Ming woke to the silence of the forest.
The world around him was still draped in that same unnatural twilight—neither day nor night, only the dim half-light that never shifted. His ribs kept seizing his breath, and when he tried to move, pain spiked through his side like a knife. The bandage was stiff, damp, and smelled faintly of copper.
Alive. The word settled in his chest strangely. He slept well. He remembered the rogue spirit's claws had torn through him, nearly ripping him apart. If not for his stubborn will and the desperate gamble with Soul Rend, he would have been nothing but a stain in the dirt.
But he wasn't dead.
He forced himself upright with a groan, every movement sharp and slow. His hand pressed against his side, feeling the tacky warmth that had soaked through the cloth. The wound hadn't closed, but it hadn't claimed him either.
The forest floor was damp beneath his palm. Cool. Real. He let his fingers sink into the soil for a moment, grounding himself in the sensation. This place was too strange, too still—if he didn't hold on to these small details, he feared he would lose himself in its illusions.
He staggered to his feet, swaying. The air was heavier than before, thick with something unseen. His lungs fought every breath, as though the forest itself wanted to deny him the right to stand.
"Still here," he muttered under his breath, forcing his weight forward.
Step by step, he moved through the crooked trees. Their roots rose like veins through the soil, tripping his weakened body, but he pressed on. He knew where he had to go—the cavern where his allies had departed two days ago. He had stayed behind to fight and nearly died for it. Now he would return there, battered and alone.
The journey was brutal. Every step stretched into agony, his breath ragged, his wound throbbing with each jolt of motion. At times he had to stop, leaning against twisted trunks just to keep upright. He thought of his friends—their silent loyalty, their shared resolve. If they could see him now, dragging his broken body through the forest, would they call him strong?
It didn't matter. He couldn't collapse here. Not in the open.
At last, the mouth of the cavern appeared through the trees, its shadowed arch. Relief tugged at him, but he clenched his teeth and forced his body forward, stumbling across the final stretch until he crossed the threshold.
The cavern was as he remembered: damp stone walls, the faint echo of dripping water, shadows clinging to the edges. Empty. His friends' absence made the air feel colder, heavier. Now only he remained, limping back to a hollow shelter.
He collapsed against the wall, his body giving in at last. His chest rose and fell, his vision swimming. After a long moment, he forced himself to sit upright. There was work to do.
His hands moved with grim determination as he unwrapped the soaked bandage. The wound gaped, ugly and raw, the skin torn where claws had raked deep. Infection threatened at the edges, and the smell of blood was sharp. He cleaned it with water from his flask, biting back a cry as the sting lit his nerves. His fingers worked clumsily to stitch the torn flesh shut, every pull of the thread sending fresh waves of pain through him. Sweat slicked his forehead, but he didn't stop.
When it was finally bound and wrapped again, he leaned back with a ragged exhale. Not healed. Not whole. But stable enough to survive another day.
He let his head rest against the stone, the cool surface pressing into his skull. For the first time since the fight, he allowed himself to hope for a moment of silence. A pause. A breath without battle or agony.
But the system did not allow silence.
A cold, metallic chime echoed in his head, sharper than any blade.
> [New Trial Initiated.]
[Designation: Trial of Endurance.]
His eyes snapped open, disbelief cutting through the fog of exhaustion.
"No…" he whispered. "Not now."
The system's voice was unfeeling.
> [Objective: Survive until synchronization completes.]
[Failure Condition: Death.]
The cavern around him began to shift. The shadows deepened, the air thickened, and the ground trembled beneath his palms. The safe haven he had sought twisted into something hostile. The walls groaned and pressed closer, stone grinding against stone. The air grew heavy, pressing against his chest until every breath felt like drowning.
Ming's body screamed in protest as the trial began.
He staggered to his feet, his stitched wound tearing anew under the crushing pressure. Gravity dragged at his body, pulling him down, forcing his knees to buckle. He clenched his jaw, muscles trembling, refusing to bow. His vision blurred at the edges as heat rose, suffocating and relentless.
The trial wasn't an enemy he could cut down. It wasn't claws or blades—it was the world itself, bearing down on him, demanding he submit.
He forced one step forward. Then another. Each one felt like wading through stone, his breath sharp and shallow, his ribs screaming. Sweat stung his eyes, but he didn't stop.
Illusions began to bleed through the weight. Shadows twisted into familiar shapes: his mother's tired smile, his father's calloused hands, his sister's laughter. For a moment they stood before him, alive and whole. Then the image warped, their faces burning away, their bodies crumbling into dust. He reached for them despite himself, and the ash slipped through his fingers.
Pain lanced deeper. His wound burned, his muscles tore.
He clenched his fists, shaking. "You won't break me."
The illusions shifted again. This time it was her—the one who betrayed him. She stood just beyond reach, her eyes soft, her voice tender. She whispered his name.
His chest tightened. He wanted to lunge, to tear the image apart with his hands. But he forced himself to turn away. She was an illusion, nothing more.
The weight pressed harder. His knees buckled. He hit the ground, his stitched wound ripping open, blood soaking fresh through the bandages. The cavern seemed to close in, the ceiling lowering as though it would crush him flat.
Every instinct screamed to stop. To give in. To let the darkness take him.
But he remembered. His family. His allies. The rage that had replaced grief. The promise he had made himself.
One step. One breath. One refusal to break.
He clawed his way upright again, staggering forward through the collapsing cavern. His vision swam, his body barely more than a shell held together by stubborn will. He didn't know how much longer he could last. He didn't care.
He would endure.
At last, the pressure lifted. The walls stopped closing, the crushing weight eased, and the illusions dissolved into dust. Ming collapsed onto his knees, gasping, sweat and blood mingling on his skin. His entire body shook, every muscle screaming from pain.
The system chimed.
> [Trial Complete.]
[Endurance Increased.]
[System Synchronization: 49%.]
No congratulations. No comfort. Just numbers.
Ming pressed his bloodied hand against the stone floor, forcing himself upright once more. He was trembling, broken, barely breathing. But he was still here.
Still alive.
And if the system wanted to see how far he could endure, it would find out the hard way.