The Weight of Truth

The air was heavy, thick with something unseen, pressing against Fenix's skin like a cold hand. The shadow stood still, unmoving, its form hazy at the edges, as though the darkness itself was reluctant to hold it.

Fenix stepped forward, his breath steady despite the tightness in his chest. The last conversation still echoed in his mind—words heavy with dread and confusion. But he could not leave without more answers.

"You said the world is in danger," Fenix began, his voice quiet but firm. "What danger? And why now?"

The shadow was silent for a moment, as if considering the weight of its reply. Then, it spoke, slow and cold, like ice sliding across stone.

"The danger is not new. It has always been. Sleeping beneath the skin of the world, waiting for the veil to weaken."

Fenix frowned. "Then why is it waking?"

The shadow tilted its head slightly, as though observing a question it had heard many times before.

"Because the cycle nears its end. And when all things grow old, they falter. The walls between worlds, once strong, begin to crumble. The gate weakens. The hunger stirs."

Fenix's chest tightened. "How long until it happens? How long until they come?"

The shadow paused. When it spoke, its words were like a slow, ancient melody, heavy with meaning but light with clarity.

"Time is a liar. It tells you that days are long, that years are many. But when the end comes, it will seem sudden. A blink. A breath."

It stepped closer, its voice lower. "Perhaps months. Perhaps years. But the world already shivers in its sleep. And when it wakes, the hunger will come."

Fenix clenched his fists, his jaw tight. "How many years? How long do I have to prepare?"

The shadow's presence seemed to flicker, the torchlight dimming for a heartbeat.

"Four years. Perhaps five. The eye opens slowly, but once it sees, it will never close."

Fenix swallowed, fear curling in his gut. "And if we fail?"

The shadow's answer was cold, final. "Then the skies will bleed, and the rivers will run black. Pain will be the language of the earth, and death its silence."

Silence fell heavy between them. Fenix glanced at his friends, lying so still, so unaware. He hated that they didn't know, that they were shielded from the burden he now carried.

"Why me?" Fenix asked again, his voice quieter now, touched by exhaustion. "Why was I chosen to know this?"

The shadow tilted its head, as if amused by the question. "Because some truths are heavier than others. And only those who have bled may carry them."

Fenix's hand instinctively went to the scar across his palm, where Ashfang had drawn his blood for the bowl. His heart pounded. "And what am I supposed to do with this? With this little time and a world that's already crumbling?"

The shadow's form shimmered slightly, as if it stood between worlds. "You will live. You will learn. You will fight. And when the time comes, you will choose."

Fenix shook his head. "Choose what?"

The shadow's response came like a whisper.

"Whether the world burns... or whether it kneels."

A deep chill passed through Fenix. He felt like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, staring into an endless abyss, the wind already pushing at his back.

But he wasn't ready to fall. Not yet.

"And what about them?" He glanced to his friends. "Will they remember? Will they know what I carry?"

The shadow stepped back, dissolving further into the gloom. "No. When this place fades, they will forget. To them, it will be but a memory of a simple hunt. A shadow on the edge of thought."

Fenix took a sharp breath. "And me?"

The shadow was still. Then, almost softly: "You will remember. The burden is yours alone."

Fenix's heart sank. The loneliness of it, the weight of it, crushed him.

"Why? Why leave me alone in this?"

The shadow's final words echoed like thunder. "Because pain is a lesson, and you are the student."

The air grew heavier, the walls trembling. Shadows deepened as the world began to fade, peeling away like smoke caught in wind. The shadow's form began to dissolve, its voice lingering one final time.

"Prepare yourself, child of Chaos. You, who walk the edge of oblivion, bearer of a name long forgotten, forged in shadow and fire. When the sky breaks and the stars fall, you will be summoned. You will stand at the crossroads where worlds tremble, where life and death intertwine. Your choice will be the knife that carves the fate of realms. And your answer... your answer will echo through the ashes, shaping the ruin that follows, and forging the birth of what may come after."

And then, it was gone.

The world grew hazy. The walls of the room cracked, light bleeding through until it swallowed everything. Fenix felt himself torn away, his body weightless, his mind drifting.

Darkness. Silence. And then...

Fenix awoke beneath a grey sky, the air damp with morning dew. He blinked, confusion clouding his thoughts. His body ached, but he was warm, lying beside the ashes of an old campfire. The Blackroot Jungle loomed behind him, still and silent.

His friends lay nearby, stirring slowly, stretching and groaning as they woke.

Vix rubbed her eyes, sitting up. "Well, that was uneventful," she said with a chuckle. "Guess we were worried for nothing."

Rein yawned, cracking his neck. "I thought we might find something, but... maybe next time."

Orin glanced around, confused. "Feels like we lost some time, doesn't it?"

Fenix stayed silent. The weight of what he had seen, what he had heard, pressed down on him like iron chains.

They remembered nothing. Just a simple hunt. Nothing more.

But he remembered. Every word. Every shadow. Every warning.

And he knew, deep down, that the countdown had already begun.

There are moments when the world stands still, holding its breath for what comes next. Moments when the sky is clear, and the winds are calm, and the earth is silent. Yet beneath that silence, something stirs. Something ancient. Something inevitable.

Fenix walked beneath that sky, his soul heavy with a burden no one else could see. To the world, he was but a shadow among shadows, a man who had survived another expedition. To his friends, he was still one of them. Still normal. Still safe.

But inside him, a storm gathered. A voice lingered, haunting the edges of his thoughts, whispering promises of ruin and rebirth. He could not run from it. He could not forget.

And somewhere, beyond sight, beyond sound, the world began to shift. Slowly. Relentlessly.

A shadow cracked beneath the surface. A hunger awoke. It stirred beneath the veil, patient, waiting.

The sky was still blue. The rivers still flowed. But time was a lie, and peace was a breath that would soon be exhaled.

The storm was coming. And when it broke, the world would be forever changed.