The flash faded, plunging the world back into darkness, and Draemir blinked, wondering if he’d imagined it. But no—he’d seen something there, something solid, something real. A structure, rising out of the wasteland like a sanctuary in the storm.

Hope flickered inside him, faint and fragile. He couldn’t be certain, but if there was shelter—if there was even the possibility of a roof over his head, a place to escape the rain and the cold—it was worth one last effort.

He groaned, forcing his arms to move, though they felt as heavy as lead. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up from the mud, his body trembling with the effort. He staggered to his feet, mud dripping from his clothes, his legs unsteady beneath him.

‘Just a little further,’ he told himself, gritting his teeth against the pain and exhaustion. ‘If there’s shelter, if there’s anything… I have to reach it.’

He took a stumbling step forward, his gaze locked on the spot where he’d seen the silhouette. The storm raged around him, relentless, but he ignored it, focusing on the memory of that dark shape in the distance. One step. Then another. His legs screamed in protest, his body threatening to collapse with each movement, but he pushed forward, driven by the faintest sliver of hope.

If that structure was real, it was his only chance.

It wasn’t long before Draemir arrived at the base of the structure. He nearly stumbled again as he kicked into the lowest step of a staircase, hidden just beneath the torrent of rain. The impact jolted him awake, a reminder that despite his exhaustion, he’d somehow made it. The building hadn’t been as far as he’d thought from where he’d fallen, but the dense wall of rain had hidden it until he was right on top of it.

He squinted up at the massive silhouette towering over him, his vision blurred by the rain and his own exhaustion. Even in his weakened state, he felt a strange sense of awe. The structure was enormous, its presence almost overwhelming after so many hours of trudging through the endless wasteland.

Gritting his teeth, Draemir forced himself up the steps, climbing slowly, each step an effort. As he ascended, he noticed the building’s design—a series of towering pillars flanking its entrance, each reaching four stories into the sky. The pillars surrounded the structure like silent sentinels, their thick, dark forms blending into the shadows cast by the lightning. Above him, a massive roof extended over the entire structure, held up by those imposing pillars. That roof was the first real shelter he’d seen since the start of this trial, a promise of relief from the unending storm.

For a moment, he was simply captivated. He stared up at the building, trying to comprehend its sheer scale. The storm crashed and raged around him, but beneath this enormous roof, there was a stillness that felt almost sacred. He took another step, and his gaze drifted down to the material beneath his feet.

The entire structure was made of nearly black bricks, smooth and flawless, each one fitted perfectly with the next. There wasn’t a single blemish or crack anywhere he could see, despite the constant barrage of wind, rain, and lightning outside. The bricks looked indestructible, as if time itself couldn’t touch them. He ran his fingers over the stone, feeling its smooth, cold surface, and wondered what kind of material could withstand such an unforgiving storm.

What is this place? he wondered, his thoughts hazy with fatigue. This was no ordinary structure; it had to be incredibly strong, almost otherworldly, to endure a storm as fierce as this. He couldn’t imagine what kind of people—or beings—had built it, or why it existed here, in the middle of a lifeless wasteland.

But his body, as always, had other priorities. His legs trembled with exhaustion, and every muscle ached from the journey. He didn’t have the strength to climb the stairs all the way to the entrance. He tried, pushing himself to go further, but he managed only three steps before his legs buckled beneath him. He stumbled forward, barely catching himself with his hands as he fell onto the rough stone steps.

The impact sent a sharp pain through his palms, but he barely felt it. All his energy was gone. He was too tired to even lift himself up. So, with a sigh of defeat, Draemir simply stayed where he had fallen, collapsing onto the stone just inside the edge of the roof.

It wasn’t comfortable—the bricks beneath him were hard, unforgiving, and the constant wind tugged at his soaked clothes, chilling him to the bone. It wasn’t warm or sheltered, not really. But at least he was out of the rain. The relentless pounding of the downpour faded to a distant roar as he huddled under the roof, his back against the steps.

He closed his eyes, letting his head rest against the cold stone as he tried to catch his breath. Every inch of him ached, his limbs leaden, his clothes clinging to his skin like sheets of ice. But he had a roof over his head, and for the first time in hours, he felt the faintest whisper of relief.

The storm continued to rage around him, thunder crashing in the distance, lightning flashing like silent explosions in the sky. But here, on the steps of this strange, indestructible structure, he felt… safe. Not warm, not comfortable, but safe enough to rest.

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Maybe just for a few minutes, he thought, his eyelids growing heavy. He’d need his strength to explore this place, to find out what lay inside. But for now, he allowed himself to close his eyes, just for a moment, feeling the cold stone against his back and the wind ruffling his hair.

