Aeron limped out of the shady building, his breath hitching with every step as waves of pain radiated through his battered body. The streets before him stretched out like an alien landscape, an unsettling blend of old and new. Cobbled roads intertwined with sleek metallic pathways, while gas lamps flickered beside hovering streetlights. The air carried a strange mix of damp earth and burnt metal, making him wrinkle his nose.
He stood under the dim light of a weathered post, its glow casting long shadows on the cracked pavement. His memories were a jumbled haze, but instinct told him which way to go.
"At least I remember the shortcuts," he muttered to himself, turning toward an alley that seemed vaguely familiar.
---
Every step was agony, his ribs protesting with sharp stabs of pain. To keep his mind off the torment, Aeron decided to address the one thing that had been both a guide and a nuisance since he arrived in this twisted world—the book.
"So, do I get a reward or something for surviving that trial?" Aeron asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
The book's voice responded almost instantly, calm and clinical as ever.
"Yes, you do. But receiving it here would likely result in your untimely death. Would you prefer that?"
Aeron scoffed. "Great. A reward I can't even use. That's just perfect."
"It's not a matter of convenience, but survival. You're not exactly in a position to flaunt newfound power without attracting attention."
Aeron narrowed his eyes, his suspicion growing. "You seem awfully knowledgeable about what's safe and what isn't. If you're so concerned about my survival, why didn't you help me in that fight?"
"Because it was your first trial. Intervening would defeat the purpose. You must prove your worth, or this partnership ends prematurely."
"Partnership, huh?" Aeron muttered, his lips curling into a faint sneer. "Feels more like you're sitting back and watching the show."
The book's voice chuckled, a low, unsettling sound.
"You're quite the combination—obsessed and reasonable. It's rare. This is going to be fun."
"Glad you're entertained," Aeron said dryly. "But don't think I trust you. I don't even know what you are."
"Trust is irrelevant. What matters is results. You'll see soon enough that I'm your greatest ally."
--
The conversation did little to ease Aeron's pain, but it kept his mind sharp. Navigating the labyrinthine streets, he stuck to the shadows, avoiding the rowdier areas where danger lurked. A few drunken figures stumbled past him, their laughter echoing into the night, but they paid him no mind.
As he rounded the corner of a narrow alley, a sense of familiarity washed over him. The worn brick walls and the faint smell of something sour told him he was close. His destination lay ahead—a decrepit building that somehow felt like home, even if he couldn't quite remember why.
Pushing open the creaky door, Aeron stumbled inside. The room was sparse, the faint glow of a dying lamp revealing a single large wooden structure in the corner. His body screamed for rest, and his mind, foggy as it was, assured him it was a bed.
---
Without a second thought, Aeron collapsed onto it, only to realize his mistake. The "bed" was nothing more than a hard, splintered wooden slab, and the impact sent a fresh wave of agony through his body.
He groaned, rolling onto his side with great effort. "Never… in my life… have I regretted something so much," he muttered through gritted teeth.
"Consider it a lesson in assumptions," the book quipped, its tone almost mocking.
Aeron closed his eyes, too exhausted to argue further. Despite the discomfort, sleep crept over him like a heavy fog, pulling him into its depths. But as he drifted off, one thought lingered in his mind:
This world was cruel, its rules unforgiving. And if he was going to survive, he needed to understand it—and the strange entity that now seemed tied to his fate.