There it was—an island no wider than four meters, floating like an afterthought in the center of a still, vantablack lake. The water didn't ripple. It didn't shimmer. It simply existed, swallowing all light and sound with impossible depth. Only one narrow bridge led to it—a twisted span of roots, just wide enough for a single step at a time.
At the end of that path, nestled in the island's heart, sat something motionless.
A throne, if it could be called that—formed from black marble-like stone and gnarled roots that coiled together as if grown for this purpose. And upon it sitting upright, a tall figure, locked in deep, unnatural sleep.
It was a creature, gaunt , its body stretched taut over wiry muscle and thin bone. Skin dark as ash with a gray undertone, like weathered obsidian smeared with the remnants of dried, dark blood. Its arms rested along the throne's limbs, long fingers ending in claws that reflected what little light filtered through the cursed sky.
Legs stretched and planted, toes curled with thick talons that scraped faintly against the stone. It looked like a corpse abandoned upright.
Its jaw hung slack, sharp and crooked canines poking out between cracked lips. Cheeks sunken. Eyebags hollow. A hooked nose casting shadows down a face framed by long, matted black hair. Two elongated ears curved back from its skull, twitching faintly even in sleep.
It was too tall. Too thin. As if something had worn a goblin like a costume and stretched it to fit.
A sharp twitch broke the stillness.
Cassius's eyes fluttered open—slits of crimson glass beneath heavy lids. The first thing he felt wasn't confusion, just pain.
He stirred, a low groan rasping from his throat, claws scraping stone.
His side ached with every breath, the wound there stiff but sealed. His thigh throbbed beneath dried blood and bruised muscle. Every limb screamed with deep, bitter soreness—like his body had been reassembled crudely.
He shifted slightly. Throne welcomed him, unnaturally warm, cradling his bony frame like it was his just place.
He was awake
"Should I be thankful that I survived or resentful that I didn't die?"
The pain had dulled.
Any normal human being should have died unattended.
He lightly scratched side of the throne.
"Not without something else at play."
He shifted slowly. The wound on his side had sealed. His thigh was stiff beneath dried blood, but closed. The roots of the throne had pulled away, leaving only damp prints on his skin. As he let out a long a heavy sigh.
Cassius examined his body with a tired expression.
First hands, flexing fingers .
Too long. Skin tougher than it should be. Not like a man's. He turned his palm. The faint gray tone had deepened overnight.
"Should I be happy or sad that there are no mirrors here?"
He blinked slowly.
"What was I doing again?"
He didn't panic .There was no energy left for panic. Fear required hope—hope that something could be done.
"Has it been weeks already, maybe months? Perhaps only couple of days?"
He gazed at the sky above through patches.
"It doesn't change at all."
No day or night cycle, no rains or clouds, just wind and stagnation.
"Before I fought that thing, I didn't even know that I could sleep or crave anymore."
He lowered his hand, letting it hang limp off the throne's armrest. Dry blood crumbled as his knuckles relaxed.
"Should I pretend again?" he said aloud, voice dry and brittle. "Like it was my first day."
His tongue pressed against one of his crooked canines.
"Like I just woke up. Like I still have hope."
But there were no choices here.
He glanced out past the edge of the lake, trying to look past the forest.
The forest wouldn't let him leave.
"No matter what I tried, this place won't let me leave past this forest."
His voice faltered, but there was no one to hear it but himself. No birds. No wind anymore. No life.
Cassius tilted his head toward the sky, where a massive crack was. Without sun or stars, only that ever-distant smear of rusted light.
"Should I end this, would it even be possible here?"
He slowly rose to his feet, every muscle stiff and resistant.
"I cant even sleep."
He stumbled forward a few steps to grab the bone axe.
While mindlessly walking towards that corpse, he turned his gaze toward the horizon—beyond the choking trees, past the desert. Far in the distance was a mountain.
"Was that where it came from?"
The question barely carried weight. He asked it more out of habit than hope.
"It kind of resembled a goblin."
The world blurred as he walked. Trees melted into trunks, then into nothing. The ground shifting with each step.
Noise filled his ears. Not wind. Something deeper.
Then—gnashing. Chewing. Wet sounds.
The goblin's broken body lay half-buried in the sand. Three dog-like beasts circled it, pale skin stretched over their frams, their movements erratic. Their jaws were wide, filled with jagged teeth, and their eyes milky and yellow glowed faintly in the gloom.
They tore into the corpse with grotesque fervor, sinew snapping between their teeth, cartilage crushed beneath gnashing jaws.
Cassius stepped into view, his gait light, his body relaxed and mind lost in thoughts. One hand dragging the axe weakly.
He looked up.
The beasts froze.
Cassius froze.
Three sets of glowing eyes turned to him, heads tilted unnaturally. A long silence stretched between them—until one snarled low and twitched forward.
Then they lunged.
Cassius barely had time to lift the axe.