Lucian steadied his breathing, still feeling the lingering warmth of the absorbed mana rings within his core. His cracked mana ring had begun to mend—just slightly—but it was proof that he was on the right path. He clenched his fists, determination flaring in his eyes.
But he couldn't stay here.
The eerie silence of the cursed land gnawed at his senses, making the hairs on his neck stand. The creatures he had fought were only the beginning—he could feel it in his bones. And if Xeran was somewhere in this world, then Lucian needed to move.
Standing up, he surveyed his surroundings. The air remained thick with a strange energy, and the landscape stretched into an abyss of twisted trees and jagged rock formations. The crimson moon overhead cast grotesque shadows, shifting unnaturally with each gust of wind.
Then, something caught his attention.
A distant flicker—like a wisp of pale blue flame—hovering just beyond a crumbling stone path. It moved, almost as if beckoning him.
Lucian narrowed his eyes. "A trap... or a guide?"
He had no choice but to follow.
With measured steps, he moved toward the flickering light. The moment he set foot on the stone path, a faint hum resonated beneath him, as if the land itself had taken notice of his presence.
The wisp drifted forward, leading him through a narrow ravine where jagged cliffs loomed on either side. The walls were carved with ancient runes, their inscriptions faded but still pulsating with dormant power.
Then, he heard it.
A whisper.
Low and fragmented, it slithered through the air, speaking in a language he did not recognize. Yet, something about it was eerily familiar—as if it was clawing at the edges of his memories.
Lucian's grip tightened around his dagger as he pressed forward. The wisp led him deeper into the ravine until he arrived at a vast, open space. Towering obsidian pillars surrounded what seemed to be a ruined temple, its entrance adorned with weathered statues of robed figures, their faces eroded beyond recognition.
And in the center of it all stood a lone figure.
A man, draped in dark, tattered robes, his back turned to Lucian. His presence exuded an overwhelming weight, like a shadow that threatened to consume all light.
Lucian took a cautious step forward. "Xeran?"
The figure did not move at first. Then, slowly, he turned.
Lucian's breath caught in his throat.
The man's face was hidden beneath a hood, but his eyes—glowing with an unnatural crimson light—pierced through the darkness like twin burning embers. His presence was suffocating, a pressure unlike anything Lucian had ever felt before.
"You are not of this world," the man's voice was deep, yet hollow, echoing unnaturally. "Why have you come to the land of the forsaken?"
Lucian stood his ground. "I'm looking for someone. Xeran. Do you know where he is?"
A long silence stretched between them before the hooded man tilted his head slightly. "Xeran... The name does not belong here anymore."
Lucian's heart pounded. "What do you mean?"
The man raised his hand, and in an instant, the world around them seemed to shift. The ruined temple walls twisted, the statues contorted into grotesque shapes, their mouths open in silent screams.
Then, the whispers grew louder. Agonized. Desperate.
Lucian's vision blurred as images flooded his mind—
A kingdom bathed in golden light, now reduced to ruins. A vast city crumbling beneath an obsidian sky. Countless figures trapped in an endless cycle of suffering, their voices lost in the void.
And at the center of it all—Xeran, standing amidst the destruction, his once-familiar face twisted with pain.
Lucian gasped, clutching his head as he staggered backward. "What... what is this?"
The hooded man took a step closer. "This is the truth of Wimbledon."
Lucian struggled to steady himself. "What happened to him? Where is he now?"
The man's crimson eyes burned brighter. "He is where all lost souls go."
A cold dread gripped Lucian's chest. "Then take me to him."
The hooded figure was silent for a moment, then he lifted his arm. The ground beneath them trembled, and a swirling vortex of dark mist materialized at his feet.
"Step forward, outsider," the man intoned. "If you truly wish to find Xeran, you must face the nightmares that have claimed this world."
Lucian exhaled sharply. His fingers curled around his dagger, but his resolve was unwavering.
He took a step forward.
And the world around him shattered into darkness.