Noctus staggered upright, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his chin. The crushing weight of that unseen presence in the cave had finally lifted, leaving him trembling and drenched in fatigue.
"I… I'm alive," he muttered, almost laughing at the absurdity. "Barely, but alive."
His legs shook, but fear propelled him forward. Rather than risk the gaze that lingered beyond the mountain, he pressed upward. The outside was death; deeper in might be madness. At least madness gave him a chance to keep breathing.
Unbeknownst to him, as he stumbled forward, a faint scythe-shaped mark shimmered into existence at the nape of his neck. It pulsed once, then vanished beneath his skin.
He climbed until the jagged rocks gave way to carved stone steps. At their peak stood a structure that seemed both impossibly ancient and oppressively alive, a temple.
Massive, solemn, and utterly silent, it loomed against the bleak sky. Its walls were smooth, but veins of black aura snaked across the surface like cracks in reality itself, faintly glowing as though something writhed beneath.
Just standing there, Noctus felt as though invisible chains hooked into his chest, drawing him forward. His instincts screamed danger, yet his body leaned toward the looming doors as if compelled by a will not his own.
"What the hell… is this place?" His voice echoed against the stones, thin in the oppressive quiet.
He spun on his heel, deciding to retreat. Left path, down the slope.
Yet when he descended and rounded a boulder, he found himself staring again at the same stairs leading up to the temple.
Brows furrowing, he tried the opposite direction—right this time, clambering over sharp ridges until his palms bled. He turned around a corner—
The temple.
Noctus froze. His throat tightened. He tried again, running downhill as fast as he could. His lungs burned, his vision blurred, but when he stopped—there it was, looming just as before.
He bent over, panting, hands on his knees. "Of course. Of course… I don't have a choice, do I?"
His lips twisted into a bitter smile. "Well, story of my life."
With that, he forced himself to climb the stairs once more.
The doors of the temple groaned as he pushed them open. Immediately, the atmosphere shifted.
The world stilled. The air grew heavy, almost liquid. His skin prickled as if the seconds themselves had slowed. The aura was suffocatingly familiar—not fire, not wind, not water. Not even his own time essence, yet it resonated with it.
It was cold, absolute, and timeless.
He stepped into a vast hall. The silence was absolute, as if sound had been banished.
At the center stood a statue.
A woman of flawless jade, draped in plain robes without patterns. No symbols, no marks of grandeur—only simplicity. Yet even in that simplicity was a kind of reverence, as if the absence of detail itself was holy.
Her face was hidden beneath a thin veil. But her eyes…
Noctus's breath caught.
The eyes were carved into an intricate 'X', each line veined with pitch-black substance that shimmered faintly, like tar woven into crystal. They radiated a paradox—terrifying and enchanting at once, drawing him in even as his instincts screamed to look away.
His gaze locked against them. His thoughts blurred. His mind began to unravel—
"Don't look into the eyes."
The sudden voice cut through the trance like a blade. Noctus staggered back, gasping, hand clutching his chest.
He whirled around.
A figure floated above the ground—a wraith. Its body was draped in writhing black mist, its face hidden beneath shadow, its skeletal fingers gripping a curved scythe. The air around it was so cold, so absolute, that Noctus's skin turned numb. His breath fogged instantly. It felt like being dragged to the bottom of a frozen ocean, locked beneath endless pressure.
In the cave, its presence had been only a voice. Here, it was manifested, real, suffocating.
"Wh-Who are you?" Noctus's voice cracked, trembling.
The reply came low and steady, emotionless yet unbearably heavy.
"I am a servant of the Esteemed Ruler of Death."
Noctus's heart slammed against his ribs. His mind spun. Death…? Not just the end of life. The element. A conceptual element… like Time.
His knees felt weak. His instincts shrieked at him to run, but his body was locked in place. To distract himself, to mask his fear, he blurted out questions in a rush.
"Why are you here? What is this place? And that statue—who is it of?"
The wraith tilted its scythe toward the jade woman.
"This is the Temple of Death. I am bound to the Esteemed One who governs it. And the statue… is of Her Holder."
Noctus's eyes widened. Holder… again. Always that word.
Before he could think, the wraith's gaze pinned him.
"Respected Holder of the Great Lord of Time… why do you carry the scent of the Holder of Death?"
Noctus froze, his mind churning violently. Holder of Time? Is that because of my eyes? But what's this about Death's Holder? And what the hell do they mean by scent?
He opened his mouth, then closed it. His instincts screamed not to lie. Something told him the punishment would be worse than death.
"I… don't know anything about Holders, or this 'smell' you're talking about," he admitted truthfully.
The wraith's aura pressed down on him, cold and suffocating. Then, slowly, it eased.
"…It seems you are not lying." The scythe lowered, if only slightly. "Then allow me to welcome you—to this timeline, Respected Holder of Time."
Noctus staggered. His stomach dropped. "You… you know I'm not from this timeline?"
The wraith's voice did not waver.
"The aura of Time clings to you too thickly, too unnaturally. It does not belong here. You are not of this flow."
Noctus's throat went dry. It wasn't guessing—it knew.
"Then… why call me Holder? I don't even know what that means." His voice cracked, anger and fear tangled together.
The wraith was silent for a long, heavy moment. Then, for the first time, it inclined its head, as though lowering itself.
"Very well. Since you are ignorant of your station—and since we are indebted to the Lord of Time—I shall tell you… what a Holder truly is."