In those first confusing nights, as Northern tried to adapt to the heavy weight and harsh rhythm of the miner's ax, fragmented thoughts began to form in his mind during the few moments of rest and the small amounts of food he received.
The first thought was that he wasn't alone—other poor souls, maybe human or beast, had likely suffered the same brutal captivity in this underground prison, forced to mine these strange red crystals for reasons as unclear as their captors' motives.
Speaking of those strange crystals, from the moment he woke up, Northern had felt an unsettling connection between their red glow and the sea of blood that covered the deadly wasteland.
At first, he dismissed it as a shock-induced hallucination, but with every swing of his ax, the feeling grew stronger, confirming the disturbing sense of familiarity.
The black cores of the crystals seemed to give off a kind of... bloody malice.
The more Northern chopped away, the more the bloodlust became a sharp, imaginary edge that felt like it was cutting into his already raw skin with each exhausted swing.
His harsh overseer, as usual, showed no interest or awareness of this strange phenomenon.
Northern tried desperately to work through it—the endless grind allowed no breaks until the hill had been fully mined.
The process happened in brutal stages: first, he had to smash through the red "shell" covering the crystals with heavy, thunderous swings (something the monster did with ease), then he had to chip away at the destructive cores with exhausting, repetitive strikes.
Whether the crimson slopes came from the long-term leaking of the crystals' dark energy or not, the answer mattered less and less as his endless labor continued.
The more Northern thought about the twisted auras surrounding his grim haul, the more it ate away at what little composure he had left. The real danger he faced went beyond the back-breaking work, the wounds, the hunger, and the lack of sleep.
No, the greatest threat was to Northern's sense of self—his very identity—slowly unraveling under the constant grind of pain, fear, and exhaustion.
At first, he fought hard against the creeping dissociation, determined to hold onto his individuality with every last bit of willpower.
This flicker of defiance turned his scattered thoughts toward a new hope—a fiery, unrealistic one, born out of vengeance but impossible to ignore.
With each painful cycle of wounds, starvation, and nearly unending wakefulness, Northern's deep resentment toward his captor transformed into a burning desire for revenge.
At first, it was just a bitter way to cope with his suffering, but then it solidified into a solemn vow the first time Northern saw the beast's aura flicker with murderous intent—a vampiric glow that confirmed his keeper was one of the top predators, on par with the dreaded Night Terror, or maybe even stronger.
That first realization that Northern might have the power to fight back, no matter how ridiculous it seemed, turned his daydreams into a near-religious determination.
He silently swore revenge, no matter how impossible it seemed or how insignificant his life felt.
The critical moment came when, one day, as Northern worked through the haze of painful blisters, open wounds, and muscle aches so severe they almost paralyzed him, his ax slipped from his bloody hands and clanged to the cavern floor.
Immediately, the towering sentinel turned toward the sound, growling as it gripped its own ax with deadly intent.
Northern's eyes met the creature's dark, empty gaze, recognizing once again the dangerous flicker that promised dire consequences.
He was broken. Standing on the edge of total defeat after endless nights that blurred together into a whirlpool of torment.
Pain and despair surged from deep within him, crushing the fragile walls he had built to protect himself.
The ax finally slipped completely from his grasp, and he sank to his knees.
"I can't... do this anymore. Death would be... better..."
All the stubborn thoughts he'd used to push himself forward, all the inner pep talks insisting this was just a temporary suffering before the pain would somehow end—they all shattered like fragile glass.
In that sobering moment, Northern realized the lies he'd told himself to survive a nightmare no human should have to endure.
Had his earlier strength been a brave stand against despair, or was this moment of giving up the true cowardice, a way to avoid pushing through?
He couldn't tell anymore.
A wave of madness, pain, and loss of self consumed his mind.
If death was the only way out of this constant suffering, he was ready to embrace it.
The creature growled again, raising its ax for the kill. Northern didn't even try to dodge, despite the voice of his father's combat lessons screaming somewhere deep inside him.
But at the last second, his body instinctively shifted slightly to the side, barely avoiding the full force of the blow. Still, the brutal blade cut through his torn flesh, flooding him with burning pain.
Blood poured from the wound as the monster pulled its ax free.
Wailing, Northern collapsed as the awful reality hit him.
"I'm... going to die..."
His life drained away into the widening pool of blood beneath him, while the cruel creature stood over him, ready to deliver the final blow.
In that moment, Northern's two lives flashed before his eyes—his struggle with illness, and then his second chance in Tra-el, where he'd vowed to seize life by doing something great, whether through academic brilliance or martial mastery.
But now, here he was, kneeling in a pool of his own blood, clinging desperately to a hope he had almost let go of, despite his strong convictions.
The grim truth couldn't be clearer, and yet, even in the face of his monstrous executioner, Northern realized he lacked the courage to fully accept death. He couldn't let go of the fragile hope of survival, no matter how delusional.
Fear consumed him: fear of death at the hands of this beast, fear of never seeing his loved ones again—his parents, his unborn sister—fear of failure, of being forgotten.
But perhaps worst of all was the fear of the unknown, of what might lie beyond this pain-filled existence.
And those fears… those weaknesses… were his downfall.
As the searing pain from his shoulder tore through him, a scream of agony and rage ripped from Northern's throat, twisting his face into a mask of primal terror.
The monster only sneered and swung its ax handle down in a crushing blow, sending Northern into the merciful darkness of unconsciousness.