As he lies there, he feels it—his flaws practically going mute. For what he hopes is a long while, his thoughts are clear. As he stands up, his eyes slowly open. The moment the sun's rays strike him directly, his vision falters, adjusting rapidly to the light. And then, he sees it—a barren, endless desert. It is silent. A silence so unnerving that not even the wind dares to whisper.
Over the horizon, something emerges—a pyramid. Pitch black, absorbing all light, like the abyss itself. The sands around him are pristine, white as untouched ivory, stretching infinitely. The azure sky above is deep, boundless, like an ocean—vast and empty, unmarred by a single cloud.
A slow chill runs down his spine.
"Hey, Flame, you feel it too, right?" His voice is low, uncertain. "It's… ominous here. Too empty. As if something should be here. As if something *needs* to be here. But there's nothing."
Deep within his soul, Flame stirs. The little flame jumps around, unsettled. The message comes into his mind, simple yet foreboding:
*Too empty. Spooky. Feels cursed.*
"You're right, buddy. Something's wrong. But we have to keep moving. We need to get out of here—fast. Or at least find shelter before nightfall."
Flame agrees, but the unease remains. Tired of hiding, he finally emerges from within his soul, landing softly on his shoulder. A small, luminous apparition of raw flame—fragile yet fierce.
A relieved smile tugs at his lips at the sight of his companion. "You've gotten better at holding that form. I remember when you first tried—you barely looked like sludge."
The little flame huffs in indignation, turning away in defiance. He sends a message, sulking:
*Master mean.*
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Flame—"
But before he can finish, something **hits** him. A spike from his flaw—distant, yet relentless. A pulse.
A **summoning.**
His breath catches. His entire body stiffens.
He turns toward the direction of the spike, gaze locked. *There might be people.* Or **something else.**
"Stay close, Flame. If we find abominations, we might have to fight."
Nodding solemnly, the little flame remains on his shoulder, unwavering, as Dawn begins his march east—toward the disturbance.
---
Hours pass.
The sun dips lower. The desert grows colder. Dusk arrives. His journey is uneventful—almost **too** uneventful.
The dunes are unforgiving. Their unstable footing has him stumbling, sinking, fighting against the sand with every step. By now, his once-flawless black bodysuit—freshly bought from the Academy—hangs filthy and weathered.
And then—
**The sun vanishes.**
The moon ascends.
Silence collapses.
From the undisturbed sands, creatures **rise.**
He feels it in his bones—their awakening, their summoning. A shift in the air, ancient and vicious.
Skeletons, ogres, monstrous turtles with twisted limbs. Sinister sandworms slithering from beneath, their eyeless maws gaping hungrily. And lizards—**lizards** that should not exist.
The air becomes suffocating. A chorus of guttural growls, hisses, shrieks, blending into chaos.
His heart pounds.
He doesn't think. He **runs.**
With Flame's power surging through him, he **moves.** His body propels forward, feet barely touching the ground, his muscles strained as he searches—desperate—for shelter. Anything.
And then—
A **cave.** Small. Nearly swallowed by the sands.
A last-ditch effort.
The abominations howl behind him, their frenzied cries growing louder, closer—
**He leaps.**
The second his body crashes into the cave, sand collapses over the entrance, sealing him inside.
Outside, war erupts.
But inside, silence returns.
He exhales, sharp and uneven, heart hammering against his ribs. **He made it.**
---
"Flame… I need you out. I can't see anything."
The aura around him disperses, retreating into a singular presence upon his shoulder. The small flame flickers to life, casting a golden glow into the dark abyss.
"...Flame… Thanks. But… What in the gods is this?"
With his vision finally adjusting, he realizes—**this is no cave.**
It's **a passageway.**
Long. Hollow. Forgotten.
Yet, undeniably **waiting.**
Pillars stretch across the walls, rising toward the ceiling. Ancient marble—black and brown—lines the floor in fractured beauty. The remnants of torches cling to the walls, long extinguished.
Victorian in style, yet ruined beyond recognition. It **should** be crumbling. **Should** be lost to time. But it stands—defiant. Unyielding.
He steps forward.
And as if acknowledging his arrival, **the torches ignite.**
The flickering flames illuminate the corridor, guiding his path.
The further he ventures, the heavier the air becomes. The darker the atmosphere.
Soon, stairs descend before him—twisting downward, disappearing into the abyss.
The only lights accompanying him are the flickering torches and the tiny flame on his shoulder.
And then—
A **spike.**
His flaw reacts.
His breath catches.
A pull—stronger than before.
Loneliness. Abandonment. Helplessness.
A suffocating **solitude** that clings to the passageway.
Something is here.
Something is **waiting.**
___
Author's thoughts: bit shorter but trust im cooking right now