The laughter reverberated, its piercing tone slipping away, but leaving its mark, deep and unsettling. He had been so close—so maddeningly close to the light, and yet... now he found himself frozen, unable to step forward, unable to retreat. The mocking laughter had silenced him, forcing his body into submission.

He gritted his teeth, clutching the necklace even tighter, feeling the sharp edges of the pendant biting into his palm. It was the only thing grounding him in this moment, the only connection he had to anything real. With a trembling hand, he raised the pendant in front of his face, hoping for some comfort, some answer.

But there was nothing. Only cold metal in his grasp.

The primal fear still held him in place, his legs rooted to the spot as if the very ground itself had swallowed him. The light continued to beckon, but now, it felt different. Instead of a guiding beacon, it stood like a silent judge, waiting for him to take that final step, to make a choice he wasn’t sure he could make.

His mind raced—he had to move, he had to make a decision. The darkness at his back felt alive, creeping closer with every passing second, pressing against the edges of his vision. It was the same darkness that had followed him from the beginning, the same fog that had threatened to engulf him entirely. But now... now it felt different. It felt like it was waiting, just like the light.

Move. Do something. He pleaded with himself.

But fear, raw and overwhelming, kept him still.

Then, something shifted. It wasn’t the darkness, nor was it the light. It was... everything. The very air around him pulsed with energy, like the world itself had begun to stir. The ground beneath his feet trembled, subtly at first, then with more force. His heart pounded in response, adrenaline flooding his system. He couldn’t stay still any longer. If he didn’t move, if he didn’t act, he knew the world around him would swallow him whole.

With fear and desperation swirling in his soul, he turned around to face—

Nothing.

The memory of whatever it was, whatever he had seen, was ripped from him just as before. It was as though reality itself had been snatched away. No thoughts could form, no breaths could be taken—only silence. But the fear lingered. It gripped him as tightly as before, yet when he faced forward again, the darkness was gone.

Instead of the oppressive void he had braced for, there was light. Soft, glowing, and warm. It surrounded him, swallowing the darkness in every direction as if it had never existed. The world beyond him was bathed in an ethereal radiance, flooding his senses, soothing his mind. His body no longer trembled with cold—he felt warmth everywhere now, seeping into his very bones. It was comforting, familiar, as if the light itself was wrapping him in a gentle embrace.

Safe. He was safe now, right? There was nothing more to fear.

His footsteps were lighter, his breathing more relaxed. He was in the light. The same light he had chased endlessly, that had seemed so distant before. He had made it, hadn’t he?

But then he felt it.

A touch. A hand, soft and firm, grasping his arm. Holding him back. Not forcefully, but with a sense of purpose, of urgency. As if someone—or something—wanted to stop him from going forward, from taking another step. A silent warning.

His heart raced again. Why? He was in the light. There was nowhere else he wanted to be. Who—what—could be holding him back from this? From this peace?

Hesitantly, he turned to see who had touched him.

And then he saw him.

A young man stood behind him, bathed in the same soft, golden glow. His beauty was beyond anything he'd ever seen, beyond even the light that enveloped them both. His skin was flawless, pale but radiant, like polished marble under sunlight. His features were sharp, yet soft, as if each line of his face had been sculpted with divine care. Perfect symmetry framed his high cheekbones and delicate jaw, with lips that parted slightly, hinting at a smile, though no smile showed. His hair, a cascade of shimmering silver, fell perfectly around his face and shoulders, moving with an unnatural grace as if untouched by the laws of the world.

But it was his eyes that struck him most.

Golden and deep, like pools of molten light. They gleamed with wisdom, sadness, and an understanding that seemed far older than the young man’s appearance would suggest. Eyes that looked through him, into him, as if reading every thought, every fear he had ever had.

And then there were his clothes—elegant, flowing garments of fine silk that shimmered in the light. They were simple yet impossibly regal, as if this young man belonged in a place of higher existence, far removed from any world he could imagine. The fabric moved as though alive, catching the faintest glimmers of the ethereal light around them, and though the design was simple, its beauty was undeniable—just like him.

The young man’s hand remained on his arm, gentle but firm, preventing him from moving forward.

But why? What was this presence? This being of beauty and light?

“Why…?” he whispered aloud, the words barely escaping his lips, a question not just for the man but for everything. Why was this happening? Why was he being held back?

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The young man said nothing, only gazed at him with those golden eyes, filled with a sadness that he could almost feel, as though the answer was something too painful to voice.

Still grasping his arm, the man’s beautiful face, previously so serene, shifted into a flurry of emotion—complex, unreadable, and almost painful to witness. But it was only for a fleeting moment before he turned his gaze away, the emotions vanishing behind a mask of calm. Without a word, he began to walk further into the light, dragging him along with a grip that was firm, yet never harsh.

"What's going on?" he demanded, panic and confusion blending into his voice. "Who are you? What is this place?"

His questions fell on deaf ears. The young man, his face unreadable again, continued forward without answering, his hand locked around his arm like an anchor, pulling him into the endless expanse of light. The silence was suffocating. He could hear nothing but the soft shuffle of their feet against the unseen ground. The light should have felt comforting, but the longer they walked, the more disoriented he became. Time twisted, the journey felt eternal. Hours passed, or maybe it was days—he couldn’t tell. His legs burned with fatigue, his mind screamed for answers.

