‘What am I doing?’

Asdras walked along the forest path toward the wheel, his mind whirling with questions. Why had he accepted this grim task? Why did he feel destined to do it?

Though he had only spent a short time with these people, they were the only ones he could remember. Feeling utterly alone and unable to recall his own identity, he had come to see them as family. This sense of belonging had trapped him, making their desperate plea impossible to refuse.

"Chapters," he murmured to himself.

His imagination drifted back to the notepad that Second had shown him, and the word "chapters" surfaced in his mind. For him, "chapters" symbolized both hope and the bitter taste of hard decisions. It was a metaphor for trying to write the right things in the story of his life while constantly grappling with the lack of the right words.

"Trials," he said, clenching his fists tightly.

He thought back to the message. A trial was designed for him to overcome, which made his mouth taste foul. If words had flavors, then that message was more bitter and revolting than the water he drank to awaken his power.

‘My power…’

Asdras sighed, stretching and flexing his muscles as he pondered his newfound strength. His vision had sharpened remarkably, allowing him to see far into the depths of the forest. He could spot intricate details in the trees and capture the movements of insects as they crawled and preyed on each other. His hearing had also improved, picking up the distant yet audible rustle of leaves and the noises of animals moving about.

Yet the power within his body puzzled him. He felt an unexpected vigor, as though he had slept deeply and awoke fully rejuvenated, and as if his belly was filled with the finest meat, despite knowing he had barely slept and the meat he ate earlier tasted bitter after his conversation with Second.

"Amazing!" Asdras gasped as he saw the statue atop the wheel. In the daylight, it looked different than at night. The broken stone shone brightly in the sun's rays, its eyes pulsing with a warm, orange light. An aura of energy surrounded the area, filling Asdras with an unexpected sense of peace.

The water within the wheel had changed, no longer a dark, foul red but a serene orange tone, rippling in an inviting wave as if beckoning him to come closer. His mind went calm, almost blank, as he watched it. He didn't notice the birds pecking at the water or the two animals sipping it nearby. In that moment, it felt as though nothing else mattered — no monsters, no dangers.

It wasn't until a cloud passed over the sun, casting a shadow and blocking its light, that Asdras became aware of his surroundings once again. He barely noticed the animals scattering and the birds flying away, jolted back to reality by the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

"Is it the right thing to do?" Asdras muttered, flexing his sword and looking at his distorted reflection in the blade.

He nodded to himself, first for his own sake. If he didn't, he feared he would blank out and lose what he believed defined him — the trial, the message, the possibility of his noble heritage, and perhaps even the chance of having a family.

He nodded again, this time for the villagers, for Second, and for those who had rescued him and brought him food. He saw their eyes, their suffering, and their stories. He justified his actions by vowing to never forget them and to honor their will and their names.

He intended to do so after overcoming his trial. He didn't know what the future held, but he felt compelled to bring them justice.

He nodded a third time, this time for his own unknown reasoning. Something within him insisted that this place wasn't meant to be his final destination. It bugged him to think otherwise, but it burned in his heart that his path was different and that he wouldn't be here for much longer.

With resolve, he began to bathe his sword in the water. Each time he dipped the blade, the liquid seeped over it, and he watched as the blade became clearer, sharper, and more perfectly shaped.

The hidden creaks healed, and the hilt aligned itself, correcting the angle of the sword. He was almost mesmerized by the magical transformation, but abruptly, he jumped back when he saw the crow's reflection in the water, watching him intently.

"CURSES! Look who’s stumbled into my domain, I say! Approach, you damned kid, and hear this twisted tale of mine. Then, let’s see if your wit can muster a response!"

‘It is different…’

Asdras studied the crow, this time not attempting to catch it or do anything rash. However, he sensed that something was different. Its eyes looked absent, almost empty.

It gazed deeply into his eyes as if peering into his soul, yet it lacked the same hint of intelligence and knowing look it had before, the first time he saw it.

He remembered that the first time he heard the crow, it had told him to listen to its story. Curiosity got the best of him, and Asdras slowly approached the crow, which was now sitting atop the wheel.

His inner self was plagued with questions, trying to understand his newfound power and why the crow seemed to know him so well. Taking a deep breath, he sat down near the wheel, his eyes never leaving the enigmatic bird, hoping to have a clear answer for once.

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"Listen to me, I say," the crow intoned, spreading its wings wide as if to add dramatic effect to its next words.

"Listen well, for this is a tale to be pondered over, I say. Once there was a village, and there existed its people. They were few but enamored with life and at peace in their nature. But then, madness! A monster came, and their peace was shattered.

“This beast lived in a cave and, from time to time, emerged to claim their riches and lives. The villagers tried to fight back but quickly learned their strength was nothing against such a horror. Too far from any city, too far from any gods to answer their prayers, they sought to birth a warrior.

“By the time a third of their comrades had been taken, a promising boy was born, blessed with great strength and wisdom. For the first time in ages, the villagers had hope. They celebrated with a festival, a custom long lost to their tragedies.

“The boy grew up watching the monster come and go, snatching away his friends and pieces of his heart. He lost his childhood, driven to grow faster and learn the bitter, dark truths of the world.

