Aden's fingers hovered over the handprint.
His heartbeat drummed in his ears. The temple had given him no reason to trust it—only reason to fear it. Every choice so far had been a test, a trap, or worse… a cost.
So what's the price this time?
The stone was smooth beneath his palm, unnaturally cold. The moment he pressed down, a sharp pulse ran through his body, like an electric shock crawling up his arm.
Then, the door shifted.
Stone groaned as ancient mechanisms whirred to life. Dust rained from the carvings, and the door… opened.
Aden stepped back, instinctively reaching for his knife.
Nothing lunged at him. No flames, no crushing walls. Just… silence.
Then, from the darkness beyond, a voice.
"You carry no name. No title. No past. What, then, gives you the right to move forward?"
Aden tensed. His grip on the knife tightened.
Another test. Another trick.
The voice was deep, yet distant—like it came from everywhere at once. It wasn't human.
It wasn't asking.
It was demanding.
The room ahead was vast, lined with towering statues. At the center, something rested on a raised platform—a mask.
Plain. Unmarked. Yet… calling to him.
Aden exhaled. So that's the price.
The temple had let him pass as a nobody. But now, it wouldn't let him move forward without giving him something.
An identity.
Aden hesitated. Wasn't this what he wanted? To keep his past buried, to walk unseen?
But something about this felt off.
The moment he picked up that mask…
Would it still be his choice who he was?
His instincts screamed at him to leave. But there was no other way forward.
The voice spoke again.
"Choose."