Alarion groaned as he slowly pushed himself upright, his limbs stiff and aching from the fall. Dirt clung to his skin, and his chest still burned with every breath. The flickering torch in his hand threw dancing shadows against the cold stone walls, illuminating twisted carvings and that eerie, unmoving face above the arch.
It stared at him.
No it felt like it stared. The longer he looked, the more it seemed to watch.
He turned away with a shiver.
I said we had to leave… but how?
He scanned the corridor again. The walls were smooth, carved by something with purpose…not nature. And the silence, that choking silence, made every step echo too loud.
He knelt beside Elaria and gently lifted her onto his back, cradling her where the crate had once secured her.
"Yeah. Just great," he muttered under his breath. "All that time building that crate, and it shatters in seconds. Guess I have you to thank for that, whoever you are…"
He trailed off, jaw tightening.
"What do you even want with Elly…?"
He shook his head roughly, forcing the thought away. Now wasn't the time.
"No. Focus. Focus on getting out."
He turned his gaze forward. Two corridors stretched before him one to the left, and one to the right. Both swallowed by darkness.
Alarion stood frozen at the fork, breathing steadily, thinking.
Then he closed his eyes.
The air was still. Heavy. But one path… felt colder.
The other?
His gut stirred.
This way. "Right. The second one it is."
With nothing but instinct to guide him, he stepped into the unknown.
Alarion pressed forward into the second corridor, his footsteps slow and heavy.
He didn't know why his legs weren't injured but something unseen clung to them, like thick mud or hands made of shadow. Every movement took more effort than it should. The deeper he went, the darker the air became…not just the lighting, but the very air. Dense. Smothering. It sank into his lungs and blurred the edges of his vision like fog seeping into his thoughts.
He rubbed his eyes. Nothing changed.
His heart picked up pace.
This place… it's wrong.
He tried to focus, to ground himself. But his breathing grew ragged, and a faint ringing filled his ears. He stumbled, barely catching himself against the wall.
Cold stone. The only real thing left.
Then….dizziness.
The corridor swam.
No enemies. No traps. Nothing touched him. Yet his body… wouldn't obey.
What is this?
Then a thought struck him.
The six senses…
He had felt them before back when he fled from that cloaked figure in the woods. When instinct sharpened beyond reason. Some primal awareness had taken hold of him then. It saved him.
Maybe it could save him now.
He closed his eyes. Slowed his breath. Reached inward.
Feel…
But nothing came.
Again.
Focus. Breathe. Just like before. Find the thread. Find the shift.
But the moment he got close, his mind slipped. His chest clenched tight.
Why… why can't I do it?
His knees buckled. He collapsed.
The torch clattered beside him.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Silence.
Then…light.
But not the cold flicker of the torch.
Warm.
Familiar.
Alarion opened his eyes.
The stone ceiling was gone replaced by clouds and smoke and fire.
Screams echoed in the distance.
The scent of burning wood filled his nose.
And when he looked down…
He was smaller.
His arms…thin. Hands…scarred, but small. Legs trembling.
His voice caught in his throat.
No. No no no…
He knew this day.
He'd buried it. Locked it deep. But it clawed back with cruel precision.
He turned to the side.
There she was.
His mother.
Breathing hard. Holding his wrist. Blood on her cheek. Panic in her eyes.
"Run, Rion! Run!"
And they did.
Again.
It played out like a cruel ritual.
The demon horde pouring into their wooden village. Smoke choking the sky. Bodies everywhere. His mother pulling him through shattered paths. Her last word rang out in his ear , then…..
Always the same.
She dies.
He runs.
Then it resets.
And again.
Again.
Ten times. Fifteen.
By the twentieth…
Alarion wasn't even fighting it anymore.
He knelt beside her scorched body, staring blankly as the flames devoured their home once again. His hands trembled. His breaths came short and shallow, like knives in his lungs.
"I tried," he whispered. "I tried everything."
He clenched his fists, shaking violently.
"Why does it always end the same?"
He screamed.
A scream not just of pain….but exhaustion. Helplessness. Fury.
But no one answered.
There were no gods here.
No Crown.
No second chances.
Only this moment.
Over and over again.
And as the flames surged one final time, painting the sky in orange and ash, Alarion looked down at his younger self's hands….
And felt nothing at all.