“By the time he was fourteen, the villagers were half their original number. That year, the boy, now a young man, vowed to his family that he would face and defeat the monster by nightfall. He embarked on the treacherous journey, climbing the mountain to the monster's nest with a sword in hand and the hope of his people on his shoulders.

“The monster was a wretched abomination, I say! A twisted shadow of nightmarish hell. Its limbs, gnarled and elongated like cursed tree branches, defied all logic. Its taut, rotting skin clung to a skeletal frame, a testament to its insatiable hunger.

“Sunken pits of darkness for eyes gleamed with a malevolent thirst that chilled any soul daring enough to look. As it moved, its body emitted a creaking symphony, like a shipwrecked vessel adrift at sea. Its claws, razor-sharp and stained with the blood of villagers, crushed a pile of bones with ease.

“Behind it lay the remnants of the young man's people, scattered like a ghastly carpet, amidst glittering riches plundered from his home, mocking their efforts and tempting a better life.

The young man ignored the treasures, burning anger consuming him as he clashed his blade against the monster's flesh. He traded his blood for the chance to wound the beast. When it came time to deliver the final strike, curses!

“The monster spoke for the first time. Its voice, old and tenor, reverberated like a rock striking the walls of a tunnel, echoing with a rippling effect. The monster presented the young man with a choice; a curse upon itself demanded it.

“Three paths lay before him. The first is to kill the monster and deal with the treasures in the cave, knowing that anyone who took them would become the monster, repeating the cycle.

“The second is to guard the place and prevent anyone from being tempted by the treasures, but by doing so, he would suffer the temptation himself, risking becoming the monster or failing to protect others.

“The third path is to leave and let the villagers fend for themselves, becoming their sinners and despair.”

"So, tell me, kid, if you were the young man, which path would you take?" The crow asked, its voice sharp and piercing. It flapped its wings, sending a gust of air toward Asdras, and fixed its gaze intensely on him.

Asdras scratched his hair fiercely as he heard the tale and the question. He felt a connection between the story and his own trial. The tale spoke of tragedy and a curse, likely similar to the one afflicting Ravenwood, and oddly, the young man in the story faced a trial of sorts.

"Three choices..." he murmured, pondering hard. If he chose the first option, he couldn't help but disagree with the idea of leaving even a sliver of chance for another monster to appear.

He doubted he would still be in the village when it happened, and even if he chose to stay, he might not maintain his strength. His stomach turned at the thought of such a fate tempting his future children.

The second choice was equally unacceptable. He wasn't a saint, nor did he have the steel-like mind required to keep people safe from the curse, let alone prevent himself from becoming a monster.

"Hell it," he thought bitterly. "I think I'm not safe even from my own temptations!"

The third option tasted like blood and weighed like chains in his mind. To let the villagers fend for themselves and turn his back on them when he was their hope and chance for peace felt wrong. He considered his own situation. He could leave, despite not knowing where he was or how far he was from a habitable place, yet he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Hidden choice..." he repeated the message from the wood stick, chuckling in defeat. "Of course it’s hidden..."

None of the offered paths led to the road he wished for. He noted in his mind that if this was his trial to overcome, then he was surely to choose another path, but the one offered to him was nothing but hateful and loathsome.

"I choose…" He said this, standing and taking deep breaths, resolving himself for his next words.

Although he was not fully aware of the power of words and vows, he knew in his heart that if a man let his words drift in the wind, they would eventually come back to him, and it would be his intention and motivation that would serve them back, for better or worse.

"I choose neither of them," Asdras vowed, gripping his sword tightly. "Everyone will fight, everyone will defeat that monster, and we will break its curse. I’m not a schemer to deal with treasures, nor a saint to safeguard the place, and much less a coward to run away. But I am a fighter, and that is the path I choose. I carry their will and their hope. My sword will be bathed in their spirits. Curse me if I fail, but my will never will, and my blood will tell the world that I am a fighter!"

The crow flapped its wings and let out a sharp cry in response, and, as if on cue, the forest came alive. A gust of wind brushed over everything; the water in the wheel trembled; the statue seemed to come to life for a moment; and the temperature warmed.

Then, the crow flew toward him so fast that Asdras instinctively tried to dodge, but he was too slow. He stumbled back, falling to the ground. His palm, etched with the crow, burned as if alive, and a rising flame began to emerge.

At first, it expanded slowly, as if studying its way, but then it burned faster, enveloping his hand, then his arm, and finally his entire body.

Asdras felt a surge of madness within him. His eyes opened wide, his heart raced like a tempestuous sea, and his body burned brightly. Struggling to contain it, he let out a deep and sonorous shout. It reverberated through the forest, echoing and challenging anything else to make a louder noise.

The sound expanded outward, and as quickly as it spread, it retreated, along with the flames. Everything returned to the way it was before, as if nothing had happened. Asdras felt his mind clearer than ever, his strength renewed, and his determination set.

He rose and brought his sword to align vertically with his eyes, then he vowed to himself and to anyone listening, "I will fight!"