Journey to Become the Zenith

Echoes Beneath Dying Light

Victor turned back toward the path.

”We’re wasting time.”

He stepped forward again.

Lane followed immediately, silent and steady.

Clara lingered for half a second longer—eyes shifting between Victor and Diana, who still floated beside him like a shadow stitched to his existence. The spirit did not walk. She simply moved as he moved, black robes drifting soundlessly above the ground.

Clara didn’t move.

The forest hummed faintly around her, but her mind was louder.

Mythical.

The word echoed again.

Forged in fire, held by God. Once swung where thunder cracked the sky open.

He brushed it aside as if it didn’t matter.

What makes a person act so sure of themselves?

Beneath the annoyance, a different feeling curled like smoke behind her ribs.

Overwhelm.

From the moment they crossed paths with Victor, nothing made sense anymore. One strange truth piled on top of another. Beating creatures stronger than himself - somehow he did it. A weapon appearing that history said was impossible. Then there was the ghost tied to his side, never leaving. And a kid who didn’t bleed when cut - just stood there, pale but unharmed.

Each new thing she discovered pulled her further from clarity.

Her mouth tightened into a thin line.

Maybe I should stop trying to understand.

Maybe the problem isn’t him.

Maybe the problem is that I expect him to make sense.

Unknown to her, the only reason Victor had dismissed the weapon’s rank was simple.

He couldn’t use it fully.

Not yet.

The scythe’s true potential was far beyond his current state. Whether he wielded a stick or a mythical weapon, the result—for now—would not differ much.

But he didn’t bother explaining.

He had noticed the flicker of contempt in Clara’s expression.

He simply chose not to address it.

It didn’t matter.

He had lived lifetimes misunderstood.

A few more assumptions would not kill him.

After a few more steps, Victor and Lane both slowed.

They turned.

Clara was still standing in the same place, gaze distant, completely lost in thought.

Victor tilted his head slightly, amused.

Lane called out first.

”Clara.”

No response.

”Clara.”

Still nothing.

Arms folded, Victor stood with hands open at his sides.

Lane moved away from her, just a little. Then he came closer again.

Firmness touched her voice now as she spoke once more. Clara.

Her eyes snapped open like she’d just surfaced. Up ahead, spaced out on the path, they stood still - watching. One breath earlier, she hadn’t known they were looking.

”What?” she said, caught off guard a little.

Lane spoke without rising pitch, yet warmth still lingered underneath. A steady voice held the words - no sharp edges, just calm presence.

”Where are you lost in thought? Sorry to interrupt your thinking, but don’t we need to check out the site where the mountain ogre supposedly died? The sun is already setting.”

Clara glanced upward.

A hush settled as daylight softened into warm light. Between tree trunks, dark shapes grew longer by the minute.

Deep down, she scolded her own choices.

Wait. Getting distracted again? Fool.

She exhaled quietly.

”Sorry,” she muttered. ”I won’t drift again.”

A small nod came from Victor toward her.

Diana let her eyes drift toward him.

He looked at the spirit.

”Diana. You can return now.”

”As you wish,” she replied softly.

Her form dissolved into black mist and flowed back into the dragon-shaped tattoo on his arm. The faint crimson glow faded.

The forest felt slightly less heavy without her presence.

Victor turned back to Clara.

”Now please don’t get lost in thought again.”

She gave him a serious look.

”I won’t.”

A small pause.

Victor’s lips curved faintly.

”Good. Let’s go.”

They resumed their climb.

The path grew steeper. Loose stones shifted underfoot. The air felt thinner, colder. Somewhere deeper in the mountain, something pulsed faintly—subtle enough that only Victor seemed to sense it.

He didn’t speak of it.

Yet.

—

Far ahead of them—

Soren ran.

Nowhere clear lay ahead of him.

He only knew he had to move.

Fingers of wind slapped at his skin. Every step cracked small bones of the forest floor. Air tore into his chest, broken and fast.

I’m alive.

I’m alive.

I’m alive.

Over and over, Victor heard those sentences echo inside his head.

You’re already dead.

”No!” he shouted into the empty forest. ”I can’t be dead! I’m alive!”

A sudden hush followed his words, thinning out in the cold. The sound broke unevenly, caught between breath and stone.

But when he tried to remember— The night his parents changed.

The night the village became... wrong.

There was nothing.

A blank space.

A void.

He stumbled, catching himself against a tree.

Why can’t I remember their faces?

Why can’t I hear their voices?

His hands trembled.

The forest ahead thinned slightly, opening into a rocky clearing carved into the mountain’s side.

Soren slowed.

He didn’t know why he had come here.

But something inside him did.

He stepped forward cautiously.

The air here was colder. Not wind-cold.

Dead-cold.

The clearing was littered with old bloodstains darkened into the stone. Scratch marks gouged into rock. Broken branches.

And in the center—

Something lay there.

Soren’s breath caught.

He took one more step.

Then another.

And then—

He saw it clearly.

His legs buckled.

He fell to his knees.

His eyes widened in horror.

”This can’t be...” he whispered.

His voice shook violently.

”It just can’t.”

Before him—

Lying against the base of a jagged boulder—

Was a small body.

Thin.

Black hair matted and stiff.

Clothes torn.

Neck marked.

It looked like him.

Not a mirror.

Not a reflection.

A corpse.

Pale.

Still.

Empty.

Soren stared at it, mind fracturing under the weight of reality.

I’m standing.

I’m breathing.

I’m—

His hand rose slowly to his own chest.

He could feel warmth.

He could feel movement.

But when he looked down at the body again—

The face was unmistakable.

His own.

The wind moved through the clearing with a low, hollow sound.

Soren shook his head violently.

”No... no... no...”

His breathing grew erratic.

If that’s me...

Then what am I?

The forest did not answer.

Only silence watched him unravel.