The warmth that flowed from the radiant figure's palm still lingered on Dawn's scalp, soothing yet strange. The light of the being was unlike the burning glow of flames or the harsh blaze of celestial spells. It was clarity—as if for the first time, Dawn saw the world not with eyes, but with understanding.
The figure extended their hand once more, revealing a small pouch—rough, nondescript, fashioned from fabric woven in patterns older than memory itself. Yet it pulsed faintly, as though containing more than mere material.
"Take this," the figure said, their voice calm and deep, resonating not in the air, but in Dawn's very blood. "Inside lies the seed of a path. Your path. But it will only bloom in the Land of Prime, the first light, the source of all who walk the path of Primes."
Dawn hesitated. His hand hovered over the pouch. "Why help me? Why now?"
The figure tilted its head. "Because you are no longer just cursed. You are aware. That changes everything."
And as Dawn took the pouch into his hands—
The lake stirred.
No—it awakened.
The tranquil waters of Vanishing Sky Lake, once a mirror to the heavens, began to ripple without wind. The surface swirled in slow spirals, and golden light poured in from every direction, though no sun lit the sky.
A great presence had arrived.
The air grew thick. Time itself seemed to fracture and fold, condensing around the lake like glass bending under pressure. The sky above twisted, not in color, but in substance, as if another realm bled through the seams of this one.
The figure began to fade, merging with the rising light.
"You asked to be free. Now comes the test," the voice echoed, carried on the wind. "Before you can break the curse—you must first confront it. Not as memory. But as reality."
---
Pain.
Unbearable.
Sudden.
Dawn doubled over as his body convulsed. The pouch fell from his grip, vanishing into the luminous waters.
It felt like his soul was being peeled from his flesh. His bones cracked inward, twisted, tried to reform. His blood turned to liquid fire, his nerves wires of lightning. He screamed—yet no sound came out. The world around him pulsed in broken silence.
Then—
He shattered.
Like a pane of stained glass struck by divine fury.
---
And from the shards—two emerged.
Dawn lay curled, gasping, barely holding his consciousness together.
And it stood tall.
The Monster.
Twisted flesh veined with infernal light. Clawed hands. Horns like a crown of ash. Its body was made of the same cursed material that had once clung to his soul like rusted chains.
But its eyes…
They were his.
Dawn crawled to his feet.
The lake was gone.
The world around him had become something else—an empty plane of flowing time and spiraling light, where no stars lived, no air moved. Only two figures existed in this place: him, and the curse made flesh.
The monster cracked its knuckles, smiling with bloodied teeth. "So. This is what they call a test."
It took a step forward. The realm quaked.
"I know your thoughts," the monster said in his voice, just deeper—wrong. "I know your hate. Your despair. Your grief. Because I am you."
"No," Dawn whispered, summoning what remained of his will. "You're what they made me."
"Am I?" The creature tilted its head. "You said yes. You made the deal. You tore them apart with your own hands. You kept me fed for years."
Dawn's fist clenched. "Because I had no choice."
The monster laughed, a thunderous, soul-splitting sound. "And what will you do now, little boy? Now that we're finally equal?"
A dull pulse echoed from the depths of the void.
And then it came.
The battle.
---
The monster charged first—blindingly fast.
Dawn barely dodged, the claws grazing his shoulder, drawing light instead of blood. He stumbled backward, channeling a flow of Primal Origin Light—his own, dim and cracked, but real.
The light met shadow.
The clash sent ripples across the realm.
Dawn ducked a blow, jumped, twisted, and landed behind the beast, sending a pulse of energy into its back. It staggered—then laughed.
"Still weak," it growled. "Still trying to fight like them. But you're not one of them. You're me."
Dawn said nothing, only braced for the next strike.
But inside—his mind was a storm.
How do you fight yourself?
Every blow he landed hurt him more than the monster.
Every movement felt borrowed.
And yet—
Every strike from the monster revealed something.
Its patterns, its instincts—they were his.
But twisted.
If he could understand that… maybe he could overcome it.
The monster lashed out, claws glowing dark.
Dawn ducked and rolled under it, his hand grazing the creature's chest.
He saw.
He saw the deal being made again.
He saw the rage, the grief, the hopelessness that had formed this thing.
Not just a curse.
A scar.
A scar he had never dared to treat.
Until now.
Dawn stood, bloodied, breathing heavily.
"You're not stronger than me," he said, voice shaking. "You're just… me. Twisted, evil, but just....me."
The monster snarled. "What are you—"
But before it could finish, the realm shifted again.
The lake returned.
Time reset.
The battle froze.
And from the still waters, the radiant figure's voice echoed again.
"To defeat the curse is not to kill it."
"It is to understand it."
"Then choose: Bind it. Break it. Or become it."
Dawn stood facing the monster, their eyes locked.
The cliff's edge was near.
One more moment would decide the path forward.
---