"I can't..."
Cel's head dropped forward, chin touching his chest. Every breath was agony. Every heartbeat felt like his last. For a moment, he felt himself slipping away - not into unconsciousness, but into something deeper. Something final.
The darkness at the edges of his vision wasn't just exhaustion - it was death itself, reaching for him with the same cold fingers he'd felt once before.
And with that recognition came memory.
Suddenly, he was back in the Hollow Realms, bleeding out in the ash with holes in his chest. The same helpless surrender. The same creeping darkness. But he remembered what had pulled him back then - not hope, not love, but pure, burning rage.
'I will make them all pay!'
Visions blazed through him like fire. His father's disgusted face. The cult's torture chambers. Everyone who had abandoned him, betrayed him, written him off as worthless. They wanted him to die here, forgotten and alone. But he wouldn't give them that. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction
Cel hauled himself upright on trembling legs. Through the heat shimmer, the spire still thrust into the sky - his only landmark. He stumbled forward, following the distant tower through passages that seemed to shift when he wasn't looking.
The corridors blurred past in a haze of heat and pain. Then - somehow, impossibly - the density of crystals began to thin and the roar in his skull faded to a manageable shriek.
The ruin's broken silhouette materialized ahead like a miracle made real.
For a heartbeat, Cel thought it might be another cruel trick of the maze - a mirage born from desperation and heat. But the ancient stones remained solid as he staggered closer, their weathered surfaces promising shelter from the merciless suns above.
As he stumbled forward, the oppressive density of crystals began to thin. The towering formations that had surrounded him gave way to smaller clusters, then scattered shards, until finally only the occasional violet gleam caught the sunlight. The maze was releasing its grip on him.
The hill's slope felt impossibly steep beneath his failing legs. Each step up the rocky incline was pure agony, his burned feet slipping on loose stone. He fell twice, scraping his palms raw on the rough ground, but desperation drove him upward. The ruins crowned the hill like broken teeth against the blazing sky, their ancient stones offering blessed refuge from the crystalline hell below.
By the time he reached the entrance, Cel's legs were trembling so violently he could barely stand. He rolled more than climbed over the treacherous pile of stone and crystal, sharp edges opening new cuts along his skin. Blood welled up in thin lines, immediately cauterized by the crystal's heat.
The moment he crossed the threshold into shadow, his body simply... stopped.
Cel collapsed face-first onto the ancient stone floor. His cheek pressed against grit and dust that felt cool as spring water against his burned skin. His chest rose and fell in great, shuddering breaths that seemed to echo off the broken walls.
Above him, the four suns continued their merciless dance. But here - in this small sanctuary of blessed darkness - their light was filtered, fractured, manageable.
His ears rang like temple bells, dried blood flaked from his neck, and his hands looked like raw meat wrapped around charcoal - blisters layered on blisters until the flesh was unrecognizable.
Still, his heart hammered against his ribs with stubborn persistence.
Minutes crawled by before Cel could force himself to move. Every muscle fiber screamed in protest as he rolled onto his back, staring up through the gaping roof at the four suns. A whisper of breeze stirred the air - barely enough to lift the dust, but it felt like arctic wind against his burned skin.
His throat had been scraped raw by superheated air. Each swallow felt like drinking sand. But the water pouch sat where he'd left it, beside the dying embers of yesterday's fire.
The water was warm, tasting of leather and dust, but it might as well have been nectar from the gods. Cel drank in careful sips, letting each mouthful soothe his ruined throat before swallowing. Too much too fast would only come back up.
When he'd managed half the pouch, he let his head fall back against the stone. The world felt muted, wrapped in a thick fog. Sounds reached him as if from a great distance - the eternal whisper of wind through crystal, the distant hum of the maze's song, all of it dulled and distorted. His ears had taken permanent damage from the crystal's shriek. Pain pulsed behind his temples in steady waves, each throb a reminder of what the maze had cost him.
After some time, the suns had finally begun their slow descent toward the horizon, painting the broken walls in shades of amber and gold. Soon, true darkness would claim this place again. But first…
Cel's gaze drifted to the stone slab where the ancient papers waited, their edges curled and brittle with age. Whatever secrets they held, whatever knowledge the parchment offered, now was the time to discover them.
While he still could.
Cel's joints protested as he shuffled toward the ancient slab, still gripping the wall for balance.
