Knowledge

Zale's body swayed like a leaf in a storm as he trudged through the hostile landscape. His legs trembled with each step, his feet dragging against the dirt and leaves that littered the ground. The sun had dipped below the horizon long ago, darkness settling over the world like a cold, smothering blanket.

Somewhere far behind him, he could still hear the occasional growl or rustle, the echoes of the black-scaled creatures that haunted this twisted place. His heart thudded against his ribs, but even that was sluggish, weighed down by a force he could scarcely understand.

His breath was shallow, his skin clammy despite the cool air. But he kept moving. Step after agonizing step.

It wasn't bravery that pushed him forward. Nor was it the hunger for revenge that had burned so fiercely in his chest before. It was something far simpler. A need to reach the one place he had called home. Even if it was only a patchwork shelter held together by desperation and stubborn will.

He nearly stumbled on a gnarled root, catching himself just before his knees hit the ground. His fingers grasped at the rough bark of a nearby tree, knuckles pale as he fought to remain upright.

His vision blurred, shadows creeping at the edges.

"Just… a little more…" he rasped, voice slurred with exhaustion.

He stumbled forward, his body moving purely on instinct now. He didn't even notice when his hands met the familiar, crude walls of his shelter. The ragged pieces of cloth and scavenged wood barely kept the elements out, but right now, it was paradise.

Zale collapsed against the ground inside, his body folding in on itself like a marionette with its strings cut. The chill of the earth seeped into his bones, but he didn't care. His eyes were already closing. His mind slipping into the embrace of sleep before he even realized it.

The last thing he remembered was the soft, familiar smell of soil and sweat. And then, nothing.

---

Morning came with the harsh glare of sunlight stabbing through the flimsy roof. It pierced his eyelids, stirring him from the deep, dreamless sleep he'd fallen into.

A groan slipped from his lips, muffled by the dirt his face was pressed against. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest as he shifted, his joints popping with a sickening series of cracks.

But he was alive.

That realization alone should have brought him joy. A surge of triumph that he had somehow survived. Yet, as he slowly rose to a sitting position, there was nothing but a hollow ache within him.

No excitement. No satisfaction. Just a fatigue that clung to his bones like tar.

He looked down at his hands, dirt-streaked and trembling. His fingers flexed, and for a moment, he could almost feel the shadows writhing just beneath his skin.

The Sin of Sloth.

The words echoed in his head, relentless and maddening. Whatever power had been granted to him had saved his life. That much was undeniable. But it had also left him like this—weak, tired, dragging himself through existence like a corpse only half-alive.

He forced himself to stand, leaning against the rickety wall as his legs threatened to buckle. Every motion felt like wading through waist-deep mud. And yet, he moved. Because he had to understand.

Why did this power bring me back? What is it even capable of?

More importantly, how could he use it?

His mouth felt dry, his stomach ached with hunger, but he ignored those needs. There was something more urgent clawing at him. Something he couldn't brush aside.

Zale staggered outside, his gaze sweeping the clearing. The sunlight felt harsher than usual, its warmth more oppressive than comforting. Yet, he stood beneath it, squinting at the world as if seeing it for the first time.

There was something dark within him now. Something that moved when he willed it, but only just. The black tendrils that had sprouted from his hand before were proof of that. And if he was to survive… no, if he was to understand what he had become, then he had to explore it further.

He stumbled away from his shelter, eyes narrowing as he searched for the deepest patch of darkness he could find. His legs carried him toward the edge of the woods, where shadows lingered thick beneath the twisted trees.

It was as if his body craved the darkness. And strangely, the closer he got, the less oppressive his fatigue felt.

He allowed himself to sink down, his back pressed against the cool bark of a gnarled tree. His breath slowed, his eyes closing as he embraced the shade. And then, he reached out.

Not physically, but with something else. Something within him that responded to the darkness like an old, familiar friend.

His fingers twitched, and the air around him seemed to shift. A chill crept along his skin, not unpleasant, but rather soothing. As if the shadows themselves were welcoming him.

"Show me," he whispered, his voice raw and demanding. "What can I do?"

The response was slow, a rumbling sensation deep within his chest. And then he felt it—tendrils of darkness seeping from his body, curling around his arms and legs. They coiled like serpents, writhing and twisting with a life of their own.

Unlike before, there was a sensation of control. A tenuous, fragile grasp that he struggled to maintain. But the more he focused, the easier it became.

The tendrils stretched outward, clawing at the air before settling on a nearby stone. They wrapped around it, their hold unyielding. And when Zale willed them to lift, the rock rose from the ground, hovering inches above the dirt.

A grin tugged at his lips, excitement flaring in his chest. But it was faint, buried beneath the overwhelming weight of exhaustion.

His concentration slipped, and the tendrils disintegrated like smoke, the rock falling with a dull thud.

But he didn't feel disappointment. Not really. Instead, he felt something worse.

Drowsiness. The kind that made his eyelids sag and his limbs feel heavy. The more he used his power, the deeper that sleepiness clawed at him, whispering promises of rest.

Zale's breathing quickened, his eyes struggling to remain open.

"So… this is what it does?" he murmured. "It gives me power… but it makes me feel like I'm about to pass out every time I use it."

He could feel the lure of sleep growing stronger, a constant, nagging pull at the back of his mind. But even that revelation brought clarity. This power—The Sin of Sloth—was more than just some curse of lethargy. It was a double-edged gift, one that demanded his strength in exchange for its own.

But if this was what had brought him back from the brink of death, then he had no choice but to master it.

Or be consumed by it.