Aden's breath was still unsteady as he stared at the now-empty space where the hooded figure had stood.
His fingers tightened around the handle of his knife. Was that really it?
The temple had never been this… merciful.
He took a cautious step forward, half-expecting the shadows to surge back to life and swallow him whole. But nothing happened. No traps, no attacks.
Just silence.
Too easy.
Aden exhaled, shaking off the tension in his shoulders. There was no point in questioning his luck now. He was still alive—that was all that mattered.
He turned, scanning the corridor ahead. The air was thick with dust, the walls lined with inscriptions that glowed faintly in the dim light.
There was only one path forward.
He started walking.
---
Minutes passed. Then longer.
Aden wasn't sure how much time had gone by. There was no sunlight, no clock, nothing to measure the hours—only the steady rhythm of his footsteps echoing in the empty halls.
His mind wandered.
The hooded figure's words still lingered in his head.
"The temple does not recognize what does not exist."
That wasn't just some cryptic nonsense. It was a rule.
One that had saved him.
The temple's trials all had a purpose—pushing him, testing him. Every step forward required something from him.
Strength. Wit. A piece of himself.
And now?
Identity.
Aden exhaled. He'd dodged it this time. But how long could he keep going without giving an answer?
Would the temple always let him pass as a nobody?
Or was this just a delay?
His fingers twitched at the thought. He didn't like it.
The sound of his own footsteps was starting to get on his nerves. It felt like he was being watched again.
Then—he stopped.
Something ahead.
A doorway. Different from the others.
The stone frame was massive, the carvings more intricate, more deliberate. Symbols twisted into one another, forming something that almost looked… alive.
And at the very center of it—
A single, deep handprint.
Aden swallowed.
He knew what that meant.
He'd seen enough of the temple's tricks to understand.
This wasn't just a door.
It was a choice.
And something told him that once he placed his hand there—
There'd be no going back.