(Part I: Arrival in the God's Realm)
The last thing Ahayue remembered was the wet taste of blood in his mouth and the crushing weight on his chest. Warriors' cries blurred into the snarls of beasts, until the battlefield collapsed into chaos and storm. Then came the silence—not the night's hush alive with insects, but the hollow silence of endings. His heart beat once more, then fell still. Darkness claimed him.
He thought death would be nothingness. Oblivion. Yet the void he found himself in was not empty—it pulsed, alive and suffocating, like the belly of a slumbering beast. His body, broken in the mortal world, felt strangely whole here, but pain clung to him like a shadow. He breathed though he did not need breath, each ragged inhalation echoing in the dark.
A dim glow stirred on the horizon, not the light of torches nor moonfire, but the bruised ember of a dying star. It pulsed faintly, a fading heart, drawing him forward though his feet found no ground. The void folded and unfolded around him, each step echoing as though he walked across the bones of eternity.
Whispers rose to break the silence. Countless, overlapping, fading in and out like forgotten prayers. He strained to listen, but whenever he focused, the words dissolved. Still, unease coiled in his gut. This was not the Moon God's realm.
The glow revealed a plain of ash stretching endless. Black trees clawed at a bruised sky, skeletal branches etched in silence. The soil crumbled beneath his steps, releasing faint sparks. Half-buried faces jutted from the ground—statues of forgotten gods, their features eroded, mouths sealed shut in eternal silence.
Ahayue's chest tightened. This was no sanctuary but a graveyard of divinity. Yet the glow drew him onward, irresistible.
At last it condensed into a figure. Its form shifted endlessly—sometimes crowned, sometimes skeletal, sometimes vast as the canopy. Only its eyes remained constant: two hollow flames, burning with hunger and sorrow.
The whispers stilled. The world bowed to that figure.
The voice came, not spoken but pressed into his skull:
"So… another marked. Another broken. Another who comes to me, where all forgotten things wait."
The Forgotten God had noticed him.
Its voice clamped on his mind like a hand. Ahayue staggered, choking on air thick with unsaid prayers and broken oaths. His tongue caught in silence until at last he forced a cry: "What do you want from me?"
The figure loomed higher, its unstable form flashing antlers, wings, shadows. Looking at it was like staring into fire and void at once.
"I want nothing, little broken one. It is you who want. Freedom. Release from chains that rot your flesh and twist your spirit."
The words pierced him. His curse. His weakness. The god's voice shifted, now trembling with hunger, now with sorrow.
"It binds you as it bound me. We are kin, you and I—relics of covenants broken. You prayed to be cured. No god but I listened."
Memories struck: his childhood prayers, whispered pleas, desperate cries. Silence answered him always—until now.
Ahayue knelt, shaking. "What are you?"
The god's hollow flames seared brighter.
"I am the echo of worship long dead. The hunger of a god unfed. The chain you wear—and the key to break it."
The ground split, and voices rose—familiar, cruel. His tribesmen, their faces warped, circled him.
"Cripple."
"Burden."
"Curse."
They pressed in, cold fingers searing shame into his skin. Illusions of Alusya, of Andalusia, of every failure he carried, accused him. The god thundered: "Their scorn became your shackles. Face it, or break beneath it."
He battled his own shadow, a beast draped in his features, jaws wide with hunger. Their clash revealed the truth: the beast's power was his own. Its hunger was his hunger. But he roared in defiance: "If this curse is me, then I'll master it. I'll bend it."
The beast dissolved into his marrow, not gone but buried within. The god laughed, pleased. "You clutch fire with bare hands. We shall see if you endure."
Next came the battlefield of his guilt. Corpses of his tribe rose, accusing, blaming. Every blow he struck multiplied them. At last he dropped his blade and spoke the truth: "Yes, I failed. I was weak. But I carry their deaths, and I will give them meaning." The corpses dissolved, ash scattered into silence.
Approval rumbled in the god's voice. "Better. Strength is burden carried."
The path opened into a cavern. At its heart hung a chain, vast and writhing, forged of bone and shadow. Mist oozed from it, stinking of grief.
"This is your curse. The first of three. Break it, or it breaks you."
The chain struck like a serpent, searing into his veins. The god whispered: "Not by steel. This is covenant. What will you give, hunter?"
Ahayue gritted his teeth, seized the chain with bare hands, and pulled. Agony tore through him, but he roared: "I am not your prisoner!"
Fractures split the chain. The voices screamed louder, urging him to stop, but he clung to one thought: Alusya needed him. With a final cry, he tore the chain apart. Light and shadow exploded. The forest's roots steadied him, its breath coursing into his blood.
The god's laughter rolled, heavy with approval.
