Noctus's breaths came ragged, his body trembling from the lingering cold. The wraith floated before him, scythe in hand, its voice as flat and inevitable as death itself.
"Respected Holder of Time, you are ignorant of your station. Allow me to explain. It is only right—for we, too, are indebted to the Lord of Time."
Noctus stiffened. Holder. That damned word again. He crossed his arms and tried to look composed, though his legs still shook under the suffocating aura.
"…Fine. Then explain. Because right now, I don't understand a single damn thing."
The wraith's eyes—twin abysses beneath the veil of shadow—glimmered faintly. Its tone remained calm, detached, yet something ancient resonated beneath its words.
"Holders are the apostles of the Elemental Gods. Chosen mortals, entrusted with fragments of their divinity. They are not mere wielders of aura, but vessels who carry the will of eternity."
The words settled in his mind like stone. Noctus frowned. Apostles? Fragments of gods? His hand twitched at his side, itching to summon his system, but he forced himself to listen.
"For ordinary gods—fire, wind, water—the Holder is granted a shard of essence. But for cursed, conceptual gods—Time, Death, Void, Dream, Space—the gift is different." The wraith's voice deepened, echoing faintly against the jade walls. "They are granted the Eyes of the End."
Noctus felt his stomach tighten. His cursed skill—the Eyes of Chronos.
"The Eyes of the End," the wraith continued, "are unique to each conceptual god. The Lord of Time bestows the Eyes of Chronos. The Esteemed One of Death grants the Eyes of Ruin. And so on. But of the others, I know nothing."
Its gaze returned to the jade statue in the hall's center.
"The woman you see before you was once the Holder of Death."
Noctus stared at the veiled statue. Her plain robes carried no patterns, no symbols. Yet the simplicity carried weight, as if she had never needed decoration—her very existence was worship.
"…So that thing in the cave—was it connected to her?"
The wraith's aura rippled faintly, a shift like cold wind passing through a graveyard.
"When the Holder of Death was sealed away, I… lost reason. Madness gnawed at me. To preserve sanity, I severed it—cast away the lunatic half of myself. What you met in the cave… was the discarded remnant. My own insanity, left behind."
Noctus froze, breath catching. That distorted voice, the suffocating aura—it hadn't been some monster born of corruption. It had been a part of her.
"…Then why did it say I smelled like death?"
The wraith's voice dropped lower, almost a whisper.
"Because you do."
Noctus blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You carry the aura of Death. Faint, but undeniable. The remnant mistook you for someone connected to the Holder. But you… you should not have it. Which makes me wonder…" The scythe's blade tilted toward him. "Why do you reek of Death, Respected One?"
A chill ran through his veins. His mind worked furiously. He didn't know. He truly didn't know.
"I… don't," he said slowly, forcing steadiness into his tone. "I don't know what you're talking about."
The wraith was silent for a long time. Its aura pressed heavier, the hall itself seeming to shrink around him. Then, slowly, the weight eased.
"…It seems you are not lying."
Noctus exhaled hard, realizing only then that his hands had clenched into fists. Why do I smell like death? He had no answer. Unbeknownst to him, the truth lay in the life he had already lost once before.
The silence stretched until Noctus found his courage again.
"…Then tell me. What about the Holder of Time in this timeline? Who is he?"
The wraith's voice turned grave.
"He was chosen fifty years ago. A prodigy from the Ceraunos Empire. A human of radiant talent. His name… was Edward Lozno."
Noctus stiffened.
"At first, he wielded Light. A genius among geniuses, trained at the Sanctuary, hailed as humanity's hope. But then… he awakened the Eyes of Chronos."
The wraith's tone grew darker, more suffocating.
"Time is heresy in the eyes of men. He kept his curse secret. But secrets fester. Soon, whispers grew. He began to mutter incoherently, speaking words no one understood. Then one day, he slaughtered all his classmates at the Sanctuary."
Noctus's heart thudded.
"After that, he vanished. For years, nothing. Then he returned—not as humanity's hope, but as an apostle of the Corrupted God. With his hand, the Ceraunos Empire fell. The royal line extinguished. The three duke houses obliterated."
The words hit like hammer blows. Noctus's fists clenched tight.
"The Empire… destroyed?"
"Yes. All in the year 472. This is now the year 479."
Noctus's mind reeled. 479? But in my timeline… it was 429. I'm fifty years in the future. In a different flow of time.
His laugh came hollow, strained. "Great. So not only am I in the wrong timeline, I'm fifty years late, too. Perfect. Just… perfect."
He dragged his hand down his face. "And this Edward lunatic… he's the one with the time fragment I'm supposed to find? Of course he is. Because why the hell would anything in my life be simple?"
The wraith hovered silently, watching him unravel. Then, as if ignoring his spiraling thoughts, it spoke.
"You cannot remain here, living one. This temple rejects the living. You must pass the trial, or you will wither."
Noctus's head snapped up. "…Trial? You're telling me this now?"
"You asked questions. I answered. Only now do I remind you: you do not have much time left."
Noctus's face twisted. "…Unbelievable. Story of my life. Never a choice, only curses."
The wraith's scythe pointed toward the far wall.
"The trial is simple. Break the wall. Step out. That is all."
Noctus narrowed his eyes. "…Yeah. No way in hell it's that easy."
The wraith gave no reply.
The jade statue loomed behind him, silent witness to his fate. The wall ahead pulsed faintly, as if concealing something beyond. The scythe-mark at his neck burned once more, faint but undeniable.
Noctus exhaled, aura flaring weakly.
"…Alright then. Trial of Death's Temple, huh?" His lips curled into a humorless smile. "Let's see how badly this one tries to kill me."
And with that, he stepped forward.