Ezra's vision fractured as the world broke apart around him.
It felt like being ripped through glass , every shard slicing at his mind.
Then— impact.
He hit something solid, the breath crushing out of his lungs.
Ezra gasped , clawing at the ground beneath him. Not stone, not the shifting darkness— earth. Cold, damp soil.
He rolled onto his back, eyes wide. Above him, the sky was a swirling abyss of black and crimson, like an open wound in reality.
Ezra dragged air into his lungs, fighting against the panic clawing up his throat. "Alright, get it together."
The Sigil on his chest still burned , but it was different now—more focused.
Like a compass needle pointing straight into his soul.
Ezra forced himself up, scanning his surroundings.
The place was like a twisted forest , gnarled trees twisted toward the sky, their bark dark and slick , dripping with some unidentifiable liquid .
The air hung heavy with rot and whispers.
He exhaled shakily. "Where the hell am I now?"
"A place between."
Ezra spun around.
A figure stood just beyond the tree line—a shadowy silhouette , featureless but somehow familiar.
Ezra's fingers twitched toward his dagger. "Who are you?"
The figure didn't move, but its voice curled through the air, cold and distant.
"A fragment. A memory. What remains when hunger consumes all else."
Ezra's jaw clenched. "Right. Cryptic. That's super helpful."
The Sigil throbbed , and suddenly Ezra was aware of it —the pulse beneath his skin, the crawling sense of something waiting.
"You devoured," the figure continued, its voice like a knife scraping bone. "But it was not enough."
Ezra scowled. "Enough for what?"
"To pay your debt."
Ezra's stomach twisted. "What debt?"
The figure leaned forward, shadows rippling.
"The Forsaken Path demands its due. Blood for power. Souls for strength."
The air thickened, pressing against Ezra's skin like invisible chains.
The figure's voice dropped lower, more insistent.
"The Sigil binds you, but it also feeds . It craves what you took. You must give more."
Ezra's fists tightened. "You're saying I have to keep feeding this thing?"
The shadows seemed to nod.
"Or it will devour you."
A chill ran through Ezra's bones. He wanted to reject it, deny it—but the hunger in his chest told him it was true.
The figure drifted closer, the darkness deepening around it.
"You are not the first. Nor will you be the last."
Ezra swallowed. "And what if I refuse?"
The darkness rippled , almost like it was laughing.
"Then you will become like us. Shadows. Echoes of those who failed."
Ezra's mind raced. He didn't want to become some mindless husk , trapped forever in this place.
But the idea of becoming a slave to this hunger —constantly feeding, constantly taking—made his skin crawl.
The figure extended a shadowy hand.
"Embrace it. Let it consume you, and you will gain power beyond imagining."
Ezra stared at the outstretched hand.
In that moment, the hunger twisted , not just demanding, but pleading .
He could feel it— a need deeper than survival. A need to grow, to consume, to become more.
Ezra clenched his jaw, his breath ragged.
"Fine," he spat, his voice laced with defiance. "I'll use it. But I won't let it own me."
The shadowy figure recoiled slightly, the darkness around it pulsing like a heartbeat.
"Bold words."
Ezra's eyes hardened. "Watch me."
The world shuddered , and for a brief moment, Ezra felt it— the power thrumming beneath the Sigil.
It was his.
And yet, not his at all.
The shadow figure began to fade, its voice a whisper on the wind.
"Then walk the Path, Devourer. But know this—the hunger is endless. It will never be satisfied."
Ezra stood alone, his chest heaving. The twisted forest seemed to close in around him, the shadows leaning closer.
And within him, the Sigil pulsed , whispering promises of power, secrets, and a price he wasn't sure he could afford.
He set his jaw.
He'd make it pay off. One way or another.