"Yes. The first chain is broken. The forest answers you now. Do not squander it, hunter. For the next will demand far more."
Ahayue gasped, clutching his chest. The heartbeat of trees and wind pulsed inside him. Power filled him—but so did a weight heavier than ever before.
And he knew this was only the beginning.
(Part II: The Deeper Chains)
The cavern did not dissolve with the breaking of the first chain. Instead, the light it released seeped into the stone, awakening veins of green fire that crawled along the walls. The air thickened, pressing down on Ahayue's chest like a mountain. The god's voice returned, harsher, more intimate:
"One chain is gone, but the curse is layered. Deeper it coils, deeper you must go."
The ground trembled. The cavern floor sank, spiraling into an abyss lit by those same green veins. Without choice, Ahayue was pulled downward, his body dragged by unseen weight until he landed hard upon a plateau of black stone. The silence here was heavier, suffocating, broken only by the thrum of something vast beneath.
Before him stood another chain, thicker, darker, its links forged from bone fused with metal, each carved with runes that bled shadows. This one did not hang—it wrapped around a colossal heart pulsing in the cavern wall, its beat slow, thunderous, oppressive.
Ahayue's breath caught. It was his heart. Twisted, bound, amplified until every regret became a shackle.
The god whispered: "This is the second covenant. You cannot tear it with hands alone. To break it, you must give of yourself what you fear to lose most."
A wind rose, bringing with it voices—not of his tribe this time, but of Alusya. Her laughter. Her breathless promises beneath starlight. Her cry of anguish when he fell. Every sound was a blade, cutting deep.
The chain shivered, feeding on his longing. It tightened around the colossal heart, each link constricting until his chest burned in the mortal echo of it. His knees buckled. His pulse raced against its prison.
"No…" Ahayue growled, clutching his chest. "You will not take her from me."
But the god's voice thundered back, sharp as a decree: "To cling is to chain. To release is to free. What will you surrender, hunter? What will you sacrifice to unbind your soul?"
The cavern darkened, and from the shadows stepped an illusion of Alusya herself, eyes soft, hands reaching. Her lips formed words without sound, but he knew them: Let me go.
Ahayue's hands shook. Rage, grief, love—all warred in his veins. Could he release her, even here in illusion, without betraying the vow that drove him?
The god waited, patient, merciless.
The chain pulsed, demanding its price.
(Part II: The Deeper Chains)
The cavern did not dissolve with the breaking of the first chain. Instead, the light it released seeped into the stone, awakening veins of green fire that crawled along the walls. The air thickened, pressing down on Ahayue's chest like a mountain. The god's voice returned, harsher, more intimate:
"One chain is gone, but the curse is layered. Deeper it coils, deeper you must go."
The ground trembled. The cavern floor sank, spiraling into an abyss lit by those same green veins. Without choice, Ahayue was pulled downward, his body dragged by unseen weight until he landed hard upon a plateau of black stone. The silence here was heavier, suffocating, broken only by the thrum of something vast beneath.
Before him stood another chain, thicker, darker, its links forged from bone fused with metal, each carved with runes that bled shadows. This one did not hang—it wrapped around a colossal heart pulsing in the cavern wall, its beat slow, thunderous, oppressive.
Ahayue's breath caught. It was his heart. Twisted, bound, amplified until every regret became a shackle.
The god whispered: "This is the second covenant. You cannot tear it with hands alone. To break it, you must give of yourself what you fear to lose most."
A wind rose, bringing with it voices—not of his tribe this time, but of Alusya. Her laughter. Her breathless promises beneath starlight. Her cry of anguish when he fell. Every sound was a blade, cutting deep.
The chain shivered, feeding on his longing. It tightened around the colossal heart, each link constricting until his chest burned in the mortal echo of it. His knees buckled. His pulse raced against its prison.
"No…" Ahayue growled, clutching his chest. "You will not take her from me."
But the god's voice thundered back, sharp as a decree: "To cling is to chain. To release is to free. What will you surrender, hunter? What will you sacrifice to unbind your soul?"
The cavern darkened, and from the shadows stepped an illusion of Alusya herself, eyes soft, hands reaching. Her lips formed words without sound, but he knew them: Let me go.
Ahayue's hands shook. Rage, grief, love—all warred in his veins. Could he release her, even here in illusion, without betraying the vow that drove him?
The god waited, patient, merciless.
The chain pulsed, demanding its price.
He staggered toward the illusion. "You're not her," he whispered, voice breaking. "But the ache you carry is real." His fingers brushed the phantom's cheek, warm, alive, cruel in its perfection. For a heartbeat he let himself drown in her gaze, then tore his hand away. "I will not release her. But I will release my fear of losing her."
The god's flames flared. "Half measures bind tighter than chains."
