Consciousness dragged him back slowly but relentlessly. He resisted, desperate to sink back into the numbing void, to escape the raw throb that pulsed through his skull. The ache was insistent, a cruel hammer driving him back to the surface.
He clenched his jaw, tried to stay in the hazy dark, but his body betrayed him, every nerve coming awake against his will, sparking with discomfort and stiffness. He became dimly aware of a stone pressing into his back, of an air draft licking at his skin, each sensation clawing at him, anchoring him back to a reality he wanted nothing to do with.
He finally opened his eyes. The world around him was only shadows and ringing silence.
It took a moment for his vision to adjust, to make out the uneven stone that rose up above him, disappearing in the darkness. The air was thick and sour, carrying a faint tang of rot and rusted metal.
He propped himself up, wincing at his headache, contemplating the scattered memories as they came back to him - hands seizing him, the sharp sting of something striking the back of his head, voices whispering. And now...this. A dungeon, by the look of it.
He dragged himself to his feet, using the wall for support. He took a step forward, but the stone beneath his foot gave way and he fell to the ground.
Or, no… into the water. He failed, grasping for a holding.
The dim glean, he had mistaken for the stone surface, as in fact water. You couldn't know how deep it was, unless you tried it out.
Cursing, he climbed back. He tried tapping the surface around measuring the depth. And of course, he found it. The narrow ridge, just under the water.
For a moment, he considered heaving himself onto his feet to trudge the narrow path. But who cares? Resting on his hands and knees, he moved slowly along.
The dim light did nothing to illuminate his surroundings. He could see no walls, no ceiling, no end - just the sound of trickling water. But the ridge beneath him began to broaden, the narrow trail widening into something more solid. The water giving way to the slick dampness and finally the coarse texture of dry stone.
A doorway materialized out of the shadows. The water stopped abruptly at its threshold, pooling at its edge but not crossing it.
The room beyond was empty, its walls high, curving slightly to create a faintly circular space. But it was the far end that caught his attention.
There stood side by side, identical in size and shape, two doors marked with different carvings. On the left, the words "For the Righteous" were etched in angular letters, accompanied by the faint image of a shield, with edges smoothed with age. On the right, "For the Wise" was inscribed in more flowing script, alongside the depiction of an open book, with pages frozen in mid-flutter.
No other exit was visible - no hidden cracks in the walls, no other paths leading away. It was clear: he had to choose.
He huffed a frustrated laugh. "Righteous," he muttered, shaking his head. "Sure. That's a good one." If this place was testing for pure hearts or noble intentions, they had definitely grabbed the wrong guy. He wasn't about to march in swinging banners and sermonizing about some greater good. Life didn't work that way, and anyone who thought it did was setting themselves up to drown - literally, in this case.
His gaze shifted to the other door: "For the wise." The flowing letters were beautiful and clean, as if the dirt and rot of the dungeon did not apply to them. Wise? He snorted, crossing his arms and giving the door a long, sceptical look. It wasn't like he fancied himself some kind of sage sitting on a mountaintop, solving life's riddles with a stroke of genius. Wisdom wasn't exactly his strong suit, and even if it was, what kind of wisdom did a place like this require?
But between the two?
Being "wise" felt less... presumptuous. "At least it doesn't scream 'holier than thou,'" he muttered. "Might as well lean into the one that doesn't make me want to gag."
He stepped closer to the door on the right. His fingers hovered over the carving of the open book, he didn't feel any great revelation, no cosmic sign pointing the way. But if he was going to play this game, he'd play it smart - or at least smart enough not to get himself….
What exactly?
"Wise, huh?" he murmured once again, pushing his palm against the door. "Well, let's see how far that gets me."
The chamber that opened before him was vast and eerily silent. Water again, but only a few fingers deep, still enough to coat the floor like a mirror, rippling at the slightest movement. The ripples fractured the chamber, stretching the ceiling impossibly high, then low again, as if the whole space was shifting. The walls were smooth, seamless, their edges vanishing into shadow. But beyond them, barely visible in the water's warped reflection, were other shapes - figures just at the edge of his vision, standing motionless, watching.
He tensed, but the chamber itself remained empty. Only in the water did they appear, their vague silhouettes flickering in and out of focus like ghosts trapped beneath the surface.
