"What is your name, wanderer?"

"J... Jilius?" Hesitant, the boy responded.

The warrior unsheathed his sword, and the boy found himself at the beginning of the path once more.

That was his fourty-third time, he started to get used to the pain, but he also started to run out of names. He had used all the names he could think of, and he finally realized that his strategy bore no fruits; mere guessing offered no salvation.

After all, what if his name was exceptionally rare?

Another option remained to be explored: entering the fog as suggested by the reflection.

Could he trust it, though?

He didn't know. But what other choice did he have?

As he confronted the fog, the boy gazed deeply into it. Swallowing nervously, he breathed heavily, mustering the courage to take a single step into its depths. A chill coursed through him, freezing him in place, as tormented screams crescendoed, echoing so intensely that it seemed as though they were piercing his very ears.

For a few moments, he could understand the shouts:

"Kill me!"

"Help!"

"God, have mercy on me!"

The boy recoiled, his face etched with sheer terror. With just one foot in the fog, he experienced true dread, realizing he couldn't proceed further; it seemed the mist held the promise of his demise.

His breath grew tenser, and his expression slowly shifted to one of anger.

"Enough of this nonsense!" He shouted furiously before dashing onto the middle path towards the warrior.

Seated among the swords, the warrior remained in contemplation until the rapid footsteps of the approaching boy caught his attention. Mid-sprint, the boy seized a sword from the ground and lunged at the warrior. Reacting swiftly, the warrior parried the attack with a Dhoshyl, compelling the boy to retreat.

The boy swung again before the warrior could unsheathe his sword. Golaneth caught the blade with his bare hand, effortlessly lifting the boy into the air and launching him skyward.

Collapsed on the ground, sword lost, the boy hastily tried to rise, only to discover the warrior swiftly dashing towards him. In a downward slash, the warrior closed in on him with precision.

Attempting a last-second evasion, the boy's efforts proved futile. The warrior's strike prevailed, and the boy lost his right arm in the devastating attack.

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Despite the profuse bleeding from his arm, there were no screams of pain or signs of fear. Instead, he locked eyes with the warrior, his gaze filled with unyielding vengeance.

"Your name is Golaneth, isn't?"

Golaneth rose his sword for another slash.

"I will be back for you."

The sword descended upon the boy's head, plunging everything into darkness.

However, he indeed went back.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Each time he fought back with the same eyes of determination, with the same rage burning inside him.

Until they weren't anymore.

He lay down at the beginning of the path with a blank expression.

"Hope... That's not a boys' name, is it?" He mumbled.

That was all which would come to his mind each time he attempted to remember his name. Only one single word: Hope.

Hope.

Hope?

Why was that?

Is my name something that has to do with hope?

"You shall be my hope," a faint voice played in his head.

The voice was feminine, and full of life. It felt oddly familiar, and oddly comforting.

"My one and only," the voice said.

As the boy lifted his right hand toward the sky, a sudden awareness dawned on him – he was holding something. To his surprise, it was a sword.

"What is—"

It was a sword he held before he died by Golaneth's strike.

Strengthening his grip on the sword, his eyes rekindled with a renewed sense of determination.

A sudden idea sparked in his mind.

Observing the approaching boy, the warrior rose, preparing for another round of battle.

"I need something from you."

Golaneth rose his sword.

"And I'm not asking."

Swords gripped firmly, they charged towards each other.

Despite his right half being severed, the boy clutched a Nymph stone stolen from the warrior in his remaining hand. He locked eyes with the warrior, a silent challenge in his gaze.

"Thank you for this," he said with a smug, before getting decapitated by Golaneth's strike.

Regaining consciousness at the familiar location, he discovered the Nymph stone still in his hand – his plan had succeeded.

"And wherever you go, my son, you shall shine bright as the beacon of hope that you are," the voice resonated once more.

Facing the fog anew, the boy carried a blazing determination within. Fear had dissipated, replaced by readiness for whatever challenges lay ahead.

"Hope, huh?" He exclaimed as he extended his right hand in which he held the Nymph stone.

The stone emitted a radiant cyan glow, shining brightly.

"Raya," he uttered.

Within the fog, a radiant glow materialized, casting illumination across a vast expanse.

"I wonder," mused the boy, "was I given an uncommon name purely for poetic charm?"

The boy lowered his head and gazed into the radiant light.

"I should be angered, but all I sense is... a peculiar calmness."

With a determined step into the fog, the screams echoed once more, though this time, they weren't as loud as before.

Indeed, the diminished screams hinted at the weakened state of the fog, yielding to the radiance of Raya shining before the boy.

Undeterred by the echoing screams of torment surrounding him, the boy pressed onward.

Suddenly, he found himself within a wooden house, where before him lay a woman in bed, accompanied by a child.

The woman, with long brown hair and a mole beneath her left lime green eye, had a ghostly pale skin and a frail physique– She appeared to be sick.

"Hope. That is the meaning of your name, Dariu," she uttered gently, running her fingers above the child's face.

Dariu, that was his name.

Dariu Magnus.

As he closed his eyes, a tear fell down Dariu's face.

When he opened them again, he found himself in front of an old well amidst the fog.

"Thank you, mother," he uttered with a gaze raised to the sky.

Before the light of Raya would slowly fade away, Dariu uttered once more, "Raya!"

With another light conjured anew, and with a new found flame, Dariu traced his way back.

It was time for a final confrontation with Golaneth.