Celm's heart hammered in his chest as the dragon circled above. His hand gripped the pendant so tightly that his knuckles turned white, the rough edges digging into his skin. He felt small, insignificant beneath the crushing weight of its presence. Every beat of its wings sent gusts of wind through the forest, making the trees groan like they were alive, suffering under the strain.

The dragon’s gaze was fixed on him, two burning coals that illuminated the darkness. The air was thick with tension, like the moments before a storm broke, and the oppressive darkness pressed against him from all sides. He could feel it—the vast emptiness in the dragon’s eyes.

“I can’t outrun this thing,” he thought, every nerve in his body screaming for him to run. "But if I stay, I'm dead." His pulse raced as panic clawed at him. His mind spun, searching for options, but they all seemed hopeless.

Suddenly, a voice rumbled through the sky, low and bone-chilling. "You think holding onto that little trinket will protect you? Foolish creature... I've fought souls more powerful than you can imagine. Your death will not even be a flicker in my memory."

The dragon's words sent a shiver down Celm's spine, his throat tightening as he struggled to breathe. "Devour... my soul?" His stomach twisted at the thought, his grip on the pendant faltering. He wanted to scream, to run, to hide—anything but face this ancient, monstrous force.

“What the hell is this thing?” His thoughts spiraled as his eyes darted around, desperately searching for any escape. But there was nothing—only trees, shadows, and the dragon’s shadow growing ever closer. “I... I can't die here. I can't... not like this.”

The pendant in his hand flared, casting a faint glow that barely cut through the darkness. It was small—so small compared to the dragon. But it was all he had.

"I have to use it... I have to do something." Celm’s voice shook, and he looked down at the pendant as if it could somehow answer his silent plea. The warmth it gave off was faint, like a dying ember, but it was there. “Come on, work! Please!”

His mind raced, panic and hope clashing violently inside him. The pendant pulsed again, brighter this time, and for a split second, Celm thought he could see something. A shift in the air, a break in the shadows.

"You believe that little light can save you? How naive. You've already lost." The dragon’s voice was closer now, its breath hot and rancid as it swooped lower, its wings stirring up leaves and dust.

Celm's knees buckled, and he stumbled backward, his voice shaking. "I... I won't die like this! I can't let you win!" He wanted his words to sound strong and defiant, but they came out weak and cracked, as fragile as he felt at that moment. His heart pounded painfully against his ribs, his legs twitching, ready to flee—but where? "I've survived worse," he lied to himself, clinging to the thought like a lifeline.

The dragon chuckled darkly, its voice vibrating through the ground beneath Celm's feet. "Survived worse?" it mocked. "Oh, little creature... you know nothing of survival. You're nothing more than prey. A little light flickering in the darkness... soon to be extinguished."

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The ground trembled as the dragon landed, its massive form blocking out the faint light of the moon. Celm took a step back, sweat dripping down his face. "Think... think...!" His mind was screaming at him, but the fear clouded everything.

The pendant in his hand pulsed brighter now, reacting to his fear, the warmth spreading through his chest. It felt like a heartbeat—steady, reassuring. Celm's breath caught, his mind latching onto that small flicker of hope. "Is it... trying to tell me something?" He held it up, the light growing stronger, pushing back the darkness inch by inch.

For a brief moment, the oppressive atmosphere seemed to lift, the shadows retreating as the pendant's glow expanded. Celm's heart surged with hope. "Maybe... maybe this is my way out!"

But the dragon's laughter shattered that thought like glass. "You think light can save you from the void?" it hissed, its voice now deep and sinister, a guttural echo that seemed to come from everywhere at once. "I am the end of all things, little one. Light is but a fleeting dream."

Before Celm could react, the dragon's tail lashed out, a blur of dark scales, and he barely had time to dive out of the way. The ground where he had stood exploded, dirt and debris flying into the air. He hit the ground hard, gasping as the wind was knocked from his lungs. The pendant slipped from his fingers, tumbling to the ground.

"No! No, no, no!" Celm scrambled, dirt-clicking his hands as he reached for the pendant. His mind screamed in desperation. "It's my only hope! I can't lose it!"

He grabbed it, but before he could move, the dragon's maw opened, revealing rows of sharp, glistening teeth. The air around Celm grew heavy, thick with malevolent energy, and he could feel it in his bones—a deep, gnawing dread.

The dragon spoke again, but this time its voice was different—calmer, colder, more deliberate. "You believe you have control over your fate... but in truth, you have already surrendered." Its words were like ice, freezing Celm in place. "Your mind... your soul... are already mine."

"No... that’s not true. I—" Celm stammered, his grip on the pendant tightening. But even as he spoke, doubt seeped into his thoughts like poison. "What if it's right? What if I’m already lost?"

The pendant flared again, and for a moment, a warmth filled his chest, pushing back the fear. "No... no, I can’t give in! Not yet!"

Just then, the light from the pendant flared even brighter, blinding him for a moment. The darkness around him seemed to waver, like it was being peeled away. The suffocating weight lifted, and the dragon's presence faded, replaced by a strange warmth, light, and... peace?

Celm blinked, his vision adjusting to the new surroundings. He stood in a vast field bathed in warm sunlight, the sky above clear and bright. The suffocating darkness was gone. The dragon was gone. His breath came in ragged gasps as he took in the unfamiliar sight.

"Did I... escape?" His voice was hoarse, but hope flickered in his chest. He glanced down at the pendant, now softly glowing again. "It worked... I made it out..."

But something was off. The warmth, the light—it was too perfect. His instincts screamed that this wasn’t real.

His mind reeled as a voice echoed faintly around him. Muffled, unintelligible, but somehow... familiar. As if it were his own.

"Wait... did I say that?" Celm whispered, confusion gnawing at him. His heart raced, the peaceful atmosphere now feeling wrong—alien.

"Yes, you didn't," the voice responded, its tone eerie, almost playful.

"No... I didn't. That's not my voice," Celm muttered, panic rising.

"It's your voice, yet not. How curious." The voice was clear now, inside his head.

Celm's skin crawled, dread sinking into his bones. "Okay, this is getting weird... I've been in this space too long."

The warmth of the light began to fade, replaced by a suffocating weight. The familiar darkness crept back in, and the world around him seemed to warp, twisting into shadow.

Then, a voice—cold and chilling—sliced through the haze, cutting into his very soul.

"Hello, good sir. My name is the Sepulcher."

Celm's heart stopped. The shadows around him coiled like snakes, closing in on him with an oppressive force.

"Just because you managed to survive, escape, and glimpse what you perceived as light, it doesn't mean you're free.” The Sepulcher’s voice dripped with malice, every word a creeping venom. “In truth, your thoughts and your perception of reality are part of this Sepulcher. Even if you escape, it will be both what you desire and what you fear."

The air thickened, and Celm's knees buckled. "This... this can't be happening..."

"The moment you stepped into this space, every action you've taken, every thought, every emotion, every movement... it's all been me. I could make a perfect replica of you right now, send it outside the Sepulcher, and have it do everything you despise."

Celm's blood ran cold. "No... stop..."

"At this point, I'm just talking to myself. But of course, you aren't me—yet I am you. It's terrifying, isn't it? You can't even trust the thoughts that come from your own mind. And the words you hear from"