He wiped his hands clean on his rags before lifting the first sheet. The script covered the parchment in symbols he'd never seen before - characters formed from sharp angles and flowing curves that seemed to follow no pattern he could identify.
Pain spiked through his temple. The dull throb that had plagued him since the crystal maze flared into sharp agony, pulsing with his heartbeat like needles driven into his skull. His damaged hearing left everything muffled and distorted, making concentration nearly impossible. He squinted at the unfamiliar script, but the lingering effects of his ordeal made focusing on the dense symbols feel like torture. He dropped the page with a curse.
The second sheet was just the same - incomprehensible characters that his wounded mind couldn't parse. By the third page, his vision was swimming from the strain of trying to force his battered senses to work.
The final sheet made his breath catch.
A sketch dominated the page - though most of it had been violently defaced. Thick black lines slashed across the parchment in aggressive strokes, obscuring whatever had been drawn beneath. The ink was so heavy in places that it had soaked through the ancient paper, leaving dark stains on the reverse side.
But fragments remained visible at the edges where the defacement didn't quite reach.
Four delicate wings spread from what might have been shoulders - translucent membranes rendered in careful detail, their veins traced with artistic precision. They looked fragile, almost fairy-like, belonging to something harmless.
Below the blackened center, crystals jutted outward in chaotic formations. Sharp, jagged clusters that mirrored those of the maze itself, as if whatever this creature was had been claimed by the same force that filled this realm.
The contrast unsettled him - ethereal wings above, eerie crystal growths below, and between them... nothing but aggressive black ink, hiding the truth.
In front of this monstrosity knelt a group of humans, rendered as shadows in tattered robes. Their faces were lost in darkness, but their posture spoke volumes - backs bent in submission, arms raised in a gesture of offering or pleading.
The image stirred an uncomfortable familiarity in Cel.
'A sect…' Cel thought bitterly as he remembered the Children of the Voidmother.
The papers rustled as his hands began to shake. Was this supposed to be guidance from the Moon Goddess?
'Don't tell me I'm supposed to grovel like those fools.' The thought tasted like bile. 'To beg this thing to bring back the moon.'
His free hand clenched into a fist. He'd spent a year on his knees, bleeding for monsters. Those days were over. Never would he do that again.
But if the trial demanded it…
He set the sketch aside carefully. The sun's light was fading, painting the ruins amber. Soon the four orbs would sink below the horizon, leaving him to face another moonless night.
The papers had given him more questions than answers - just another possibility to chew on like tough meat that wouldn't break down.
Exhaustion pulled at him as he sank against the cool wall. His mind churned with images of crystal-crowned monsters and kneeling figures even as sleep claimed him.
The nightmares came swiftly like they always have.
His body thrashed against stone, but the dreams held fast. Every betrayal, every abandonment played out in brutal detail, carved into his sleeping mind like scripture written in flesh.
When the four suns crested the horizon, Cel's eyes snapped open. Sweat had turned dust to mud on his skin and his throat was raw - he'd been screaming again.
But the bone-deep exhaustion was gone, replaced by something harder. His muscles felt coiled, ready, despite the ache that still radiated through his battered body. The burned skin had scabbed cleanly, though it still throbbed with each heartbeat.
Rage burned as steady as forge fire in his chest. Let the maze throw its worst at him.
He reached for the water pouch, which was far too light. Three, maybe four swallows left. Yesterday's desperation had cost him dearly.
One careful sip traced relief down his throat. The downside was that it left him more aware of his thirst.
Next was the dried meat. He bit off a piece and chewed mechanically, waiting for pleasure that never came. His tongue registered texture but no flavor - the torture had stolen even this from him. Still, his stomach accepted it without protest.
The pouch held two more strips. Enough for today, maybe tomorrow.
At the maze's threshold, his legs suddenly locked. Sweat beaded despite the morning cool. The memory of yesterday's ordeal crashed over him - but this time, determination outweighed fear.
'I didn't survive a year of hell to die in a crystal oven.'
The first step weighed a thousand pounds. The second came easier. By the third, momentum carried him into violet shadow.
The walls closed around him, already warm as the suns climbed higher. In the distance, that familiar hum began its crescendo - a song of heat and madness.
But Cel walked deeper anyway, one step after another.
This time would be different. This time, he was ready.