orning, in a land overgrown with grass and waist-high reeds.
The wind howled in bursts. Footsteps were hard to hear. But the scent of blood—there was no hiding it.
Gael stopped when a swirl of red mist lingered in the air — a clear sign of a high-level predator's territory.
> "We shouldn't be here," he whispered, eyes scanning for an escape route.
Lyre stood behind him, squinting at the field veiled in red mist. But instead of backing away, she stepped forward.
> "This place… feels familiar."
> "What are you doing? Don't be stupid. This is an A-class monster zone — I heard a student was torn apart here on the second night."
> "I've been here before," she said, placing her hand on her waist, where a newly-imbued light crystal hung.
> "Are you dreaming?"
> "No." – She turned back, eyes pale and ghostly.
She looked possessed.
The scenery drowned in crimson.
The wind whistled through every leaf gap, carrying whispers of wronged spirits.
Gael looked around, seeing nothing but a sea of grass soaked in bloody mist.
Then suddenly — a roar surged from the earth. Roots broke through the ground, twisting like human intestines. From between them, a shape emerged:
> Bloodshade Treeform – a creature formed from the memories and blood of those who died here.
Its face was a melting fusion of dozens of human visages.
> "I'm sorry."
Lyre collapsed. Blood trickled from her nose as the creature twisted her pain into her mind.
Her father — a war mage and fugitive — had fled. Left behind his wife and daughter.
Her mother was tortured by the villagers and hung in the square.
> "Spare the girl… she knows nothing… she's just a child…"
By the time she escaped that house, her mother had already stopped breathing.
> "She's the criminal's child."
"Hang her, hang her, hang her!"
When she saw her mother's corpse, a scream shattered the sky, and a blinding light erupted from her.
That light shone for an entire day. And when it finally faded, a miracle had happened.
She woke amidst the ashes — the sole survivor.
Since then, every time she used light, the memories returned.
She no longer prayed for the light — she despised it.
As the Bloodshade Treeform attacked, Lyre rose, unflinching.
She opened her palm, where the crystal of light cracked under the weight of her mind.
> "You want my pain?"
"Then devour it."
The light burst forth. But it wasn't pure.
It was silver-grey, fractured — like shattered bone.
A three-meter radius around her was engulfed by a twisted light field — one that made the creature recoil in agony.
It also nearly brought Gael to his knees.
> "You're burning yourself alive!" Gael shouted.
> "If that's the only way for my light to matter… then let it burn everything," Lyre whispered.
The Bloodshade Treeform — a being born from the anguish and memory of the dead — couldn't withstand the light of a living soul still bearing unhealed wounds.
It didn't die from the power.
It died because it remembered being human.
Once, it was a child, a mother, a brother — killed by monsters.
And now, beneath that twisted light, it tore its own roots apart, screaming half-formed human sounds.
It died in pain — but maybe… in peace.
Lyre collapsed, blood streaming from her ears and eyes.
Gael caught her, his arm still numb from the residue of that alien light.
> "You're insane," he murmured.
> "I don't need salvation. I just need to live… and remember."
Gael said nothing. But as they walked back to their shelter, he followed behind her, not ahead.
That light could hurt others.
But to him — it was the light of someone who had truly suffered… and survived.
---
Day 6
Gael and Lyre hadn't eaten in two days. All they had left was a bit of water caught in leaf husks and a dried fruit stained with blood.
Gael's leg was infected and festering.
Lyre was on the verge of collapse, her magic drained, unable to recover without food.
In the forest, the monsters had changed — no longer just beasts.
They started to exhibit strange behaviors: gathering under moonlight, tearing into their own kind to eat their innards, and whispering in languages not of this world.
While chasing a wounded monster — hoping for meat — they stepped into an empty clearing.
There, Lioren sat within an ancient magic circle, drawn with dried blood and ash.
All around him lay dozens of monster corpses — not a burn, not a blade wound.
Simply dead.
> Lyre gasped: "He… he doesn't even smell of blood…"
> Gael whispered: "What is that…?"
Lioren didn't look up. Didn't speak.
He whispered to the ground.
And the moment his whisper ended, the surrounding trees withered, rotted, and gave way — revealing a stone door rising from the earth.
Suddenly, monsters swarmed in.
But they weren't like before — they had human faces.
Fellow students, once dead, now warped by darkness — but still with their own voices.
> "Lyre… help us… it's so cold… so cold…"
Gael was forced to fight, though on the brink of collapse.
He burned everything flammable and used wind magic to fuel the fire.
Lyre unleashed wide-range light magic to clear the field.
Lioren remained seated. Unmoving.
Then, one monster looked at Lyre. It didn't attack. It whispered:
> "You are the light… but the light has rotted. Come, vessel. The Abyss is calling…"
When all the monsters were gone — Lioren vanished.
No trace left behind.
That night, neither Gael nor Lyre slept.
Because at sunrise, they would complete the first trial.