Another night. Another fight.
I crouched near the molten lake, sweat slick on my skin despite the constant burn of the Inferno Abyss. The forest was quieter during the day, but not silent. It never was. The embers crackled, the molten gold rippled faintly, and the whispers—they were always there. Faint. Mocking. Creeping at the edges of my mind like a goddamned parasite.
"Alright, you bastards," I muttered under my breath, flexing my fingers as flames flickered to life along my knuckles. "Let's see how much hell we can raise tonight."
The forest wasn't just a death trap anymore—it was my proving ground. Every failure, every scar, every inch of progress felt carved into my bones. The System's cryptic bullshit—"to burn is to learn" or whatever—finally made some sense. The forest was a shitty teacher, sure, but it wasn't wrong. Pain taught fast. Failure even faster.
I spent the day doing what I always did: preparing to not fucking die.