Finally, anger surged within him. He couldn’t take the silence, the unknown any longer. With a burst of frustration, he violently shook his arm free from the man’s grasp. "Stop!" he shouted, his voice cracking in the endless expanse.

The man flinched, and for the first time, he heard a voice, soft and delicate, as if the man had been on the verge of speaking.

“Don—”

But the word, whatever it was, was suddenly cut off. Everything stopped—everything. The light, the warmth, the serenity—it all vanished in an instant, as if it had never been. The radiant glow that had surrounded them was consumed by darkness, a pitch-black void that swallowed everything whole.

And with it, came the dread.

The overwhelming, suffocating sense of dread rushed back in like a tidal wave, far more intense than before. The darkness wasn’t just around him—it was within him, pressing into his chest, tightening his throat, flooding his mind. There was no warmth anymore, no guiding hand, no light.

There was nothing.

Just him, alone again, in a darkness so thick it felt like it would crush him. The dread whispered in his ears, curling around his thoughts, telling him the truth he’d been trying to deny since the beginning: the light had never truly been there to save him.

It was gone.

And there was no one left to guide him forward.

With that, everything inside him shattered. Whatever remnants of hope he had clung to, whatever fragile strands of happiness he’d imagined—the light, the warmth, the beautiful man who had guided him—were gone. Or had they ever truly been there at all? Was it all just a cruel trick of his mind? He wished it had been, wished the light had been a figment of his imagination because the truth—the cold, suffocating truth—was far worse.

He had blown it. Ruined it. His one chance to escape this endless abyss had slipped through his fingers. The words haunted him: "Let's be happy together." But how? How could he ever be happy now? It was over. He would die here, lost in the dark, consumed by the glowing eyes that bore into him, mocking his every movement. The laughter—no, not the same horrible laughter from before, but something else—cut through the air.

It was his own.

He stood there, laughing bitterly, hysterically, his voice cracking in the void. It was a sound born of utter despair, a laugh that mocked himself for daring to believe in something better. He cursed whoever had done this to him—cursed the light, the dark, the eyes, the world. His body trembled violently as he hugged himself, collapsing onto the ground, his fingers clawing at the unseen surface beneath him as if trying to find something solid, something real.

But there was nothing.

He wasn’t searching for anything in particular. There was no reason anymore. That, too, had slipped away with the light, just like everything else. His body thrashed about uncontrollably, legs kicking out, nails scraping, his head banging against the cold, unseen floor as guttural screams tore from his throat. He cursed the eyes watching him, cursed the fate that had led him here, cursed the concept of happiness itself.

And then, there was silence.

A chilling silence that hung in the air for a moment, as if time itself had stopped. But it didn’t last. The laughter returned, echoing from every direction, both from within and beyond. It was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. His own mad, broken laughter had merged with the ever-present, mocking laughter of the void. Together, they swirled around him, attacking his very soul, stripping away what little was left of him.

There was no escape.

No light.

No happiness.

Only the laughter, consuming him whole.

A single moment felt like an eternity within the cacophony of laughter. It enveloped him, surrounded him, and in a strange, twisted way, it felt normal. Almost peaceful. The laughter had become his world, his reality. Inside, he could feel something breaking, something vital within him dying. A core piece of himself, fragile and important, was perishing, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. All he could do was laugh.

This was it. This was how it would end. But where had it begun? Was the darkness before any different from the darkness now? Did any of it even matter? Why did it matter? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t find a reason. His life—his whole being—felt meaningless now, like the pieces were drifting away. He would die soon enough, so why not laugh at the absurdity of it all?

But then… “Don’t give up.”

A voice cut through the noise, unfamiliar. Not laughter. Not the mocking, deranged sound that had consumed his senses. Something else.

“Don’t lose hope.”

There it was again. Different. Alien to this world of darkness and despair.

“Don’t let go.”

The laughter—the endless, maddening laughter—stopped. It was gone, and in its place was something... foreign. Hope. Hope? He couldn't grasp it. The idea felt so strange, so detached from anything he had felt recently.

“Come with me.”

He couldn’t think anymore. He didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t. Maybe none of it was real. He didn't want to know. What he did know was that he was tired—so, so tired. Tired of the darkness. Tired of the light. Tired of despair, and tired of hope. It was all exhausting. Too much.

Lying there, sprawled out on the cold ground, he didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to try. He thought only of himself. Who am I? How old am I? His mind clung to that small shred of information. Twenty-five. Yes. He thought so, at least.

He reached out his hands, though he couldn’t see them. Were they even there? His mind said they were, but his eyes couldn’t confirm it. One hand felt like it was gripping the darkness itself, the other... a necklace? He thought so. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. None of it mattered.

“Come with me,” the voice urged again, just as he began to surrender himself.

The voice was soft, pleasant. The most pleasant thing he had heard in what felt like days, weeks—who could say? He didn’t care anymore. The voice didn’t matter. The world didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Except… there was a light, faint and distant, creeping into the edge of his vision. It was small, but unmistakable. He could see it even as his body began to shut down, even as he began to slip away.

“Let’s be happy together.”

He didn’t know who said it. He didn’t care. All he cared about now was the slowly approaching light.

And then, he let go, surrendering himself to the darkness once more.