Lensin gathered his thoughts, steadying the fragments of his own mind as he opened his eyes. Light passed through his vision.
For a fleeting moment, everything was blurred—the faint, greyish light seeping through the cracked stone ceiling above his head. He felt the weight in his eyelids, the chill of air brushing against his face, the dampness that lingered thick around him like a shroud. The silence of the place was not empty—it carried weight, pressing against his senses as though it were a voice screaming inside his skull. His body felt weary, as if waking from a dream long and shadowed. He drew his first breath slowly, and the sound of it echoed faintly through the hollow cave—soft, deep, the lone sound of life within a realm devoured by stillness.
He looked around. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dimness. The light that filtered through tiny cracks in the cave wall glimmered against the stone's darkened surface, its dull sheen consuming the space in an ashen haze. His shadow trembled across the blood-stained floor, streaked with dust. Some patches were still moist, carrying a faint metallic scent that blended with the damp air. The chill of the cave preserved that scent, embedding it within every breath he took.
He turned his gaze upon his own body. His hands trembled slightly as he lifted them into the pale light. His fingers were marked with dark stains, scratches, and half-healed wounds. The texture of his skin felt rough, cold—almost lifeless. He looked down. His robe was soaked with blood, the residue of those he had dealt with, mingled with the grime of battle. The dried blood had turned a deep brown, merging with dirt and dust, old stains blending into new until they became indistinguishable. The scent of iron and earth clung heavily around him, as though it sought to remind him of what had transpired here.
The robe's color darkened further as he looked upon it. The fabric no longer seemed fragile—it had thickened, strengthened, as if imbued with a strange essence. The sheen of the cloth reflected faint light in deep shades of blue and black, devouring every glimmer around it, like darkness itself spreading outward from its threads. He reached down and touched its hem. The fabric felt cool and firm beneath his fingers, dense and pulsing faintly with an unseen rhythm—alive, powerful, resilient, as though it acknowledged his will. Even without words, its presence throbbed faintly, like a second heartbeat.
This place—a prison that once held countless souls. Once, the cave had been alive with crystals that shimmered in radiant light. Now, that glow had faded to silence. The gentle brightness of the past was gone, leaving only dim flickers like the last breaths of something dying. The once-clear minerals had turned opaque, their hues now blackened and tinged with violet, absorbing light and life alike. Those crystals now emanated a dark power—mysterious, shadowed, malevolent. It was more than matter; it was awareness, watching him from within the stone. He could feel the faint tremor beneath his feet—the pulse of something alive beneath the still earth, endless and deep.
He inhaled and exhaled. His breath carried the chill and scent of death. Each breath echoed faintly, breaking the silence for only a moment before it returned heavier than before. He placed his hand upon his chest, feeling the slow but steady rhythm beneath—life, fragile yet present. It was the only thing not yet consumed by the surrounding dark.
He began to walk through the cave. His footsteps rang softly against the hard stone, each echo folding into the next, a rhythmic confirmation of his solitude. The cave was saturated with the energy of darkness and a suffocating sense of malice. His breath mingled with the icy air until it turned to mist. The unseen energy around him pressed inward—a tangible weight against his chest. The darkness here had form, pulse, and intention.
He passed by bodies—some lifeless, some aged, others twisted in pain. They lay scattered across the path. Some had long turned to stone; others still stared upward with eyes that refused to close. Their skin was shriveled, clinging to bones in brittle layers. The tattered remnants of their clothing hung like forgotten shadows. The only sound came from droplets of water falling from the ceiling, striking the stone floor in a rhythm that echoed like a dirge—a cry of the past refusing to fade.
The stench of decay mingled with earth and dust, a heavy odor that clung to everything. The cold seeped from the walls into his body, numbing him to the core. Each step he took felt like treading through the ghosts of those who once lived. The silence was not empty—it was filled with the murmurs of the dead, of agony sealed within stone, of fear that had never dissipated.
Whenever he paused, his breath blended with the air thick with despair. The atmosphere was so dense it felt suffocating. The black crystals pulsed faintly as he passed, reacting to his movement like a heartbeat of the void. He spoke no word, but within his thoughts, he could feel the unseen eyes of darkness watching, following every motion, every step.
The sound of his breathing and the echo of his footsteps were the only proofs that he still lived within this shadowed world. The weight within his chest was not fear, but the echo of memory. He walked onward through the cave—a labyrinth of death and silence—and though the world around him uttered no sound, the stillness was filled with the whispers of the past, endless and unforgotten.
He began his journey out of the cave.
The air outside was utterly different from what lingered within. As he stepped beyond the deep darkness, his faint breathing echoed softly into the hollow silence stretching before him. The first touch of light brushed across his face, pale and cold, tinged with the dim hue of early dawn. It was not warmth that greeted him, but a distant light filtered through a veil of mist and dust swirling endlessly in the air. The dimness consumed everything around him; the world seemed drenched in shadow. Each step he took left prints upon the cracked and parched earth, a land that seemed to have endured centuries of suffering in silence.
The wind whispered through the gaps of stones and ruins, a soft murmur like the faint memory of voices that once filled this place—sometimes tender, sometimes mourning. He passed by jagged rocks eroded into distorted shapes, their outlines resembling twisted faces frozen in pain. Pebbles rolled and clattered upon one another with a metallic ring, the sound echoing back toward him like the heartbeat of solitude in a barren world.
