There was no light. No warmth. No sensation, save for the weight of emptiness pressing against him from all sides. Aeron's consciousness drifted, detached from the body he no longer possessed. He tried to think, to remember, but even his thoughts felt distant, like echoes in an endless cavern.
Then came the whispers.
At first, they were faint, unintelligible murmurs, weaving through the void. But they grew louder, sharper, until they became a cacophony of voices.
"He's here."
"Another one?"
"Will he endure?"
"Or break like the rest?"
Aeron wanted to shout, to demand answers, but he had no voice. The void swallowed his frustration, his fear. He was nothing here.
And then, a single voice rose above the others. Deep, resonant, and filled with an unsettling calm.
"Aeron Kahl. You have sought eternity, and eternity has answered."
Aeron's consciousness jolted as a figure materialized before him. It was neither human nor beast—its form constantly shifted, as though it couldn't decide what it wanted to be. Its presence was overwhelming, filling the void with a palpable weight.
"Who are you?" Aeron's words weren't spoken, yet they echoed clearly in the void.
The figure tilted its ever-changing head, as though amused. "I am a keeper of paths, a guardian of choices. You stand at a crossroads, mortal. Do you wish to live?"
"Yes."
The answer came without hesitation. Aeron's desperation clung to his words like a lifeline.
The figure's form stilled, becoming sharper. "Living is not the same as existing. You seek something greater. Immortality."
Aeron felt a surge of hope, quickly tempered by caution. "Can you grant it?"
The figure's laughter reverberated through the void, a sound that was both soothing and menacing. "I can grant you the chance. But eternity has a price, and its challenges are not for the weak. You must prove your worth."
Before Aeron could respond, the whispers returned, louder and more frenzied.
"Don't do it."
"You'll regret it."
"Fool! You don't know what you're asking for!"
Aeron gritted his teeth—or at least he imagined he did. "I've spent my entire life chasing this. I'll do whatever it takes."
The figure extended a hand, long and dark, its edges dissolving into the void. "Then take my hand, and we will seal the pact. But be warned: once you accept, there is no turning back."
Aeron hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing on him. The whispers grew frantic, pleading, warning. But he silenced them in his mind.
Without another word, he reached out and touched the figure's hand.
The void shattered.
Aeron found himself standing in a stark white room. The walls pulsed faintly, as though alive, and the air buzzed with an unnatural energy.
The figure was gone, replaced by a faint, disembodied voice.
"Your first challenge awaits. Survive, and you will take your first step toward eternity."
The room began to shift, the walls melting away to reveal a vast arena bathed in crimson light. The scent of blood and iron filled the air. Aeron's heart raced as he realized he was no longer himself. His body was younger, weaker, his hands trembling as he clenched them into fists.
He looked down at his reflection in a puddle of blood. The face staring back at him was not his own.
And then came the sound of footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate.
A towering man entered the arena, his face obscured by a helmet, his massive frame radiating menace. In his hands, he held a blade that gleamed with the promise of violence.
The voice returned, calm and indifferent.
"Survive."
Aeron's thoughts raced. He had no weapon, no training in this frail body. But he had his mind—and his will.
As the man charged, Aeron braced himself. The fight for his eternity had begun.