Auren stepped into the small room. Despite its cramped size and the air of neglect that clung to it like dust, it had everything a room was supposed to have—barely, but completely.
A large bed stood at the center, taking up most of the space. Its thick black blankets were etched with a faint, web-like pattern of white, the kind that made your eyes follow and lose focus. To one side of the room, a wooden wardrobe rose beside a modest bookshelf. Both seemed to have been carved from the same tree, grown and hewn to exist as one singular piece.
Only a few books sat on the shelf, their arrangement disheveled, as if someone had either given up reading or left in a hurry.
To the other side of the bed sat a small table and chair. From where he stood, Auren could make out the glint of an ink jar and the sleek curve of a quill resting beside it.
His gaze shifted to the far wall, where two other doors stood tucked into the corners. He didn't know where they led. And he wasn't about to find out.
…Just not now.
Auren's eyes fell back to the bed, lingering.
'Right now… all I want to do…'
The thought trailed.
But then it was pierced—stabbed, in fact—by a sudden barrage of images. Visions of the woman from earlier stabbing him mid-slumber flooded his head. Each scenario was more absurd than the last, yet disturbingly believable.
Still, despite every image, despite the whispers of caution swirling at the edge of his senses, Auren gave in.
He let his body collapse onto the bed.
The blankets didn't smell like anyone. That was the first strange comfort. No trace of recent use, no clinging warmth from a previous occupant. Just cold fabric and silence.
That, at least, gave him peace.
Or what passed for peace in a world like his.
The only solace Auren could offer himself was the knowledge that—if he happened to die—he'd likely come back. Maybe broken, maybe worse… but alive nonetheless.
And yet, even that brought its own kind of terror. A creeping, unwelcome thought lurked beneath the surface—quiet, like a breath held underwater. One he refused to look at too closely.
What if he is really just a puppet? He had died in the real world after all…
Auren closed his eyes.
The weight in his limbs, the exhaustion clinging to his chest—it all caught up to him at once. His mind, stretched thin from every unanswered question and frayed nerve, began to fold in on itself.
Moments later, sleep claimed him.
Not because he welcomed it.
But because his body no longer gave him a choice.
***
Auren opened his eyes…
Though before he truly did, he felt it—an instinctive discomfort. A presence. Something watching him from the depths of a primal shadow. Ancient. Unblinking.
Then he opened them.
And found himself staring directly into a pair of golden-amber eyes.
Unmoving. Wide. Staring down on him from above.
Auren blinked. Once. Then again.
But the eyes did not blink back.
They just continued to stare.
It took a second before Auren realized she was standing. On the bed.
On his bed.
His gaze followed the figure down from her hovering stare to confirm it—yes, she was standing right over him.
The woman tilted her head, an unnerving smile slowly crawling onto her lips.
"Did you have enough sleep?" she asked.
"Time to earn your keep."
Auren's brow furrowed, but despite the strange and borderline intrusive wake-up, he said nothing. He simply sat up, then swung his legs off the bed and rose to his feet with a composed motion.
As he stood, she jumped down as well—lightly, effortlessly.
She approached him, lifting a hand to brush through his tousled hair, gently flattening its rough strands. Her touch was light… almost casual. But her proximity wasn't. Her chest hovered close to his face, and with every subtle bounce of movement, it annoyed him. Not because it flustered him—because it felt deliberate.
Distractingly deliberate.
"I expected you'd take a refreshing bath before sleeping," she said, her voice curling into a tease. "But I suppose you like things… dirty."
Auren's frown returned, sharper now. Was he hearing her wrong… or was she doing it on purpose?
She could've said that better. She should have said that better.
And yet, somehow, he knew that was the point. She wanted him to be the one with the 'dirty' mind.
"But I guess it doesn't matter," she continued, brushing past him. "You'll be doing some dirty work for me after all. So maybe bathing would've been a waste."
Auren's expression tightened. This time, not just in confusion—but in wariness. He looked up slightly, eyes locking with hers.
"…What dirty work?"
She tilted her head back, as if amused by his sudden shift in tone. Her golden eyes flickered, catching the weight of his gaze.
"Remember… you asked for this. So no complaining. And no giving up."
He didn't react to her taunt. His voice came quiet, but resolute.
"What work would we be doing, ma'am?"
The lady stepped back, her stare lingering on him. Then, slowly, she turned away.
"You can call me Asenya," She said over her shoulder.
"Or Mommy. Whichever is fine by me, really."
She flashed a grin.
"Come. Let me show you…"
Auren followed Asenya out of the room, silently matching her pace as they began to ascend a long, winding stairway.
They climbed past the fourth floor.
Then the fifth.
The sixth.
The seventh.
And finally, they reached the eighth.
Without a word, Asenya stepped forward and pushed open a pair of large double doors.
They groaned under her touch—yet it wasn't from resistance. It was almost ceremonial, as if the doors knew who she was.
The design reminded Auren of the Temple's entrance—broad and commanding—but unlike the onyx stone of the Temple, these doors gleamed with a dull metallic sheen. Worn but not rusted.
Still, they bore the same symbol.
As the doors creaked open under a strength Auren couldn't even begin to gauge, a vast hall unfolded before them, swallowed in shadows.
Unnatural darkness.
The kind that didn't merely obscure, but suffocated light itself.
But the moment they stepped inside, flickers of purple began to light up the walls—flames without heat, as though shadows had learned to burn. One by one, sconces ignited, casting an eerie glow across the endless space.
What Auren saw made him still.
Fragments. Scattered stones—white, black, red, violet. Some smooth, others jagged. Many were broken. And there were statues too, shattered and toppled, crumbled in ways that felt… ritualistic.
Most of the stones were black.
Asenya walked ahead, silent, until she reached the rim of a massive well at the center of the chamber. Auren followed, stopping beside her.
He peered over the edge.
A liquid rested within—thick, dark, and still. So dark it didn't reflect a thing. No ripple, no shimmer. No light escaped its surface.
It was like staring into the void.
If it could even be called water.
Auren's brows knitted, confusion creeping into his voice.
"…What is this?"
Asenya didn't answer at first. She kept her gaze fixed on the pitch-black pool, a subtle, almost serene smile blooming across her lips.
Then she spoke—softly, casually, as if telling him the time.
"This?"
She said, eyes never leaving the well.
"This is the Well of the Night."
Her smile deepened, strange delight dancing in her voice.
"I'd like you to go inside."