Zami walked in silence, his steps steady but weighed with thought. The wooden carving rested in his hand, its rough surface a stark contrast to the polished hilt of his katana. He stared at it, tracing the faint grooves with his fingers.
A bird.
He hadn't seen one in thousands of years. Not since the world above, where blue skies stretched endlessly, and the sun painted the earth with warmth. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and a flicker of memory surfaced—vivid and sharp.
He was a child then, standing amidst the cherry blossoms of his clan's village. Birds had filled the air with their songs, flitting between the trees with careless freedom. His father's hand rested firmly on his shoulder as they watched the scene together, his voice low but steady.
"Strength isn't just about the sword, Zami. It's about purpose. A bird knows where to go, even when the wind tries to mislead it."
The memory faded, and Zami opened his eyes, his expression unchanged. He placed the carving back into his pouch and resumed his journey.
As he moved forward, the oppressive shadows of the Forsaken Hollow began to lift. The jagged rocks gave way to uneven ground, and faint traces of light filtered through cracks in the ceiling. It wasn't much, but it was enough to illuminate a narrow path ahead.
He followed it cautiously, his hand resting on the hilt of his katana. After what felt like hours, the path opened into a broader expanse, where the air felt less suffocating, and the echoes of his footsteps stretched farther.
Ahead, the terrain sloped upward, revealing what appeared to be an exit from the Forsaken Hollow.
Zami stopped at the base of the slope, his sharp eyes scanning the area. It seemed too convenient, too open. But there was no other way forward.
"This must lead out," he muttered, his voice low.
He tightened his grip on his weapon and started the climb.
As he reached the top, the path leveled out, and the distant outlines of a vast, decaying structure came into view. His silver eyes narrowed as recognition struck him.
The Withering Spire.
It loomed in the distance, a towering mass of jagged stone and twisted spires. Even from here, he could feel its presence—an unnatural pull that made the air feel heavier with each step closer.
But something felt off.
He pulled out the map given to him by the merchant back in the village, examining the faded lines and markings. The path to the Withering Spire had been clear when he first studied it. But after his battles with the Wailing Dread and Silent Agony, the world below seemed to shift and distort, leaving him disoriented.
The map no longer aligned with the terrain around him. Paths that should have been there were missing, and landmarks were no longer recognizable.
"Useless," Zami said, folding the map and tucking it away. He wasn't surprised. The battles had taken their toll—not just on him but on the colony itself. Silent Agony's death had likely disrupted the balance of the Forsaken Hollow, warping its layout and leaving him to navigate blindly.
He looked toward the Withering Spire again. There was no clear route to it, no defined path. Just an endless expanse of barren land, twisting caves, and jagged cliffs.
"I'll find a way," he said quietly.
There was no other choice. He couldn't stop now—not with two vessels left. His body ached from the battles, his scars burning as if reminding him of how far he'd come.
He took a deep breath and started walking again, his focus sharp, his mind calculating every step.
As he moved, the carving in his pouch pressed lightly against his side. A faint reminder of purpose, of freedom, of what lay beyond this endless darkness.