Kastis hunted in silence.
Not because he wanted to.
He simply needed to forget.
The memories clung to him like the mist that never lifted from this cursed island—vivid, cloying, and hard to breathe through. So he moved. He fought. He killed. It was the only way to stay sharp. The only way to keep from thinking.
He noticed something was… wrong.
The monsters didn't feel entirely real anymore. Their bodies shimmered, faint and translucent, as if they were fading away piece by piece. Just like the island beneath his feet—its edges flickering, unreal, dissolving at the seams.
A ghost of a world.
And Kastis, somehow, was the only thing here that still felt solid.
He didn't need anyone to explain it to him. He understood in his gut what was happening.
The power that held this place together—Lord Unknown's presence—was weakening.
Whether that was a blessing or a curse, he didn't know.
What he did know was that he couldn't let himself be caught off guard again. Not after what happened the last time. The memory of claws slashing through mist and skin—of blood and breath and almost dying—was carved into him like a scar.
So he fought carefully. Methodically. No wasted movement. No reckless charges.
Just patience, instinct, and a blade.
Day after day passed.
Or what he thought were days.
Time was strange here. Slippery. It bent around him like the mist, folding into itself until hours blurred into weeks, and weeks became meaningless.
Still, he hunted. One kill at a time. One step stronger.
Eventually, he reached 250 Soul Energy.
He felt it as a quiet shift deep within himself. Like something hidden had stirred. A thread pulled tight, one end tied to his soul, the other to something vast and unseen.
A whisper in the dark corners of his mind told him this number mattered.
Kastis didn't have evidence. Just intuition. A sense.
Something to do with his Faded Path and the ability etched into his soul—Gate to the Infinite Ignotus.
The name had always unsettled him. It was like trying to remember a dream after waking. Familiar, but impossible to grasp.
Still, he had a theory.
If he could reach 500 Soul Energy, something would happen. He might be able to push himself forward—to the next sequence. And maybe, just maybe, the Trial would not come.
Not here. Not in a place where even reality was falling apart.
But fate didn't give him time to finish the thought.
Reality broke.
One moment, he stood in the fog, watching the dying glow of his latest kill fade into nothing. The next—
—space cracked.
It was soundless, but he felt it. A pressure against his chest. A scream without a voice. The sky above him split open like paper torn by unseen hands.
A long, jagged wound in the fabric of existence.
No light came from within. No wind. No pull.
And yet, he was dragged forward.
Kastis didn't resist. He couldn't. The crack widened, swallowing him like it had been waiting all along.
And then—nothing.
Only mist.
It wrapped around him like a living shroud, weightless and cold, endless and dense. There was no ground beneath his feet, but he stood. No stars above, but there was light. Light from something wrong. Something beyond.
In front of him stood a door.
But it wasn't a door made by hands. It was forged from the same mist, but darker—thicker—like coagulated time. It pulsed slightly, as though breathing, alive in a way no object should be.
Upon its surface, red constellations flickered.
But they weren't constellations in the way stars are. These were shifting, infinite, shapeless things—symbols that changed every time you tried to look at them. Thoughts that bled into form. Dreams that refused to stay asleep.
He didn't know why, but he understood.
This was it.
The Gate to the Infinite Ignotus.
He had not opened it.
It had opened for him.
"All advancement is sacrifice in disguise."
"All power comes wearing the face of loss."
"To ascend is to forget your name and remember your purpose."
The words were not spoken, but they settled into his mind like prophecy.
Kastis stepped forward.
Not because he was ready.
But because readiness had never mattered to fate.
A figure emerged before Kastis the moment he stepped through the door.
He had braced himself for a trial—something brutal that would break him mind and body before rebuilding him, or perhaps spiritual. Instead, he was met with… silence.
Not absence.
Mist.
It clung to the air like breath held too long, dancing in slow spirals, moving with neither purpose nor chaos. Yet, even that stillness had shape. The mist seemed to breathe, to mold, shifting between what was real and what wasn't—illusions turning into substance and then receding again as if the world itself doubted what was true.
Outlines floated in and out of focus. Beasts without names. People with blurred faces. Dreams stitched from uncertainty. Inside these half-born images, constellations flickered—small, radiant pulses buried deep in their chests. They gleamed like the origin of their existence, as if those celestial lights were the breath that animated unreality.
Kastis's eyes snapped to the center.
There stood the figure.
Still. Waiting.
A black mask cloaked its face—shaped like a demon dragon, smooth and cold, each detail perfectly carved, yet empty. Not even the hint of a mouth. Not a trace of humanity. Kastis didn't know if he was staring at a man, a god, or something between the two.
The mist stirred.
The figure blurred, moving without motion. One second it stood ahead. The next, it was behind him.
Kastis flinched. His legs trembled, nearly giving out.
Then—a hand touched his head.
It wasn't warm. Nor was it cold. It simply was.
And then the mist flowed into him.
His thoughts drowned in silence.
Sight. Sound. Identity. All vanished.
Pain bloomed in a place that didn't belong to his body. It came from somewhere deeper—like his soul was trying to scream while being forced into silence.
Kastis floated through the thoughtless void, his existence unformed.
Then—
Something knocked.
A jolt. A crash. A sudden breath—
His senses exploded back into him all at once. The taste of air. The pressure of gravity. The dull ache of breath returning too fast.
He fell to one knee, dazed.
Around him, the world looked the same… And yet not.
The island. The mist. The strange realm… It all felt heavier now. As if it had grown more real in his presence. No—more than that.
As if he was the reason it had become real.
He looked at his hands and then into the mist. There was power now—something dormant, something he hadn't noticed until this very moment. It pulsed softly within him.
Yet, it didn't feel like his own.
"Seems like I can never be myself, huh?"
The thought crossed his mind like a whisper he'd heard too many times.
His gaze slowly returned to the misty figure—no longer just a mask.
Lord Unknown.
That name came to him uninvited, but it settled into place like it had always been there. A name whispered not with reverence, but with inevitability.
And then, something stirred in Kastis's mind. A ripple, like something ancient awakening.
A name.
A concept.
A Pathway.
Pathway: Dreamweaver
—Trap enemies in dream-realities. Twist perception into prisons. Let them sleep forever in a world shaped by their own fears.
Sequence 8: Dream Seer
Open the eye that watches beyond sleep. Gaze into the dreams of others. Understand them through what they hide.
Pathway: Phantasm
—Summon soul projections. Illusions that live, breathe, and break. Let will create what hands cannot.
Sequence 8: Illusionist
Manipulate fragments of reality. Project flickers of sight and sound—small illusions that deceive or distract, laced with intent.
Pathway: Muse
—Manifest visions. Art as a weapon. Emotions as blades. Build the real from the impossible.
Sequence 8: Idea Spark
Convert emotion into construct. Rage, grief, hope—mold them into tangible echoes. Small, fragile… and terribly alive.
Kastis stood still, his breathing steadying.
The mist moved, but no longer on its own.
It responded to him now.
And something told him—this was only the beginning.