Lucas didn't know how long he had been walking.
Minutes.
Hours.
Days.
He had no answer.
He lifted his head slowly, neck stiff, skin peeling at the edges of his lips.
The sky hadn't changed.
The same moon hung above him—cold and black, like a hole punched through the heavens. It hadn't moved. Not an inch. No stars. No sunrise. Just that eternal violet glow that pressed down on the world like a curse.
He stopped for a second and stared at the sky, expecting something—anything—to shift.
Nothing did.
The dunes around him were exactly the same as the last time he'd looked. Maybe he was walking in circles. Maybe The Crucible was a loop. A trap.
Or maybe he was already dead.
He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out.
He blinked, and when his voice finally returned, it was barely a whisper.
"…Still walking."
The words tasted like dust.
He didn't remember choosing a direction. He didn't remember the last time he ate. He wasn't even sure if the weight on his chest—the armor—was real, or just something his mind had made up to feel less naked.
Lucas looked down at his hands.
They were cracked. Dirty. Red.
'Was that blood there before?'
He couldn't tell.
His thoughts were unraveling.
And the worst part?
He didn't care.
He just kept moving.
Lucas fell to his knees.
Not from impact—he simply couldn't stand anymore. His body collapsed under its own weight like a dying machine.
He leaned forward, elbows sinking into the sand, chest heaving with each breath.
'Just five seconds. I'll just close my eyes for five seconds.'
His body screamed for rest. His mind was fading in and out, like a dying signal in a broken radio.
His eyelids dropped.
Darkness swallowed the world.
And then—
it returned.
Not sound. Not pain.
Presence.
He opened his eyes.
Shadow stood directly in front of him.
Just a few meters away.
Lucas didn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
The figure didn't either.
It just stared.
That hood, a void of darkness. That scythe, curved and jagged, resting against its shoulder like a question with only one answer.
There was no sand shifting beneath its feet. No movement. No voice.
Only certainty.
Shadow was waiting.
Watching.
Waiting for him to stop moving.
Lucas's breath came back in a single sharp gasp. He rolled away from the vision, coughing, half-choking on air, and forced himself upright.
"No. No no no—fuck off—"
He stumbled forward, legs failing but dragging along anyway.
Every few steps, he looked back.
Shadow was gone.
But the feeling remained.
Like it had touched his spine and left something behind.
Lucas didn't know how he was still moving.
His legs were machines now. Broken ones. Rusted. But they still moved. One foot, then the other. Sometimes he forgot which direction he was going. Sometimes he forgot why.
His mind drifted between memories and hallucinations.
He saw a streetlamp. Flickering above wet pavement.
A grocery bag in his hands.
His father's face.
An old blanket.
Cold concrete.
Voices.
But none of them stayed.
They came in flashes, flickering through his mind like images on a cracked screen.
He tried to remember his name.
He forgot it for a moment.
Then—
'Lucas. Yeah. That was it.'
He chuckled.
Then stopped.
Was that his voice?
His tongue felt wrong. Words came out strange. Slurred.
He tried again, whispering into the wind.
"Lu… cas. I'm Lucas."
It didn't sound real.
Nothing did.
He looked down at the sand.
It shifted like water.
He blinked.
No, it was sand again.
He rubbed his face. It hurt. His cheek burned where the air touched it.
He couldn't tell if he was sweating or bleeding.
His thoughts looped, repeating in fragments.
'Keep going. Don't stop. Tower. Keep going. Tower. Tower.'
He laughed again. Louder.
Then tears came.
Silent. Dry.
He didn't wipe them away.
He just kept walking.
He couldn't remember the last time he was hungry.
Not because he'd eaten—because the feeling had vanished altogether.
His stomach no longer ached. His throat no longer begged for water.
There was nothing left to feel.
It was like his body had stopped trying.
His limbs moved, but the sensation of motion was fading. His skin had gone numb. His heartbeat had become a distant echo, a rhythm he no longer trusted.
He looked down at his arm.
There was something on it.
A thin black line, jagged like lightning, stretched from his wrist to his elbow.
'That… wasn't there before.'
He touched it with his other hand.
It felt real.
But nothing felt real.
The air shimmered around him, just slightly. Like the horizon was melting.
He blinked, and it returned to normal.
He blinked again, and Shadow was there.
At the edge of his vision.
Not far. Not near. Not moving.
Just… there.
Lucas didn't startle anymore.
He didn't scream or run.
He just looked ahead.
'If I stop, it takes me.'
He kept walking.
Even as his mind slipped further.
Even as his body no longer felt like his own.
Even as Shadow crept closer and closer, no longer waiting… but accompanying.
He didn't notice the change at first.
One step felt like the last.
Then another.
But something was… different.
The sound.
The texture.
The way his foot didn't sink.
Lucas stopped.
He looked down.
No more sand.
Beneath him was stone.
Dark. Solid. Cold.
The black sand had given way to slabs of obsidian, veined with faint traces of violet energy that pulsed slowly beneath the surface. Like veins. Like a heart.
He blinked.
Lifted his head.
And there it was.
Towering above him, blotting out the sky.
The structure.
Massive. Monolithic. Alien.
Its walls were jagged and dark, carved from a stone older than memory. Spires reached toward the moon like broken fingers. Arches twisted at impossible angles. It stood like the skeleton of a god's cathedral, half-swallowed by time.
And he was at its base.
Lucas didn't feel relief.
Didn't feel triumph.
He just collapsed.
His knees hit the stone. His hands followed. Then his forehead.
Not from reverence.
From exhaustion.
From being done.
The stone was cold beneath his skin.
Lucas couldn't move anymore.
Not because of pain. Not even from fear. Just… nothing.
His body had nothing left to give.
He lay there, cheek pressed to the obsidian floor, eyes barely open.
The violet glow from beneath the stone pulsed once. Faintly. Like a breath.
Like the world itself had noticed him.
His vision blurred.
He tried to lift his head—but it wouldn't respond.
He blinked.
The tower rose above him like a god staring down at an ant.
Somewhere inside, something ancient waited.
He didn't know what.
Didn't care.
He was here.
His lips parted. Dry. Cracked.
He forced out the words.
A whisper. Barely audible.
"I'm here."
And then, everything went dark.