Cassius stood at the edge, and the void called to him. A blade trembled above his wrist, his jaw clenched, and sobs lowered to a whisper. Would anyone understand? The blade lowered, his skin prickled, color drained from his face as his knees struggled to support him. Draining from his wrists--warmth, dancing spots bloomed within vision, his trembling throat struggled to breathe as he slipped to the ground. “If only I were born again, like them,” he thought.

Amidst regret, the crimson surface reflected hollow eyes under flickering fluorescent lights. Encroaching darkness shrouded Cassius, stretching and twisting, obscuring his once-familiar environment in an inky veil. He felt cold. Lofty ambitions of living above the rest, ruling from his little castle, seemed distant now. It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this—reality became grim, lulling with hope only to constrain with fear. He was led to believe that with determination, anything is achievable, that he was free to choose his destiny. But he scoffed at that. To hell with those lies; we're chained animals, restrained from chasing our true desires, forced to find a medium—a reminder of what once was human.

From the darkness stepped a figure, its grotesque silhouette inexplicable. “A moving desire for change, for justice,” purred a burly voice. Cassius jolted in fear. “Yet not an ounce of anger, for revenge,” the figure's words carried gentle curiosity.

His heart raced with uneasiness. “Am I hallucinating?” he whispered, consciousness bobbing between the here and now. Death wasn’t what he expected; it was sonder, with time passing in slow, deliberate ticks.

“Do you wish for another chance?” The voice carried weight. “I can provide that for you,” each word drawn out, teasing the edges of belief. It couldn’t be lying about something so ethereal, yet it was hard to grasp. “But you must do something for me,” the figure leaned forward, locking eyes with him.

“I’ll do whatever it is you want,” Cassius spat between drawn breaths, though a flicker of doubt gnawed at the edges of his resolve. His jaw clenched with whatever strength remained, conviction wavering, but beneath the bravado, fear coiled in the pit of his stomach. "If I had another chance at life, it would never end this way," he added, his voice betraying a hint of desperation.

“When the time comes, you will know what I seek,” the figure replied softly. Cassius’s vision grew hazy as a jarring smile grazed the figure’s face.

As his breaths grew labored, the figure dissipated, leaving him to slip from consciousness. Before darkness claimed him, its final words echoed. “Remember what you promised here, today.” With a searing sensation, tendrils slithered to his forehead, etching a symbol into his skin.

Cassius pondered the thoughts that would echo among his friends. Most would say his suicide was inexplicable, that he had no reason to commit such an act. But as the tendrils of shadow coiled around him, he realized the truth in those words. To them, his reasons remained a mystery, but to him, they were as clear as darkness. He had given his best in this life, and yet, it was not enough. With that realization, he embraced the void, ready to confront whatever lay beyond.

Filtering through the darkness, soft ethereal tendrils coiled around him, casting delicate patterns of warmth across his body, replacing the cold embrace of darkness with the warmth of light. After what felt like a single breath, his eyes shot open into oblivion. He was alive again. ‘I’ve survived?’ A pang of despair stung his heart, followed by utter confusion. He hadn’t the faintest idea of what had happened or who he was. All he knew was that he had survived, but from what, he didn't know. Attempting to move, he found himself unable to free himself from his confines. It seemed like the perceived oblivion was nothing more than a sealed coffin. ‘Am I going to die again?’ the thought rang out, louder than his heavy breathing.

For what felt like an eternity, Cassius was suspended in that darkness; the only sounds beyond his breathing were the trickle of water, the scurries of various animals, and the shrills of distant beasts that patrolled whatever his coffin was entombed within. In time, he thought he would die of starvation, yet not a pang of hunger growled. Then he thought the beasts would surely get him, yet none came. After days of paranoia, he began to call out, stifled though they were, sure that someone or something would hear his pleas—yet nothing answered.

In that time, he ruminated not only on where he was but who he was. Not the faintest idea came to mind. What he did know, however, was that he had died, seemingly by his own hand. In those faint moments where his sanity waned, he chuckled at the bizarre predicament. It was there that he began to cultivate his newfound identity. In time, memories slowly surfaced—at first, he thought he had found his first clue, yet to his surprise, it was the memories of the body he seemingly inhabited, a newfound clue as well. Their name, now his, was Cassius Au Tartartos. He could only remember vague details, but it was enough to elate his tumultuous state.

Days turned into weeks, and those into months. At a certain point, resigned to that fate, he dreadfully resurfaced his memories to no avail, with droplets of time passing ceaselessly and slowly. After countless months of monotonous whirring, he found hope. He heard voices.

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“Are we sure the Child of Dark is here?” one voice hushed.

“Friella, if you do not trust in me, then at least trust in the darkness.” Their voices grew closer.

“Head, I dare not question your judgment. It’s just—”

“Quiet. I sense the Dark One.” The Head spoke in a low, burly voice.

“Hello!?” Cassius called out, yet moments of silence were his only reply. For a moment, he thought it was all a reverie until the same burly voice spoke, its tone as if it were within the tomb he lay in.

“Hello, Dark One. I apologize for our late arrival,” the Head spoke, each word slow and deliberate, sending chills down Cassius's spine.

