Understanding

Zale's eyes creaked open, a film of crust clinging to his lashes. His body was pressed against the cool, coarse ground, sprawled where he had fallen. His chest rose and fell, each breath sluggish and heavy. He felt… alive.

For a moment, he lay there, staring up at the twisted, overgrown canopy overhead. The black-scaled creatures that had torn him apart were nowhere to be seen, their snarls now only a memory. His body no longer burned with pain. It simply hummed with the vague sensation of fatigue, as if he had just woken from a deep, dreamless sleep.

The dark, empty space he had fallen into was still fresh in his mind. The sensation of weightlessness. The isolation. And that ball of light... the whisper of the words it imparted.

The sin of sloth.

A shiver danced along his spine. What did that even mean? How could something like a 'sin' bring him back from death? It made no sense. But then again, nothing about his existence made sense anymore.

Zale forced himself to sit up, his muscles groaning in protest. It wasn't pain. Just a leaden resistance, like his body was draped in soaked blankets. He rubbed his eyes, fighting the urge to collapse back onto the ground.

He could barely keep his eyes open.

"Why… am I so tired?" he muttered, his own voice sounding muffled in his ears. His limbs trembled as he rose to his feet, each movement as if dragging himself from quicksand. His entire body felt distant, like he was piloting it through a thick, drowsy haze.

But there was something else, too. A heaviness layered beneath the fatigue. Something new.

His gaze dropped to his hands. His fingers flexed experimentally, almost autonomously, and a flicker of shadow curled along his palm before dissipating.

"What the hell…?"

Zale's heartbeat quickened, but even that felt muted, a sluggish thump that echoed dully within his chest. He tried again, his mind reaching for whatever force had caused that shadow to appear. This time, it was like pulling on a stubborn thread—difficult and resistant.

But when it came, it was more deliberate. More real. His shadow shifted unnaturally, tendrils of darkness coiling and extending from his feet before snapping back like a stretched rubber band.

A startled yelp escaped his lips, and he stumbled backward, his legs folding beneath him. He hit the ground with a dull thud, his breathing shallow.

"What… what did that light do to me?" he rasped.

The question hung unanswered, leaving him only with a sense of fatigue that grew heavier the longer he stayed still. The urge to sleep—to rest—tugged at his very bones. But he couldn't afford to give in.

Zale shook his head, trying to clear the mental fog. His survival depended on understanding what this new ability was. Why he was even still alive in the first place.

"Sloth…" The word slipped from his lips like a sigh. He remembered the darkness, the overwhelming desire to simply rest and let everything fade away. Was that what this was? A curse of lethargy granted in exchange for his life?

But it didn't feel like a curse. Not exactly. The shadow that had slithered along his arm—he had controlled it. Barely, but he had.

He pushed himself up once more, groaning as he found his balance. His muscles felt like they hadn't been used in years. The world swayed, and he swayed with it, his limbs wobbling like jelly.

Despite the drowsiness clinging to him, his curiosity flared. This power—this sin—had to have something more to it than just… tiredness.

He inhaled deeply, steadying himself, and focused on his right hand. He imagined the darkness flowing from him, extending like a shadowed limb. And slowly, painfully, it answered his call. A narrow tendril of darkness stretched from his palm, curling around a loose rock on the ground.

The effort was immense, his forehead beading with sweat from the strain. But the moment his concentration wavered, the shadow snapped back into him, and his body sagged as if he'd just run for miles.

His knees hit the dirt, his arms quivering. He wanted nothing more than to sink into the earth and sleep for days. Weeks, even. But he couldn't.

Not here. Not yet.

He needed to get home. To a place where he could rest and think. And maybe, just maybe, figure out what the hell was happening to him.

"I… I can't stay here," Zale whispered, the words almost swallowed by the oppressive stillness of the land.

He forced himself to move, his steps unsteady as he stumbled through the wilderness. The air was thick, tainted by the stench of decay and the faint, ever-present growls of creatures that lurked just beyond his sight.

His fingers trailed along the trees for balance, their bark scraping his skin. The black-scaled creatures could be anywhere, waiting to tear him apart again. But fear felt distant. Blunted. As if his mind was wrapped in cotton.

Step by step, he pressed forward. The path to the makeshift shelter he called home was burned into his memory, a series of twisted landmarks and uneven terrain he had come to know through countless days of struggle. But now, his body moved like it was fighting against an invisible current, each stride a war against exhaustion.

More than once, he nearly collapsed. More than once, he considered just lying down and letting sleep claim him. But some stubborn part of him clung to awareness. To purpose.

He had been brought back from the brink of death for a reason. And that reason… it had to be connected to this new power.

The Sin of Sloth.

He growled softly, his frustration briefly cutting through the haze. "What the hell is this power good for if it just makes me feel like I'm dying?"

But even as he complained, a sliver of instinct told him there was more to it. Something he wasn't grasping yet. After all, he had survived. Whatever this power was, it had saved him. But now he had to understand it. Control it. And most importantly, find a way to stay awake long enough to do so.

The world blurred at the edges of his vision, but he forced himself to keep moving. His legs trembled, his arms hung uselessly at his sides, and his eyes threatened to close with every passing second.

But he didn't stop.

He couldn't stop.

Because if he did, he wasn't sure he'd ever wake up again.