Of course. He had chosen the path of wisdom. And wisdom, wasn't always about what you knew - it was about questioning what you thought you knew.
Steeling himself, he stepped over the threshold, boots sinking into the thin layer of water, and the chamber shifted around him. The distorted shapes lurking beneath the surface wavered, stretched - and then solidified. The chamber was no longer empty.
The first thing that changed was the light. It flickered, bending like a flame caught in a sudden wind, though no wind stirred the still air of the chamber.
Then came the sounds, a murmur, a rustling, the whisper of distant voices carried on through the maze. Shapes emerged from the shifting reflections - buildings, wooden stalls, fabric banners swaying in a non-existent breeze, familiar outlines.
He turned sharply, scanning the chamber, but it was no longer a chamber, and he knew this place.
The illusion settled into place too perfectly. The distant temple bell, the damp chill of rain clinging to his clothes, the scent of spice and oil from the street stalls - it was all too sharp, too real.
Footsteps followed, careful but deliberate, the weight of someone who had been waiting for him to notice.
"You know this is your last chance, right?"
He turned. His brother stood a few steps away, arms crossed, half-shrouded in shadow but unmistakably there. His expression was tense - not angry, not desperate, but something in between. Weary. As usual.
"You can't just keep drifting forever." His voice was measured, but there was a thin edge beneath it, a strain held back for too long. "The temple trials - this is it. A path, a purpose. Being useful. You don't get many chances like this."
"And what if it's not my path?" he found himself saying, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
His brother scoffed, shaking his head. "Then what is? You think something better is just going to find you? You don't get to walk away from this." The words cut through the air, low and tight with frustration.
"You think I want this?" His brother took a step forward, rain pooling at his feet, but his reflection didn't ripple. Not real. A trick. "You give me no choice."
"Oh, that's rich," he snapped. "I'm the one who never had a choice."
"You are wasting your life," his brother spat. "Wandering. Waiting for something to happen. This is a chance for a purpose, a chance to be something. And what do you do?" He threw a hand toward him, shaking his head. "You sneer at it. You mock it. You act like it's all some joke - like everything I've tried to do means nothing."
"You really think this is some grand destiny?" he shot back. "Jumping through hoops for a deranged cult? You think that makes one important?"
"I think it makes one more than nothing," his brother snarled.
Silence stretched between them. The illusion wavered. The streets shuddered. The lanterns flickered. The bell's ringing turned hollow. His brother took another step forward, but his feet didn't disturb the water.
"This isn't real," he muttered under his breath.
His brother tilted his head slightly. Smirked. But there was no amusement in it.
"Then why does it still feel like real?"
The labyrinth breathed. The illusion began to crack. The city blurred at the edges, the walls and streets melting away into shadow. But his brother's eyes remained the last thing to fade.
Just the sound of his own ragged breath. The shallow water at his feet. The flickering torchlight of the chamber. And a single, gnawing thought curling in his chest.
"Was it him?"
Had it been his brother who offered him up to the sect? Who convinced them he was worth testing? Who thought - after all this time - that he still needed saving?
"Bastard."
And then, the walls sighed. Not a sound, more like a presence shifting around him. Watching, waiting.
His hands curled into fists. No one was going to treat him like this. He would not allow it.
"You think that meant something?" His voice echoed back at him from the shadows. "And am I supposed to… what? Feel enlightened? Get fixed?" He let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "I don't want this. I don't need purpose. I don't need a damned trial. You think this is going to change me? Break me? Make me fall to my knees?"
The water trembled, shivering in unnatural patterns. The chamber wasn't done with him.
"Why do you keep forcing this?" he hissed, shaking his head. "Just give me a break." He took a step forward, kicking up a sharp ripple in the shallow water. "Go fight your wars by yourself. Go find some idiot who actually cares about it all. I. Am. Not. Your. Chosen. One."
Silence.
The air grew thick, pressing against him like a hand against his chest. The torches along the walls dimmed, their flickering light stretching and twisting, their reflections warping in the water at his feet.
A whisper - not a voice, but a feeling - unfurled in the back of his mind.
"Why? Is your doubt wisdom? Or fear? What are you afraid of?"
