Clive's eyes snapped open, and he jolted upright, his left hand clutching his chest where his heart should be. He gasped for air as if he had been underwater for an eternity.
He looked down at his chest, then around in disorientation, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. He was standing in the middle of dense woods, surrounded by a strange, unfamiliar environment.
As a blind person, his other senses had always been heightened, but now with sight, everything was overwhelming. The trees towered above him, their branches reaching into the sky. The rustling of leaves and the snapping of twigs made him jump in fright, his heart racing.
Before him lay nine paths, each with a distinct look and feel. One appeared to be a labyrinth of twisting corridors, while another was covered in shifting sand. All the paths were different, but one stood out to Clive—it seemed to call him.
"So these are the paths of the Pathfinders?" Clive's expression grew serious. "I'm guessing that path is the one I'm supposed to walk, and then I shall deal with Harlingen." At the last part, his voice grew cold.
He slowly advanced toward the calling path, but suddenly dark figures erupted from the ground. The creatures gave off an eerie feeling that made his skin crawl. Without warning, they lunged at him, claws aimed to kill. Startled, Clive jumped back and began to run.
"Curse you, Harlingen! Curse you!" he screamed. The creatures pursued him relentlessly, and his eyes darted around as he stumbled through the dense woods.
The forest's silence was shattered by his cries. Taking a quick glance back, he realized the creatures had vanished. He came to a halt, nearly falling over, his eyes scanning the area fearfully. Just as he was about to exhale in relief, a pitch-black claw shot up from the ground, grabbing his leg.
"N-no!" he screamed, thrashing wildly, trying to free himself.
He clawed at the dirt, fingers digging into the ground in a desperate attempt to hold on. But the more he struggled, the stronger their grip became.
His breath came in quick, panicked gasps. He tried to scream, but a large claw covered his mouth, silencing him. His muffled cries filled his mind as he felt himself being pulled deeper into the cold, hard ground.
Clive's vision swirled as the pitch-black claws dragged him into the abyss. Darkness enveloped him, suffocating him. Just when he thought he would be consumed entirely, the grip released, and he tumbled back onto solid ground with a thud.
Groaning, he slowly pushed himself up, his body aching from the ordeal. As his vision adjusted, he tried to rely on his other senses. The place was eerily silent. When he could see clearly again, he realized he was no longer in the dense, living forest. Instead, he found himself in a desolate landscape, the air thick with the scent of charred wood and ash.
All around him, the forest had been reduced to a wasteland of blackened, skeletal trees, their remains jutting into the sky like frozen fingers.
Amid the devastation, a single narrow path cut through the burned earth. It was clear, as if spared for a purpose. Above, a crimson moon hung low, casting an eerie red glow over the land. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them—creatures of pure darkness, their forms shifting. They wandered aimlessly, not even daring to spare him a glance.
"Over here," a childlike voice called from the path. Turning his head, he saw a young boy dressed in black garments, beckoning him to approach.
"Do not be afraid. I mean you no harm," the boy said with a smile. Clive, still on guard, slowly approached.
"What is this place?" he asked. The boy studied him for a moment before nodding in what seemed like approval.
"Oh, this is your path. Can't you see? It appears this way because of the grief you feel. If only you could stop blaming yourself for things beyond your control," the boy said. His words struck a nerve. Clive's hand shot forward, grabbing the boy's garments.
"Watch your words, kid. You don't know anything about me—uh." His voice trailed off as he noticed something moving in the boy's eyes. Clive instinctively stepped back.
"Actually, I know you more than you know yourself, Clive. Born blind to a half-Elden mother, your father died in the mines two years after your birth. Your mother was killed when you were seven, and you have been plotting revenge against her murderers. But that is not who you really are. The Pryer in the Shadows—that is who you are, or rather, who you were." The boy stepped closer, and Clive stepped two more steps back, eyes fixed warily on him.
"This is the path for you. Your servants have been awaiting. The Path of the Shadowed Veil is a hidden path, created by a mighty figure long ago. More information about the path will be available, but only after you cross a threshold. There are certain requirements to cross each threshold, but I believe you will be able to traverse this path." The boy smiled. Seeing that he meant no harm, Clive took a deep breath and asked:
"Just who the hell are you?"
"Huh? Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Zena, your trusted companion."
"What nonsense are you spouting, kid? We've just met. Anyway, tell me—how do I become a Pathfinder?" Clive asked calmly.
Zena did not answer. Instead, he pointed to the pathway in the middle of the destroyed forest. "You just have to start walking through there."
Clive raised an eyebrow skeptically. "That easy?"
Zena stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Easy? Do you think the pathways to divinity are easy? Change that mindset, Clive. It will get you killed. Traversing the pathway is only half the first step." Zena's tone became serious, and Clive sensed the shift immediately.
"What do you mean, half a step?" He remained wary of the boy, still uncertain who he was or where he came from, but he tried to glean as much information as possible. He also realized that today he had spoken more than he had since his mother was murdered.
"The ritual is only half the step. Being a Pathfinder is more of a curse than a blessing. Many Pathfinders have fallen to the corruption brought by a mortal soul strengthened by otherworldly energies. This process, known as the awakening, is an unstable bridge every seeker must cross before becoming a Pathfinder.
Many have fallen, and since their souls could not handle the change, they transformed into harrowing creatures far more powerful than the Defiled of the Mirror Realm. The strength of these deadly creatures can also be influenced by events during the awakening process.
The path is full of trials. Know that the path can reject you, or even worse, abandon you when you lose yourself. That is a fate worse than death. I advise you to follow your path and not falter… that is all."
With that, Zena went quiet. Clive turned to the path ahead, thoughts running wild.
He thought back to tonight. Everything had started normally, until he received that coin from Harlingen. Cursing his ugly fate, he began walking toward the path.
"There's no turning back, Clive. Are you sure about this?"
"No, but I'm doing it anyway… for my mother's memory," he whispered the last part only to himself.