Agony racked him. The links constricted, crushing the colossal heart. He fell to his knees. Every instinct screamed to cling, to hold tighter. Yet beneath the pain he remembered Alusya's strength, the way she had never been his to possess. She was her own flame, not a tether.
With a cry torn from his marrow, Ahayue shouted: "I let go of my claim! I will love her freely, not bind her to my chains!"
The phantom Alusya smiled through her tears, then dissolved into ash that scattered on an unseen wind. The colossal heart shuddered. Cracks webbed across the chain, light bleeding through. With one final pulse, it shattered, the fragments dissolving into green fire that surged into Ahayue's chest.
The cavern trembled as the god's laughter rolled like thunder.
"Better. You bleed, yet you endure. The second chain is broken. But one still coils deepest, hunter. The final covenant waits where no flame can guide you."
Ahayue collapsed onto the black stone, gasping. His chest ached with absence and power both. He pressed a hand to his heart and felt it beat—free, yet heavier than before. A freedom sharpened by sacrifice.
The abyss below stirred, darker than night, calling him downward.
And he knew the last trial awaited.
(Part III: The Final Covenant)
The abyss swallowed him.
There was no descent, no sensation of falling—only the sudden loss of everything that tethered him. No ground. No sky. No sound. The glow of green veins faded until even the memory of light abandoned him. Here, the void was pure and absolute.
For the first time since the trial began, the god's voice did not come. Silence reigned, heavier than chains, pressing into Ahayue's skull until he thought he would shatter beneath it.
He floated, or perhaps he drifted downward. Time dissolved. His heartbeat grew louder, a drum against the void. Until finally, he realized—he could no longer hear it. The silence had stolen even that.
A shape emerged ahead. Not a chain, nor a heart. It was a mirror.
Suspended in the darkness, the mirror reflected him as he was: scarred, weary, eyes burning with defiance. But as he drew nearer, the reflection changed. It showed him as he might have been—whole, unbroken, strong as his brothers, a man who had never been cursed. A man Alusya could have chosen without shame. A man his tribe could have followed.
The mirror whispered without sound: This is what you were meant to be.
Ahayue reached toward it, fingers trembling. For one breath, he longed to step inside, to seize the life denied to him. To be free of pain, of scars, of chains.
But when he touched the glass, it turned black and cracked like thin ice. From within poured another Ahayue, stepping free—taller, prouder, perfect. Eyes cold, smile cruel.
"Do you think you've broken your curse?" the doppelgänger said, voice like his own but deeper. "You've bound yourself tighter with every step. Weakness drives you. Guilt steers you. Love chains you. You are not free. You are mine."
The false Ahayue surged forward, striking with impossible strength. Blows landed like thunder, driving Ahayue back. He staggered, blocking, each strike breaking bone and spirit both. This was no beast, no phantom of others—this was himself, sharpened into a weapon.
The god's voice returned at last, a whisper curling around the clash:
"The final covenant is the self. You carry your curse within. Until you conquer it, you remain broken."
Blood filled Ahayue's mouth. He fell to one knee as the mirror-double raised a blade of black flame, pressing it to his throat. The doppelgänger's smile widened. "Surrender. Let me live in your place. Perfect. Strong. Beloved."
Ahayue's vision blurred. He thought of Alusya, of the tribe, of Andalusia's prophecy. Of every burden. Of every prayer unanswered. His heart thundered once more—not with fear, but with fury. "No," he rasped. "I am scarred. I am weak. I am burdened. But I am me."
With the last of his strength, he seized the black flame blade in his bare hand. Agony ripped through him, but he wrenched it free, driving it into his own chest. The false Ahayue screamed as cracks spiderwebbed across its body, the reflection shattering. The void itself screamed with it.
Light exploded. The final chain revealed itself—not outside, but inside, coiled around his very soul. It writhed, resisting, but now he saw it clearly. With both hands he gripped it and pulled. Pain like the breaking of worlds tore through him, but he roared until the chain split apart, dissolving into searing white fire.
The void collapsed. The Forgotten God's laughter rumbled one last time, mingled with something else—sorrow.
"All chains broken. You walk free… but every freedom bears weight. Remember, hunter. Remember what you cast away to rise."
Ahayue fell through the burning dark, heart hammering anew. Power surged through him, vast and terrible, yet his body was his own. The curse had not vanished—it had transformed. It was his now, no longer master, but weapon.
The void spat him out. He gasped awake, face pressed to cold earth. The taste of blood lingered, but so did the forest's pulse in his veins. He was alive. Changed. Burdened. Free.
And somewhere beyond the trees, war still raged. Alusya still fought.
Ahayue rose, eyes burning with fire borrowed from a forgotten god. The trials were done.
But the true battle was only beginning.