His breath caught in his throat. That is outrageous.
"I am not afraid", he almost screamed. "I do not care. It is not my fight. I. DO. NOT. GIVE. THE FUCK."
What he got in return was a low chuckle. What the hell?
"Oh, you are giving too many fucks."
And the chamber changed.
Abruptly, the floor vanished beneath him.
One moment, he stood firm, defiant, the shallow water barely reaching his ankles. The next, the ground simply ceased to exist. The shock was instant and absolute, the chill water tore the breath from his lungs before he could even think to hold it. The currents seized him, pulling, twisting, dragging him deeper. He was drowning!
At last he recovered enough for basic instinct to kick in. He fought with the current for a longer time and his vision became swaying, but he managed to breach the surface.
The air burned as it rushed in, sharp and painful. His throat clenched, choking on the taste of water and panic, his chest heaving, muscles trembling from the struggle.
Within arm's reach, a kid struggled against the surface, frail limbs thrashing weakly, head dipping beneath the water before breaking through again in a desperate, choking gasp. Just as he had a moment ago. And his body moved before his mind could think.
The child thrashed against him, fingernails scraping against his neck in sheer panic. He gritted his teeth against the sting but didn't let go. His arms tightened, locking around the trembling body, pulling it firmly against his chest. Kicking hard, he turned onto his back, as he scanned the water for something that could keep them afloat.
Bathed in warm, honeyed light, an island raised from the water, impossibly serene. Soft, pale sand stretched beneath a blue sky, where the sun, radiating warmth, seemed to defy the icy grip of the dungeon. Palm trees swayed lazily in the breeze, the air itself shimmered, thick with something surreal.
He really did not care. He dragged himself and the child onto the soft sand. Dropped onto his back, he basked in the warm sun.
"We've made it". The kid was grinning. Wide-eyed, shivering, clinging to him with a grip like iron, but grinning nonetheless. "What is the name by which you are called, mighty hero?"
The chamber was playing a really low trick now. The child, still clinging to him with unsettling cheer, was a part of the mockery. He suppressed the urge to shove the kid back into the water and settled for ignoring it. The labyrinth did not deserve his reaction. Instead, he closed his eyes, eager to bask in the sun for a moment longer.
There was a subtle shift at his side. He eavesdropped for sounds, but did not open his eyes.
"MEOW!!!"
What?!? Really?!? He jerked upright. The island and the kid were gone. He was sitting on the lushy grass under the sprawling apple tree. And there it was… A kitten stranded on the tree…
"MEOW!!!"
"Oh, give me a break!!! I saved the kid!!! It was an automatic reaction. I was not thinking!!!" He crossed his armes, fully aware that he looked just as a sulking child. "What does it prove anyway?!!! That I am a human, who was brought up pretty decently? No kittens, please!!!"
"MEOW!!!"
He lied back down and closed his eyes. That was not happening. He was not going to scoop that low. He did not give a damn about kittens stuck on the trees, for the love of gods…
"MEOW!!!"
…
"MEOW!!!"
…
"MEOW!!!"
…
"MEOW!!!"
…
Nothing… How long was it going to take?
"MEOW!!!"
…
"MEOW!!!"
…
The meow was becoming more and more grinding on his nerves.
"MEOW!!!"
…
"MEOW!!!"
…
For the sake of sanity… The action down here was not going to move, otherwise. If he really did not care, it did not matter whether he saved the cat or not. So, he could as well save the cat! He did not care after all. Being stubborn here was actually giving the fuck!
He gritted his teeth and stomped towards the tree trunk.
It had spikes!!! Spikes on the apple tree!!! The tree seemed determined to scrape his skin at every turn, but he forced his way upward. "For a damn cat," he muttered. At last, he reached the branch where the little creature huddled. And with a swift, irritated descent, the ordeal was over.
"What is the name by which you are called, mighty hero?"
For a split second, he thought it was the cat speaking. But there stand the kid, brightly grinning at him.
He may as well finish what he has started. Resigned, he played along. "I am Fengyu of Solirae, child", with the words he handed the kitten to the grinning kid.
"Thank you, noble Fengyu. The world will remember."
And back he was in the dark dungeon, in water up to his ankles.