Aden sat on the cold stone floor, his back against one of the temple's towering pillars. His breathing was uneven, his body tense. The book lay open beside him, its pages filled with shifting symbols that refused to stay still. He hadn't touched it since the vision ended.
He rubbed his eyes. The images still burned in his mind—the war, the crumbling world, the people screaming names he didn't recognize. And yet, something about it all felt… familiar. Like a word at the tip of his tongue, just out of reach.
Aden exhaled and forced himself to focus. Panic wouldn't help. He needed to think.
What did he know?
The temple wasn't just some ruin filled with traps—it had purpose. The trials weren't random; they tested something specific. Strength? No. Anyone could lift a sword. Intelligence? Maybe, but the first trial had been brute force.
Survival.
Every challenge he faced required him to adapt, to figure out patterns, to move forward no matter the odds. If the temple was built for something, it wasn't for the weak.
Aden glanced at the book. It still felt wrong to touch it.
"Maybe I should just eat it," he muttered, shaking his head. "That way, I'll absorb the knowledge instantly. Smart, right?"
His own dry humor didn't even amuse him this time. That was a bad sign.
A sudden noise pulled him from his thoughts. A deep, grinding sound, like stone scraping against stone.
Aden was on his feet instantly, knife in hand.
From the far end of the chamber, the wall shifted. Dust rained down as a new doorway formed, revealing a passage leading deeper into the temple. It hadn't been there before.
Aden stared at it.
"Oh, great," he muttered. "It's never 'here's a safe exit.' It's always 'go deeper into the cursed ruins.'"
He considered ignoring it. The book had appeared before the doorway, which meant it had to be important. Maybe the vision was a warning, or maybe it was meant to prepare him for what came next.
But then, as if to remove his choice entirely, the entrance behind him—the way he came—sealed shut.
Aden sighed. "Of course it did."
Taking one last glance at the book, he picked it up and shoved it into his bag.
Then, gripping his knife tighter, he stepped forward—because, like always, the only way out… was forward.