The storm outside hadn't quieted, but its roar had faded into the background—an endless murmur of rain and thunder that no longer frightened him, only numbed him.
Lucien and Eidan spoke for a while longer.
Nothing important—just fragments of ordinary life meant to drown out the extraordinary horror awaiting them. They talked about the tasteless food the temple served, the cold stone floors, even the way the candles in the halls flickered at night as if afraid of something unseen.
It wasn't conversation. It was survival through distraction.
Eventually, Eidan left.
And Lucien was alone again.
He sighed, staring at the rope still looped around his neck. With trembling fingers, he tried to loosen it, but the knot had hardened like stone. Finally, he drew the knife he kept hidden and sawed through it, the fibers fraying one by one until it fell apart.
The coil landed on the floor with a soft thud.
For the first time, he felt… lighter.
Not free—just less bound.
Lucien rubbed his raw neck and sank onto the bed. He was too tired to think, too disturbed to sleep. His thoughts crawled in circles, chasing themselves into exhaustion.
What am I even supposed to do now?
After a long silence, he decided to try something—anything—to distract himself.
He whispered the rune Eidan had taught him.
At once, the air thickened.
A hum, soft and distant, like wind moving through a hollow cave. Then came the whispers again…
It felt like a presence had awakened.
Like countless unseen eyes had opened all at once and turned toward him.
Lucien froze. His heart pounded.
He dismissed the whisper. The pressure faded.
Then, cautiously, he summoned it again.
The feeling returned immediately—heavier this time. The sensation of something vast and patient watching him from beyond the veil of reality.
He clenched his fists.
It's like someone… or something… is observing me.
He forced himself to focus—on his attributes.
And then he heard new whispers.
###
[Soul of Two Worlds] :You are a ghost wearing stolen skin.
[Heart of the Abyss] :The abyss recognizes you. Not as victim, but as kin.
[Nexus of Prophecy] : The threads of destiny twist and knot around your being.
###
"Interesting…"
Lucien tilted his head slightly, staring at the glowing words fading from his mind.
He had to admit—he wasn't entirely useless.
The first attribute simply confirmed what he already suspected: he didn't belong here. Soul of Two Worlds — fancy way of saying you're an alien, congratulations.
The second one, though… Heart of the Abyss. That one sounded ominous. Did it mean he was somehow linked to the Abyss? Or worse—accepted by it?
And the last one, Nexus of Prophecy. Something about fate and destiny. Great. Just what he needed—more vague, cosmic nonsense.
None of it gave him anything useful. No sudden power, no stat increase, not even a cool weapon. Just… ominous poetry.
He sighed. "Well, whatever…"
The exhaustion he'd been fighting all night finally caught up to him. Without realizing it, his thoughts grew slower, his breathing softer. The storm outside had calmed, and the whispers faded to silence.
Sleep claimed him.
Morning came quietly.
After a night of thunder and madness, the clouds had finally scattered. Pale sunlight filtered through the cracked window, spilling over the dusty floor and brushing across Lucien's face.
It didn't wake him.
He slept like someone who hadn't slept in years—deep, unmoving, almost peaceful.
Until—
DONG! DONG! DONG!
"What the hell—are we going to war?!" Lucien shot upright, startled out of his sleep. His blanket twisted around his legs, and he tumbled right off the bed.
"Argh—ouch, damn it!" He groaned, clutching his back as he hit the floor hard.
For a few seconds, he lay there, blinking at the ceiling in dazed confusion. Then, as the pounding in his head faded, he looked around.
The gray walls. The rough wooden table. The broken rope lying on the floor.
Lucien grimaced. "So… not a dream, then."
His thoughts drifted—unbidden—to his family back on Earth. They'd probably buried him by now. Maybe even mourned for a while.
A hollow smile tugged at his lips.
"It's better this way," he muttered. "At least they'll think I'm at peace."
He pushed himself up, stretching out the stiffness in his body.
A new start, he told himself. Not a good one—but a start nonetheless.
He washed up in the small basin of cold water, dressed in the plain temple robes laid out for initiates, and stepped outside his room.
The hallway was already alive with movement.
Children and teenagers in matching dark robes moved about quietly. Some wore blank expressions, trying to act strong. Others couldn't hide the fear in their eyes. The air felt thick—like everyone was pretending this place wasn't a tomb.
Lucien walked past them, following the faint smell of food.
Soon, he reached his destination—the mess hall.
Yeah. For now, that was the most important place in the world.
He pushed the door open—and immediately noticed the noise.
A crowd had gathered near the center.
Two people stood there—one, a tall boy with a cruel grin; the other, a small girl with long black hair, her face pale and frightened.
The boy loomed over her, voice sharp, words dripping with mockery.
Lucien frowned.
Already? Great. A cult, a death sentence, and now bullying.
He sighed, muttering under his breath. "Guess human nature really doesn't change… no matter the world."