“Head, allow me,” Friella interjected, edging forward and pushing the cylinder seal of his tomb. Cassius had spent months pushing against its roof to no avail, as if it were glued together; for Friella, it eased off like butter on bread. Cassius, like a vampire shunning away from light, groaned as the light seeped in. At last, he was free.

"Thank you... truly," Cassius said as the Head reached out to help him up. Cassius stumbled, disoriented, but despite his confusion, he remained vigilant. His eyes scanned the Head's features: one side of his face appeared like that of a man in his fifties, while the other half was a grotesque mask of bark, resembling an oak tree, with deep grooves and a sunken socket where an eye should have been.

Is he half-tree, half-man? How does that even work? Cassius mused, a flicker of amusement crossing his mind despite the lingering unease.

“A mere child...” Friella scoffed, her disdain clear. "We’ve gotten a boy from trusting in the darkness, Head. For all we know, he trapped himself in there!"

“I didn’t!” Cassius retorted, his bright amber eyes burning at her as Friella grunted in reply and turned her attention to the Head. It was obvious she didn’t see him as anything more than a child.

“Friella.” The Head’s tone was stark; he wouldn’t tolerate any more of her whining. Friella turned her head but didn’t reply. She had overstepped her boundaries this time, and there wouldn’t be a next. Turning to Cassius, the Head giving a weak smile in apology. “Dark One, I’m sure you’re confused,” he said gently, “but don’t worry. I’ll explain it all.”

As Cassius was led out of the tombs, through a maze of hallways littered with bones and overgrown vegetation, the Head spoke ceaselessly about the world and its state, the importance of the Dark One—him—and the Darkness. For Cassius, it all seemed like the ramblings of a crazed man. But taking a glance at Friella, who seemed caught up in his tale, made him feel the need to pay attention. After all, he had no clue where he was. ‘Wonder when he’ll stop.’

After a while, Cassius interjected, the information swelling in his head. “So, I’m the Dark One, and the Darkness needs me,” he continued, frustration creeping into his tone. “I’m just confused—why me?”

“Because you have the mark,” the Head answered, the flames of his torch dazzling as the shadows from it danced around them. As vague as it was, Cassius nodded as if understanding, though he was completely lost.

Though a realization slowly bubbled up within him—he didn’t know who, where, and what these people were. Apprehension tensed his muscles noticing the glint of steel hidden under their garments.

“Now, I’m sure all of this is confusing to you, but I need you to listen carefully.” Despite his soothing voice, a grim undertone permeated his words. “Once we enter the forest, stay close to us.”

Fear wrung Cassius, and all he could do was nod in reply. ‘These people are dangerous, they're only pretending to be nice.’

Friella took the lead, dashing ahead of the two. She would scout the surroundings and report back before they exited, something about how valors might be patrolling. Cassius couldn’t quite understand what that meant, but the Head seemed to, so they waited in silence. The quiet was torment enough for Cassius, who took refuge in recalling everything that had led him to this moment—a habit he had developed during his confinement, honing his ability to recall fine details. But now, it seemed that the Head had taken an interest in Cassius as a person, not just as the Dark One.

“Dark One, did you have a family?” the Head asked, breaking the silence.

“Just... just call me Cassius,” he corrected nervously. “And no, I don’t. To be honest, I don’t really know who I am.”

“Ah, C-Cassius,” the Head repeated, as if the name felt foreign on his tongue. “Having no memories of who you are must be troubling, but doesn’t it also feel... relieving?” There was a pang of wistfulness in his voice. “Unburdened from all your past mistakes and regrets, free to try again, free from guilt.”

Oddly, Cassius felt the urge to comfort him, but all he could offer was a tentative nod. The Head smiled before sighing, the silence between them returning until moments later, Friella reappeared. ‘Finally, we can leave this forsaken place,’ Cassius thought.

“Ready, Cassius? We’re leaving. I long for a hot bath,” the Head laughed heartily as he led the way, Cassius not far behind as Friella walked next to him.

“Here, take this,” she said, shoving a sheathed dagger into Cassius’s hand. He looked at the blade, then back at her, confused.

“The forest is a dangerous place. The Head might not say it, but I will,” she warned. “We can’t protect you at all times.”

“Thank you,” Cassius said, wrapping his hands around the handle and unskillfully unsheathing it.

“You do know how to handle a blade, yes?” Friella asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh—no,” Cassius admitted, quickly sheathing it, almost nicking his finger.

Scoffing, she replied, “Well, you will, or you’ll die.” And with that, she walked ahead.

Stunned, Cassius quickly shook his head and jogged to catch up. Between the Head, Friella, and his odd situation, he didn’t know what to do about it.

The forest stretched and twisted all around Cassius; from atop, one would think it was a sea of trees, the light having trouble seeping between the foliage. The Head and Friella led the way, with Cassius looking at the ominous path they took. Prickles of fear flared around his neck, his hand tightening around the unfamiliar hilt of the dagger, his breathes quickened.

“What are you waiting for, Cassius?” called the Head. “We have plenty of views on our way; don’t get stuck on this one.”

'Maybe I should've stayed in that coffin.'