Aden's grip on his knife tightened.
The hooded man remained still, the rhythmic tapping sound continuing—as if it wasn't coming from him at all. The shadows stretched unnaturally along the corridor walls, flickering like something unseen was moving just beyond his vision.
"You should not be here," the man repeated, voice calm yet heavy with something Aden couldn't quite place.
Aden exhaled slowly. "Yeah, well… I get that a lot."
No response.
The silence stretched, thick with an unspoken tension. Aden wasn't sure what was more unnerving—the fact that the man was blocking his only way forward, or the feeling that if he turned his back for even a second… he might not be there when he looked again.
He wasn't about to make that mistake.
"Look," Aden said carefully. "I'm just passing through. You don't bother me, I don't bother you. Sound good?"
The man's hood shifted slightly. A tilt of the head.
Then, for the first time, he moved.
Aden's breath hitched as the figure took a step forward—then another, and another—without making a sound.
Shit.
Aden instinctively took a step back, his free hand brushing against the rough stone wall.
The man stopped. "The temple does not welcome trespassers."
Aden scoffed. "Yeah? Could've fooled me. It sure as hell keeps inviting me deeper."
The hooded man didn't laugh. Didn't even react.
Aden was already trying to figure out his options. Fighting? Risky. Running? Where? If this guy was part of the temple's trials, then there was a trick to this. A test.
Think.
Aden's eyes flickered toward the shadows.
That sound.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Not footsteps.
Not breathing.
It was words.
Aden's blood ran cold. The tapping wasn't random—it was repeating a pattern. He didn't understand the language, but his instincts screamed that something was speaking.
And the hooded man?
He was waiting.
Aden licked his lips. "Alright… so what now?"
The man's hand slowly lifted, pointing directly at Aden's chest.
"You must answer."
"Answer what?"
A pause.
Then, the shadows whispered.
A question. Spoken in a tongue Aden had never heard before.
But somehow, he understood.
"… What is your name?"
Aden stiffened. Every instinct, every primal survival urge, screamed at him to not answer.
His mind raced. The temple's trials had all been traps hidden as choices. This was the same.
A wrong answer wouldn't mean failure.
It would mean erasure.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
The hooded figure waited.
The shadows waited.
Aden swallowed. Think.
Then, carefully, he answered.
"You tell me first."
Silence.
Then, for the first time, the hooded man moved fast.
The corridor blurred as Aden barely dodged a strike aimed at his throat. The wind from the attack burned against his skin.
Wrong answer.
Aden hit the ground hard, rolling as the figure advanced again—this time without hesitation.
No more riddles.
Just death.
"Alright," Aden muttered as he scrambled to his feet. "Maybe I should've just said my name."