As the light slowly penetrated the lingering haze, he realized the land ahead was filled with people—many, far too many. Some lay motionless upon the ground; others bent low, their trembling hands pressing against the soil as though trying to rise but failing. Their bodies twisted under invisible torment, their skin pale as bone, drained of the color of life. Eyes wide and empty, staring without seeing. Some still breathed, their shallow gasps mingled with faint groans, their pain seeping through the air like a dense, suffocating mist that had no end.
He walked among them silently, yet his heart trembled. A chill slid through his fingertips as his eyes took in the sight of ruin surrounding him. The mingled scent of sweat and blood filled the air, tainted with dust and the heavy stench of death. It was as though the world itself breathed through pain, exhaling sorrow into every breath he drew.
Some of these people appeared unnaturally aged. Their skin wrinkled, dried, and shriveled in moments, as if their lifespans were being devoured far too quickly. Their hair had turned white, their bodies frail, shrinking into fragile remnants of what once lived. It was as though their very souls were being drawn out slowly by an unseen force. Some collapsed right before his eyes, their final breath escaping without even a sound, leaving only lifeless husks upon the dust-stained ground.
Yet amid this vast sea of death and agony, something stood apart.
There were three who still remained standing.
Through the dim light filtering across the mist, their silhouettes became visible—three figures unmoving amidst the fallen, like faint fragments of light that had refused to die. He stopped walking. The air around him stilled, as if even the wind held its breath.
The first figure he saw was a man with hair as white as snow, reaching his shoulders. The faint light reflected off his strands like frozen flakes that would never melt, even in the cold haze surrounding them. The robe upon his body shimmered faintly with pale gold tones—like the early rays of dawn not yet burning, soft and serene. His eyes held a quiet radiance, as though a gentle flame burned deep within, a fragile light that dared to exist within this suffocating dark.
Beside him stood a small woman with pink hair that fluttered softly with every whisper of wind. Her hair moved like petals brushed by light—fragile, graceful, and alive. Though her expression remained calm, her eyes betrayed traces of fear, uncertainty, and exhaustion. She stood with a cautious posture, her small hands gripping the edge of her garment tightly, as if restraining the trembling inside her chest from escaping.
The third was a large man, bald-headed, his skin gleaming faintly in the dimness like metal cooled after heat. His body was solid, immovable, like a mountain carved from stone. Even without a weapon, the way he stood radiated power; his mere stillness pressed upon the air with weight so heavy it was almost difficult to breathe. His shadow stretched across the cracked earth and fallen corpses like a wall that could not be crossed.
He looked toward the others as well.
His gaze swept across those who still breathed and those who did not, his heart stirring with a confusion he could not name. It was a blend of curiosity, caution, and an unspoken sense of waiting—as if the world itself was holding its breath for something not yet revealed. Everything around them seemed suspended in a fragile balance between life and death. The air grew thick, the silence heavy, as if the very world had paused.
And then—their eyes met.
In that instant, the silence deepened until it felt tangible. The light seemed to slow, every particle of dust suspended in midair as though even time hesitated to move. His heart thudded loudly in his chest, its sound filling the emptiness. A strange emotion spread through him—uncertainty, perhaps fear, perhaps recognition. Whatever it was, it held him captive, his gaze locked upon the three before him.
He was bewildered by them—by the fact that they bore no wounds, showed no signs of decay, no loss of vitality.
While everyone else around them had withered like leaves in the dead of winter, these three stood firm—like the last trees unburned in a forest reduced to ash. Their mere presence pulled at the air around them; it shifted, trembling faintly with energy that could not be seen but could be felt. The faint shimmer of their existence was like ripples spreading quietly through still water.
He was astonished that his power could not affect them.
He could feel it—the force that once subdued all life and matter, now meeting resistance. It recoiled upon him like an echo striking the walls of a deep ravine. Something protected them, something unseen, impenetrable. His strength, which had once been absolute, slipped against their presence like waves breaking on stone. A hollow uncertainty settled in his chest, mingled with the quiet sting of disbelief. For the first time, what he thought unshakable was rendered powerless.
But the three of them were wary of him.
The way they looked at him was not merely fear; it carried suspicion, question, and the silent pressure of thought. Their eyes spoke without words, full of unvoiced emotion that pressed upon him as though they sought answers from his soul itself. The air between them was thick with tension, their gazes cutting through him like blades made of cold light. Without sound, they asked a question heavier than words—was he the one behind all this?
Their eyes bore into him, three sharp lights piercing the dimness, reaching inward past his flesh into his being. The silence in that moment was deafening. The weight of their unspoken accusation, the fear that lingered, and the uncertainty that filled the air—all became a soundless roar within his mind. It pressed against his thoughts, echoing endlessly like thunder that would not fade.
Around them, the wind rose again, scattering fragments of dust into the dim light. The faint golden hue from above caught each grain, making them shimmer like dying embers floating in stillness. The silence remained, vast and unbroken, but beneath it lay a resonance—a tension so sharp it could be felt within the bones.
He did not move. They did not speak. And yet, the air between them was alive, heavy with the weight of something unspoken—fear, recognition, and a quiet truth neither side could name.
Only the wind carried their silence away, along with the dust that danced through the dying light of a world on the edge of its breath.