Ezra exhaled, the cold air coiling around his lips like smoke. The shadowed forest still loomed, its twisted trees stretching too high, too thin —as if they weren't meant for this world.
The Sigil on his chest throbbed , not in pain, but in expectation.
Like it was waiting.
Ezra clenched his fists, forcing his breathing to steady. "Alright. Let's get this straight."
He had a hunger inside him.
It demanded to be fed.
And if he refused? It would consume him instead.
Ezra dragged a hand down his face. "Fantastic. Just what I always wanted. A never ending existential crisis with a side of body horror."
The twisted forest remained silent.
But the whispers were back.
Soft. Lingering.
"He knows now."
"But will he obey?"
Ezra rolled his shoulders. "You guys talk a lot of shit for a bunch of disembodied voices. How about some actual answers?"
The mist shifted , curling like fingers through the trees.
Then— movement.
A shape emerged from the darkness.
At first, Ezra thought it was just another shadow— but then it breathed.
Too deep. Too slow.
A figure stepped forward, half shrouded in the swirling gloom.
Tall. Cloaked. And wearing a mask.
Not like Ezra's.
This one was bone white , featureless except for two hollow slits where the eyes should be.
Ezra's muscles tensed. "Let me guess—you're here to give me a cryptic warning, then disappear dramatically?"
The masked figure tilted its head slightly, considering him.
Then, in a voice like rusted metal scraping together— it spoke.
"No. I am here to offer you a choice."
Ezra frowned. "I hate choices."
"Then you will hate this one."
The air grew heavier , pressing against his skin like unseen hands. The figure lifted a single gloved hand , and something shifted in the darkness.
A shape writhed into existence behind it.
At first, it looked like a person— until it didn't.
Its body was twisted, wrong , limbs stretched too long, fingers ending in blackened talons.
Its face was missing.
Just smooth, pale flesh where features should be.
Ezra's stomach twisted. "The hell is that?"
The masked figure's voice remained even. "A failure."
Ezra narrowed his eyes. "Failure of what?"
"Of the Path."
The Sigil in Ezra's chest pulsed violently —not in warning, but in recognition.
Like it knew this thing.
Like it had seen it before.
Ezra swallowed hard. "And let me guess—if I don't 'walk the Path' properly, I end up like that?"
"Or worse."
Ezra let out a slow breath. "Alright. Fine. What's the choice?"
The masked figure stepped closer, its presence wrong in a way Ezra couldn't describe.
"You must take your first offering."
The writhing creature behind it let out a wet, shuddering breath.
"You will devour, or you will be devoured."
Ezra's pulse hammered. "You want me to kill it?"
"No."
The figure's head tilted slightly.
"We want you to consume it."
A chill ran down Ezra's spine. "You mean—"
"You already know what we mean."
Ezra's fingers twitched. His body knew.
The Sigil knew.
And deep down, so did he.
This was the cost.
This was what the Sigil had always wanted.
Power, for a price.
Ezra exhaled sharply, his heart pounding. He had two choices.
Refuse—and risk becoming like the thing in front of him.
Accept—and take his first true step into the unknown.
Neither option was good.
But only one let him stay in control.
Ezra clenched his jaw, eyes cold. "Fine."
The masked figure nodded.
The creature let out a desperate, keening wail.
And the hunger inside Ezra opened its jaws.