To the untrained eye, nothing had changed in the pit. But Aziz’s eyes were far from ordinary. He was back at the beginning once more, the door of the pit rumbling open to announce yet another cycle. If he stepped through that door, everything would repeat again, like a cursed loop.

Aziz closed his eyes and replayed the scene in his mind. He had been killed so easily, crushed like an insect underfoot. A year of training, and this was all he had to show for it. He needed more—more strength, more power. Soon, he would have to delve into the teachings of the second master of the Lowly Serpent Breath, Poison Serpent Xian. But for now, he needed to descend and rejoin Nessa and the others. This time, he had to do better.

"Come, Mal. This time, we’ll do better," Aziz muttered, feeling the familiar weight of the snake on his back. There was comfort in knowing that his companion had returned, alive and whole.

"Indeed, getting beheaded wasn’t a great feeling, Master," a voice replied.

"Sorry, I was carele—" Aziz began, but stopped.

Aziz froze mid-step, shock rippling through his body. Did Mal just… speak?

His mind stuttered over what he had just heard. Slowly, he turned his head to look down at his shoulder. Mal’s head peeked out, looking ahead with a calm expectation, as if waiting for Aziz to continue moving. Sensing the sudden silence, the snake tilted its head.

"Master?" Mal asked again, his mouth unmoving, though the words echoed unmistakably in Aziz's mind.

Aziz stared at the snake, his thoughts swirling in disbelief. Mal had never spoken before, nor had any of the other black-deaths. What had changed?

"You’re… talking," Aziz finally managed, his voice tight with confusion.

Mal flicked his tongue, a gesture of indifference.

"Yes, Master," the snake replied, almost casually. "It seems your mind needed someone to talk to. And here I am."

Aziz’s breath hitched. His mind? He scanned through his memories, searching for any explanation. But something felt wrong—like trying to grab hold of smoke. The face of his village elders, once so familiar, now blurred at the edges. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember. The sound of his mother's laughter? Gone. His father's face? Fading.

Why couldn’t he remember?

As panic fluttered at the edges of his mind, Mal’s voice cut through the haze. "Master, your memories are slipping. Piece by piece, with each death, you lose something."

Aziz’s heart pounded. He didn’t need Mal to spell it out—he was already realizing it himself. Every time he died, something was taken. A sliver of his past. A moment. A face. How long had this been happening? How much had he already lost?

His hands trembled as he clenched them into fists. He tried to recall the name of the village where he was born. Fang Mountain. Good. Not everything was lost. Yet the further back he went the harder things became.

A knot tightened in his chest. Aziz took a deep breath, forcing his focus to shift. He still remembered some things. His training. The Order. Nessa. The fight. He had to hold on to what was left. He couldn’t afford to lose more.

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"I see it now," Aziz muttered, half to himself. "This pit… it’s not just a place to die and be reborn. It’s taking from me. Each time… I lose more." He stared at Mal. "Is this why you’re talking now? Am I losing my mind?"

Mal’s tongue flicked again, but the snake said nothing, watching him in silence. The unspoken answer hung in the air. Aziz didn’t need confirmation. He understood.

This was the price. His life, over and over again—but never for free. The world took its toll, and now it was taking his past.

Aziz grimaced, the weight of realization settling in. His memories were being stripped away, one death at a time. But he didn’t flinch from the truth. Power always came with a cost. He would bear it. If it meant bringing down the Order, he would sacrifice even more.

"Master, you’ve been thinking for a while," Mal interjected, snapping Aziz from his thoughts.

Aziz blinked, realizing he had been standing still for too long. He looked into the snake’s unblinking purple eyes, a fierce determination settling over him. The memories he had lost were gone, but there was still enough left to fight for. And fight he would.

"It’s a curse," he murmured, but his lips curled into a smile. "A curse I will gladly carry."

He ran his hand along Mal’s smooth scales before turning and continuing down the stairs. He had spent enough time lingering. There was work to be done, a battle to be fought. And this time, he had no intention of losing.

Even if it cost him the rest of himself.

***

The large snake Aziz had seen before didn't appear this time. Maybe it was his imagination? Usually when he came back from dying, things wouldn't change but the large beast didn't appear again. When he asked Mal about it the snake acted clueless. There was no time to dwell on it, soon enough Aziz found himself back at the main gate, waiting in the shadows outside the children’s camp. This time, he would take things slowly. Rather than rushing headlong into danger, why not let the others test the waters first? The nobles didn’t care about the villagers, and he certainly didn’t care about their children.

He watched the door, taking short power naps as time passed. Sleep had become a distant need for Aziz; his body seemed to require less and less of it, likely a benefit of his black-death diet. Finally, after what felt like hours, the doors began to open. The ground shook as the massive gate groaned to life, stirring the children from their uneasy sleep. Screams echoed through the hallway as they were roused from one nightmare only to be thrust into another.

While Nessa struggled to regain control of the panicked group, Aziz’s attention was elsewhere—focused on what lay beyond the door. The underground forest stood before them, a dark, shadowy expanse lit only by small fires scattered throughout. Standing as the doors parted, feet planted firmly apart and arms behind his back, was a man clothed in the traditional black uniform of the Order. Trey. Even without the murderous intent he’d felt before, Aziz knew it was him. The man’s aura was unmistakable, a storm of violence barely contained beneath the surface.

As Trey’s gaze swept over the crowd of children, his head turned slightly, looking toward the shadows where Aziz stood.

"He can't see us," Mal whispered, his voice a soothing balm to Aziz’s nerves. They had tested this before—no one else could hear Mal speaking. The snake’s voice was all in Aziz’s head.

Even though Mal assured him that Trey couldn’t detect his shadow steps, Aziz still felt a gnawing unease. The man could sense something was off, that much was clear. But rather than risk drawing attention, Aziz sighed and stepped out of the shadows, catching Trey’s eye. Keeping his head down, Aziz quietly joined the group. Trey’s curiosity was palpable, but the assassin said nothing, choosing instead to address the crowd.

"Welcome to Peklo Forest," Trey’s rough voice boomed, silencing the whispers and murmurings of the frightened children. "Here, your first test will begin."

A test? Aziz’s suspicions about the Order’s intentions were starting to solidify. Slowly but surely, the pieces were coming together.

"Silence," Trey commanded, and the hall fell deathly quiet. Every eye was on him, fear etched into their faces.

"Many of you will have questions as to why you are here. I cannot be bothered to explain nor do you deserve an explanation," Trey continued, his voice cold and detached. "The reason for you being here is not something for you to know. Those who are worthy for the truth will first have to survive. Do not think your families can save you here. So do you best to live. Many of you will die. A word of advice as your elder: try to be among the few."

As the last few words left his mouth, Aziz could have sworn he saw a twisted smile beneath Trey’s mask.