This was a tiny island.
At least, that was the best word Sonia could find in her limited vocabulary. The "island" was more like a palm-sized patch of land poking out of the sea—so small that a slightly larger wave might swallow it whole.
But the sea was eerily calm. Too calm. The air was still, not the slightest hint of a breeze. Sonia stood knee-deep in the water, her feet sinking into the wet sand. She glanced around, taking in her surroundings.
All she could see was an endless expanse of milky-white fog, thick and suffocating, filling every corner of the horizon. The sky above was an ominous swirl of ink-black clouds, heavy and oppressive.
I must be dreaming, Sonia thought.
She clearly remembered falling asleep in the girls' dormitory at the Academy of Roses and Blades. There was no logical way she could have ended up on this isolated speck of land.
Reassured by the thought, Sonia relaxed slightly. Out of curiosity, she crouched down and tasted the seawater, expecting the salty bitterness she'd learned about in her online classes.
Instead, it was sweet.
Definitely a dream, she confirmed. She had never been to the ocean and had no idea what seawater actually tasted like. This had to be her subconscious making things up.
But if it was a dream, why was there a corpse she didn't recognize in the middle of the island?
At the center of the small island knelt a figure, unmoving.
They were dressed in a long black coat, the hood pulled low over their face, obscuring their features. Their identity, gender, and even their humanity were a mystery. A longsword had been thrust through their chest, yet they knelt upright, as if frozen mid-motion. Their left hand rested on the sword's scabbard at their hip, while their right hand gripped the sword's hilt, as though they had been struck down just before drawing their weapon.
Aside from this corpse and the sand, the island was utterly barren.
Normally, Sonia would have been terrified, but she convinced herself this was a dream. She walked closer, her curiosity overriding any fear, and examined the figure more closely.
The sword piercing their chest was exquisite. Blood still dripped from its blade, flowing along its ornate carvings and pooling at the crimson gemstone set in the hilt. It almost looked alive.
When Sonia came back to her senses, she realized she was already holding the sword.
The grip fit her hand perfectly, its weight balanced as if it were made for her. The dazzling patterns, the flawless craftsmanship—it felt like an extension of her own body.
Without a second thought, she pulled the sword free from the corpse.
She braced herself for the body to collapse, instinctively stepping back to avoid being hit.
But it didn't fall.
Instead, it stood up.
The sound of steel-toed boots against sand broke the silence as the figure straightened. Slowly, they drew a second sword, its blade gleaming coldly in the dim light.
With a whisper of air, the figure raised their sword and pointed it at her. Though Sonia couldn't see their eyes, she felt the piercing weight of their emotionless gaze.
"Fear not, Swordmaiden," the corpse spoke, their voice an unsettling, mechanical blend of tones. "This time, I am not your enemy."
"Then why are you pointing a sword at me?" Sonia asked, her voice trembling.
"I'm merely going to kill you."
That sure sounds like the definition of an enemy! Sonia gripped her sword tightly, trying to find some sense of security in its weight.
"Who… who are you?" she asked.
"I am the Endwatcher. You may call me Watcher," they replied. "For the next seventy-two hours, you will either defeat me or endure your deaths until the time passes. Only then may you leave this place."
"This is just a dream, isn't it?" Sonia said, her eyes wide.
"The difference between dreams and reality lies only in who we share them with. Reality is a dream we all weave together. But a dream…"
Watcher's voice dropped, cold and sharp.
"…is a prison you build for yourself."
Before Sonia could respond, Watcher lunged, their blade slicing through the air in a blur. Sonia's reflexes weren't fast enough; the blade found its mark.
"Ten seconds," Watcher said as Sonia crumpled to the ground, clutching her throat. The pain was excruciatingly real, as if her neck had truly been severed.
If this is a dream, I should've woken up the moment I felt that pain.
Yet here she was, trembling in terror.
"Ten seconds are up," Watcher declared. They crouched slightly, sword at their hip, ready to strike again.
Sonia scrambled to her feet, the pain fading as her body inexplicably reset itself. Without a second thought, she turned and sprinted toward the sea.
She didn't care that she couldn't swim. Death by drowning seemed less horrifying than facing this relentless nightmare.
Surprisingly, survival instinct kicked in. Though her strokes were clumsy and inefficient, Sonia managed a rudimentary dog paddle. The further she got from the island, the more her heart dared to hope.
That hope shattered when Watcher's voice echoed behind her.
"Running away is disgraceful."
"And pointless."
A cold sensation shot through her neck. Sonia looked down to see a blade piercing through her throat.
The pain drowned her like the waves. When she came to, she was back on the island.
"Ten seconds," Watcher said again.
This time, Sonia didn't run. She looked at Watcher, a mix of desperation and anger in her eyes. "What do you want from me?"
Watcher tilted their head. "To defeat me."
"Why?" she snapped. "Why waste your time on someone like me? I'm just a student! There are criminals and tyrants out there. Go torment them!"
"You're wrong," Watcher said, gripping their sword once more.
"What do you mean?"
"You assume," Watcher said, their blade gleaming as they raised it, "that you've never wronged me before."
Shing!
For what felt like the hundredth time, Sonia returned to the island, her head spinning from yet another decapitation.
Finally, something shifted.
The next time Watcher lunged, Sonia raised her sword—not to flee, but to block. The clash of steel echoed across the island.
For the first time, she held her ground.
Her face was devoid of fear, anger, or pleading. Her crimson eyes reflected only the cold, unwavering focus of a predator.
Watcher stepped back, their expression unreadable.
"You've left me no choice," Sonia said, her voice icy.