered was that he had something to drink.
A dying man heeds no doubts. He cupped his hands, gulping the liquid with manic desperation, its taste metallic yet life-giving, for all he cared, a dying man would even drink blood. It was just water to that comparison.
After filling his fill Sezel, smiled at the sky, smiling at the unknown. The water soothed his throat, but his body remained a husk, too frail to carry on.
Suddenly, he heard slow footsteps approaching towards him, the Black knights had finally caught up. he pushed up his frail body and stumbled towards the wilderness leaving the pickaxe behind, he didn't have enough energy left to carry it around.
Amidst his run, something yanked his dislocated arm back, as if grabbed from behind.