The shock was so imnse that Cain almost halted mid-step. His breath hitched, his limbs faltered, but with a clenched jaw and a growl deep in his throat, he forced himself forward.
"Your na is Cain Laurifer. You must move forward. Reach the light at the end."
He muttered the words again and again, his voice barely above a whisper. Each syllable was a lifeline, the only anchor he had in the collapsing world of his mind. The path stretched ahead, unseen and unknowable, shrouded in oppressive darkness that devoured everything—light, warmth, and now, his mories.
The fading began slowly, like ink drops dissolving into water. At first, it was minor: nas, faces, dates. Then it escalated. Every second of his saga in the Crimson World, his journey across the Nine Empyrean Suns Universe, even his ti in Aether—the places, the emotions, the people—they all began to evaporate from his consciousness. There were no warnings, no pain, just the terrifying realization that they were gone.
Confusion hit like a wave. Cain nearly stopped in his tracks, wide-eyed and trembling. What had he just forgotten? What was his purpose? Who was he?
Those questions arose in his mind. They should be easy to respond to, yet it seems they would fade at any second.
"Your na is Cain Laurifer. You must move forward. Reach the light at the end."
The mantra was all he had. A string of words spoken on repeat. It beca the beat of his heart, the rhythm of his steps, the only truth in a universe of vanishing certainties.
But the darkness wasn’t just around him; it bled inward. It filled the cracks in his thoughts and tunneled into the architecture of his soul. His identity unraveled like an old tapestry, threads snapping one by one. And with each step, the sense of self eroded until he couldn’t even rember why he was walking. Yet his legs moved.
Ti passed—perhaps days, perhaps years. In this void, ti was aningless. There were no stars, no sky. Only the chilling sensation of being suspended in sothing that wasn’t air, but emptiness itself.
"Your na..."
He stumbled.
Panic clawed at him as he realized he could no longer finish the sentence. Tears welled in his eyes. The most basic truth of his existence had been taken. He didn’t know who he was. The na had been erased.
But the mantra carried on.
"You must move forward. Reach the light at the end."
That fragnt survived. His tongue repeated it, not from mory, but instinct. Sothing in his being scread that it mattered.
So he walked.
The fear was absolute, primal. Like a child lost in a city of strangers, calling for a na they couldn’t rember, searching for a face they could no longer see.
And then even that shred of mantra began to dissolve.
"The light at the end."
He whispered it. Again and again. The words were frantic now, repeated without pause, as if by speaking them fast enough, he could stop them from vanishing.
"The light at the end. The light at the end. The light at the end."
But then—
Nothing.
Silence. Not just around him but inside him.
Cain Laurifer no longer existed. The identity, the mories, the desires, the reasons—all of it was gone. All he knew was that he existed in a place with no sound, no aning, no light, and no mory. A husk in a void.
Terror, the kind that cannot be described, enveloped him. It wasn’t fear of death. It was fear of erasure, of becoming unmade. He opened his mouth, trying to scream, but no sound erged. He didn’t know what screaming was.
Yet even in this state, sothing moved. Not thought, not strength. Sothing deeper. Sothing beneath even the soul—a fragnt of essence, untouched by the corrosion.
He took a step.
Then another.
Until, at last, even walking beca impossible. His body failed. Legs beca numb and useless. He collapsed to the invisible ground.
But he did not stop.
He began to crawl. Scraping his knees against nothing, his fingers bleeding from friction that shouldn’t exist, he dragged himself forward. No direction. No reason. Just the faintest whisper of compulsion.
He crawled for months. Or was it centuries?
His mind was gone, and so was the concept of ti. All that remained was forward.
And then—
Nothing.
He stopped. He had nothing left to give. His body, broken and inert. His mind, blank. His soul, quiet.
—
And then, in a flash, everything changed.
Cain’s figure faded from that realm of silence and shadow and reappeared in the Samsara Sacrificial Ground.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
A scream tore from his lungs, an inhale that felt like it ripped through dinsions. His eyes flew open, and the mories returned in an instant—like a dam breaking, flooding a dry riverbed with the full weight of existence.
He trembled violently, body spasming under the weight of the recollection. His skin was slick with cold sweat. His breath ca in ragged gasps. And his eyes—wide, tear-filled, haunted—stared at nothing.
The Trial of Will had not tested his power or knowledge. It had stripped him of self. Of na. Of purpose. And forced him to keep going.
It had reduced him to nothing and demanded that he move forward.
Cain could not stop shaking.
It did not demand he endure pain or face a nightmarish illusion. It only demanded that he move forward, yet it was the most horrible experience of his life.
He had lost himself.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Only after his willpower reignited was he able to sit up. Then, slowly, trembling, he stood.
He lifted his gaze and saw him.
The Samsara Lord’s flaming face was gazing upon Cain with solemn eyes.
Cain t that gaze. And, slowly, a sad, tired smile appeared on his face.
He had not reached the light at the end. Despite pushing harder than ever before, despite enduring the most horrifying experience of his existence, he had not made it.
He had failed the Trial of Will.
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