Dean's eyes fluttered open, drawn to the fractured sky above.
A lifeless expanse of darkness stretched endlessly, however, a strange azure hue clung stubbornly to its shattered surface, like veins of light coursing through a dying world.
With slow, deliberate movements, Dean stretched his body, feeling the stiffness in his bones.
Step. Step.
He walked to the edge of the dune structure, peering into the vast dark mist. And just like any other day, the inky depths held no answers, just an endless void that seemed to stare right back at him.
And now that he thought about it. Now that he went through the memories he'd on the Dark Mist, he realized the eldritch horror didn't attack him because it was scared of the flame.
That seemed... plausible. After all, even one of the natural phenomena— the endless darkness had been scared off by the flame. So it was safe to assume that with the flame, he could very well roam through the dark mist.
'But there was a problem to this plan of his.' A frown tugged at Dean's lips.
The flame inside him was weak, barely a whisper of what it once was.
And more importantly, the mist was home to monstrosities beyond human comprehension. Diving into those depths was suicide—nothing less than a losing battle.
'Speaking of the flame.'
His mind drifted to it, sensing its faint pulses.
Weak? Yes. But recovering. Slowly, surely, it was returning to life.
Dean nodded.
He had no doubt about it now. The flame would heal, and that put him at ease. Very much so.
After all, most eldritch horrors tend to avoid him because of the flame. But, if it were to be in a weakened state, he really doubted it would still have the same deterrent effect.
Right about then, the sky cracked open.
A crimson constellation bled through the cracks above, seeping into the world like fresh wounds torn into reality itself. The uneven sky pulsed, and with it came a deep, guttural rumbling.
The dark mist trembled, waves recoiling violently, as if receding in fear.
'Uh…?'
Dean stepped closer to the edge of the Dune Structure, and dropped to his knees. He stared into the abyss to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving me.
But the truth was undeniable.
A pale, crimson constellation- Môøn, the Moon pathway sigil had risen, casting its eerie glow across the horizon. And before he could fully process what he was witnessing— the dark mist retreated violently.
The endless abyss withdrew at an unnatural pace, pulling back hundreds of meters in mere moments. In its wake, something else emerged.
Twisting spires of crumbled buildings and ruined structures erupted from the ground— monolithic structures that seemed more alive than mere stones, their cracked surfaces pulsating with a strange, abysmal energy.
"...."
He blinked. Then blinked again.
But no. The mist was truly gone!
'W-hat the hell?'
Dean remained frozen, his mind struggling to comprehend the impossible sight before him. The landscape beneath him—once submerged beneath the black tides—was now laid bare. Towering walls of sigil-etched structures stretched toward the sky, their jagged peaks painted in hues of red and blue.
For a fleeting moment, he considered descending, and exploring the newfound terrain. But logic overruled impulse.
No one survived this land by acting on impulse.
Venturing into the unknown without understanding when the mist would return—or what lurked in this region's depths—was as good as signing his own death sentence.
And he had no intention of dying.
'Not yet.'
He shuddered, pushing the thought aside.
For now, waiting was the safest choice. He needed certainty. If he could learn the mist's cycle—when it retreated and when it came crashing back—then and only then would he consider descending.
With nothing else to do, he turned to his thoughts. There, something nagged at him, a feeling that he was forgetting something important.
Then… it hit him.
'Wait, where is that damn spear?!'
His breath hitched.
He scrambled, patting himself down, and checking every possible place it could be. But no matter where he searched, the dark bone was gone.
Panic twisted his gut as he traced his memories back. He had it before entering the temple—before the flame changed him.
'Don't tell me… the flame consumed it?'
He wasn't sure. But deep down, he had a feeling that was the case.
This land—this world—had rules. Strange, twisted rules. Equivalent exchange, perhaps. Something had been given to him. And in return, something had to be taken.
He exhaled, forcing himself to let it go.
"It wasn't that useful anyway."
He told myself. Tried to convince himself. But failed, and at that—very badly.
The dark bone had saved him from lots of precarious situations— well just one. But even in that brief time it had been with him, it had been more than just a tool.
It was a lifeline in this cursed land. An anchor in the chaos. And now, without it, he already felt its absence.
'He was really going to miss it.'
With a light sigh, he shook his head and sat down, resigning himself to sleep. It was difficult— he wasn't tired, and the thought of this ever-changing cruel world gnawed at his mind— but eventually, exhaustion won, pulling him into unconsciousness.
***
In the depths of the night, lightning streaked through the fractured sky.
The world rumbled, as though a veiled storm was gathering strength. And then—
Thud! Thud!
Rain.
Heavy droplets of it pelted the ground, splashing against the surface of the dark mist.
Cold beads of water dripped onto Dean's face, stirring him from restless sleep.
Blinking groggily, he raised his hands to the sky, catching the falling droplets in his palm.
'Rain? Here…?' Shock rippled through him.
In all the time he had spent in this cursed land —months— not once had it rained. Not even once.
A wry chuckle slipped past his lips. "Some immortal must've been feeling generous today."
But then, the pang of thirst hit him hard, reminding him of just how deprived his body was.
Without hesitation, he cupped his hands, and drank the cold rainwater like a man starved. For a moment, just a moment, he allowed himself to smile.
Then, as suddenly as it came, the storm waned.
The crimson constellation returned, illuminating the land once more. But, as he gazed upon the horizon, something strange stood out.
The buildings, the constructs, the formations left behind after the mist's retreat, they weren't… natural.
And somewhere deep in his gut, he already knew the answer.
'These… these were made by someone.'
Not just anyone. Something colossal. The sheer scale of it was mind-boggling.
'How tall must a being be to be able shape this landscape?'
He couldn't help but wonder.
Right about then, as he allowed his thoughts to trail off, his breath slowly left him.
'Something wasn't right.'
He frowned.
His initial plan had been to stay put. To wait. To survive. But now, he knew staying here was suicide. Because right now, hunger clawed at his stomach and thirst burned his throat.
He needed food. He needed water. He needed to move. And just as the thought settled in his mind—
Crack!
The sky pulsed and cracked.
An azure constellation flickered across the fractured sky, and from the horizon, the dark mist roared back to life. Like an unstoppable tide, it surged forward, reclaiming the land it had left behind.
Dean barely had time to react before the abyss swallowed everything once more.
But now— now he understood.
He knew the cycle. He knew when the dark mist receded. And he knew when it returned.
And with that knowledge came a decision.
Next time the dark mist withdrew, he would descend into the labyrinth.
And he would be ready.
Ready for any horror headed his way.