At least I’m out of the rain, Draemir thought dully, just before his mind succumbed to exhaustion and pulled him under.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, his body too worn out to hold onto awareness but never truly finding rest. Every time he started to sink into sleep, the storm would crash around him, the thunder rumbling so close that it jolted him awake. He would blink in confusion, dazed, only to slip back into fitful slumber, repeating the cycle over and over. It was the kind of sleep that left him no more refreshed than he had been before, but it was the best he could get.

Finally, he woke with a start, the aftermath of another booming thunderclap fading in his ears. He blinked, his vision hazy, his limbs stiff and numb from the cold. For a moment, he just lay there, trying to gather his thoughts, to remember where he was and why he was here.

Slowly, the memories returned—the endless rain, the endless mud, the distant shape of this building through the storm. He was on the steps of… something. A temple, maybe. He wasn’t sure what it was yet, but it was solid, and it was shelter. That was enough for now.

He pushed himself up with a groan, feeling the aches in his muscles, the lingering weariness pulling at his bones. It wasn’t much, but he felt a faint renewal of energy, a slight lessening of the lethargy that had plagued him since he’d entered the storm. The sleep hadn’t been good, but it had been something.

Draemir took a moment to reexamine his surroundings, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. Everything looked the same as before—the dark pillars, the massive roof, the rain pounding relentlessly beyond the shelter. The storm continued to rage, unyielding, a constant wall of gray surrounding him on all sides. The chill in the air hadn’t lifted, and the wind still whipped at him, tugging at his soaked clothes.

But as he looked around, something caught his eye. Above the massive doors that marked the entrance to the structure, there was an inscription carved into the stone, letters that hadn’t been visible to him before. He squinted, leaning forward to get a better look, and realized that the letters were in the same strange writing he’d seen when he first entered the trial.

The symbols were sharp, jagged, twisting in ways that seemed to defy the natural order of language. They were unlike anything he’d ever seen, their forms completely alien to him. He couldn’t even begin to guess at their meaning; they looked more like art than language, something meant to be seen but not understood. And at the center of it all, directly above the doors, was an image—a single eye, half-closed, its outline simple but unmistakable.

Draemir frowned, feeling a flicker of unease. Okay… what could that mean?

An eye, half-closed. It was a strange symbol, one that stirred something deep in his mind, but he couldn’t place why. He had never seen anything like it before. Maybe this place was a temple, some ancient sanctuary dedicated to a god he’d never heard of. But why an eye? And why half-closed?

The only religious symbol Draemir had ever known was the cross. He’d seen it in a few places around the outskirts, mostly worn by the travelers who ventured beyond the city walls to preach on street corners. They’d call out to people in ragged clothes, urging them to repent, to return to God. They always seemed so desperate, their voices filled with an almost frantic urgency, as if they were trying to rekindle a fire that had long since gone out.

But Draemir had never believed in any of it. In the outskirts, faith was just another thing that had been broken, discarded like everything else. Most people had abandoned their beliefs in the aftermath of the world’s collapse. They felt betrayed, as though all their years of worship had amounted to nothing in the face of such suffering. The idea of a god who could watch everything fall apart and do nothing… it was too much to accept.

Inside the city walls, he knew, Christianity was still practiced, though it was a shadow of what it once had been. A smaller, quieter faith, clinging to life in a world that had moved on. But out here, in the gray streets of the outskirts, the only faith most people had was in themselves. Draemir certainly had never seen a reason to believe in anything beyond his own survival.

What god would this temple even worship? he wondered, staring up at the strange, half-closed eye. It wasn’t the cross, wasn’t anything remotely familiar. He knew there had been other religions, once, before the world fell apart. He’d heard people talk about them in passing, scraps of information that drifted through the outskirts like ghost stories. But they had all died out a long time ago, lost in the chaos and despair that had followed the collapse.

And yet here was this temple, standing against the storm, its walls unscathed, its inscription clear and untouched. Dedicated to… something. To someone. But who? And why?

A flicker of bitterness twisted in his chest. What kind of god would build a place like this? he thought. If this was a place of worship, it was no comfort to him. What kind of god would allow someone like him to end up here, to be thrown into a trial that was nothing but endless suffering? What god would choose him, of all people, to be thrust into the jaws of death like this?

If there is a god, he thought darkly, I have nothing to say to him.

He shook his head, shivering as the wind picked up again, cutting through his soaked clothes. The cold was biting, and he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to keep what little warmth he had left. Whatever this place was, it was his only option. There was no point dwelling on what it meant, or what purpose it served. Right now, it was just shelter, a place to escape the storm.

Taking a deep breath, Draemir forced himself to focus. He was here. He’d made it this far. And if he was going to survive this trial, he’d need to see what lay beyond those massive doors.

With a final glance up at the half-closed eye above the entrance, he pushed himself to his feet, his legs wobbling beneath him. He took one last, steadying breath, and then he stepped forward, toward the temple doors.