Rhys had been walking for god knows how long. His pace had slowed to a stagger, each step heavier than the last. The ground beneath him was solid, yet eerily silent—like the earth itself swallowed every step he made. All he could hear was the shrieking wind, biting through the air.

The cold cut through his bloodied jacket, the one he'd taken from the paramedic's mutated corpse.

How can it be this cold? This place had two suns. Make it make sense!

The violet-crimson twin suns hung in the sky, like a pair of eyes, relentless in their gaze. As they began to dip below the horizon, the sky was painted in hues of red and purple—beautiful, but so out of place with the rest of Rhys' surroundings.

And with the fading light came a sharp drop in temperature. Night was approaching fast. Rhys knew he needed to find shelter, or he'd freeze before he could figure out what to do next.

Rhys had made it out of the obsidian briars, but the world beyond offered no solace. A mountainous valley stretched before him, its jagged peaks vanishing into thick, curling fog. The air was heavier here, yet thin at the same time.

The only way forward was through a narrow fissure carved into the mountainside, its walls steep and shadowed.

He walked for what felt like hours, the silence pressing in—until a sharp crack shattered the stillness.

Rhys halted.

The sound came again. A dull, rhythmic pounding, like something—or someone—hammering against stone.

He followed the noise carefully, slipping between the craggy rocks, until he saw them.

A small figure, hunched over, striking at something unseen. Their clothes hung in tattered strips, and their movements were sharp, twitchy—like an animal backed into a corner.

Rhys' muscles tensed.

He kept his distance, breath slow, ensuring his presence remained undetected. There was no way to know if they were a threat.

Maybe they know what and where this place is… and maybe how to get out.

A fight wasn't ideal, but if it came down to it—Rhys was confident he could handle it. He had grown used to scrapping for food and a place to sleep back when he was a street kid. But that was years ago, before he met the Benefactor, so he feared that he might have lost his edge.

His body ached from exhaustion, and the cold gnawed at his bones. Not to mention his missing limb.

Then the figure turned, and Rhys got a clear look at their face.

A boy. He couldn't have been no older than thirteen years old.

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A jolt of confidence steadied his nerves. A kid? I can handle a kid.

He took a step forward.

The boy's head snapped toward him.

Then he was gone.

Not a flinch. Not a dash. Just—vanished.

Rhys barely had time to register the blur before something primal twisted in his gut. His instincts screamed at him, a razor-sharp certainty that coiled around his spine.

I'm about to die.

"I mean no threat!" he blurted, hands raised in surrender.

A sting bloomed across his throat.

The boy was already there. His eyes glowed blue, with a certain coldness to them.

Low to the ground. A jagged stone pressed against Rhys' skin. Cold, unyielding, slick with something Rhys didn't want to think about. Warmth trickled down his neck—his own blood.

Rhys' heart pounded. His mind raced.

What the hell…?

Then he saw it.

A rune-like tattoo stretched from the corner of the boy's mouth to just below his eye, pulsing in deep, molten blue. The symbols writhed and shifted, alive with eerie light.

Rhys swallowed hard.

Now he wasn't sure if this really was just a kid.

Rhys knew he had to do something but he didn't dare move. His breath came shallow as he was calculating what to do next—shove the kid back, reach for a weapon, run—but his body refused to listen. All of those probably wouldn't end well for him.

His eyes flicked to the stone against his throat. It wasn't just a rock. A makeshift blade, maybe? It looked like it was made from the same spikes he used. He didn't know, and now wasn't the time to figure it out.

The boy tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving Rhys'. The eerie glow in his irises flickered, studying, weighing, and dissecting. For a moment, neither of them moved.

He sure doesn't act like an immature kid. Rhys thought

Then, the boy spoke.

"You smell… weird."

Rhys stiffened. What?

The boy's gaze darkened, the blue glow deepening like smouldering embers.

"Who sent you?"

Rhys swallowed, feeling the blade shift ever so slightly against his skin. The warmth at his neck reminded him of how little room for error he had.

"I—" His voice cracked. He forced himself to stay steady. "No one. I swear. I don't even know where the hell I am."

The boy's eyes narrowed, scanning Rhys for any sign of a lie. His expression didn't shift, but something in his posture relaxed—a fraction, almost imperceptible.

Then, he spoke again.

"Then why are you still alive?"

Rhys blinked. "What?"

The boy didn't answer immediately. His grip on the stone loosened, and for the first time, Rhys noticed something strange—his hands were trembling. Not in fear. In exhaustion. Like he was holding himself together through sheer force of will.

Rhys took the tiniest breath. His instincts told him this was the moment.

"Look," he said, voice low, calm. "I don't know what's going on here, but I'm not your enemy."

The boy's jaw tensed.

"…Not yet."

Rhys barely had time to process that before the boy finally pulled the stone away from his neck. He took a slow step back, the eerie glow in his eyes flickering like embers in the wind.

Then, he spoke again.

"You should've died the moment you got here."

That wasn't a threat. It was just a fact.

Rhys hesitated, touching the thin cut on his throat. His fingers came away stained red.

"Would you mind enlightening me on what that means exactly?" he asked.

The boy didn't answer right away. His gaze dropped slightly, and something unreadable flickered across his face.

Then, at last, he met Rhys' eyes again.

He pointed at the tattoo on his face and said, "Did one of these manifest anywhere on your body?"

"Not that I know off, no." Rhys responded.

"Then your trial hasn't begun yet."

Rhys' stomach twisted.

"…Trial?"

The boy said nothing.

Instead, he turned on his heel and began walking. Not away, but forward.

And then he stopped—just far enough ahead that Rhys would have to make a choice.

Follow.

Or be left behind.

Without any other option. Rhys followed.

Haven't I been tried enough already?