Ezra stepped forward, the mist swallowing him whole.
The world around him shifted, the twisted trees distorting as if they were being pulled apart by unseen hands. Shadows bled into the fog , curling like hungry fingers.
The hunger inside him was silent now , but it left behind an uncomfortable weight —a lingering awareness that something inside him had changed.
And then—
The whispers began.
Soft at first.
A murmur at the edge of his hearing.
Then— clearer. Closer.
"You took me."
Ezra froze.
The voice wasn't the masked figure's.
It was… new.
Thin. Hollow.
Like someone speaking from inside his skull.
"You took me."
Ezra's fingers twitched toward his dagger. "No offense, but I didn't exactly have a choice."
Silence.
Then— laughter.
Not warm. Not cruel.
Just… empty.
"No choice? That's what they all say."
A chill ran through Ezra's spine. "They?"
"The ones before you. The ones who walked the Path."
Ezra swallowed hard. He wasn't talking to a person. Not exactly.
This was the thing he had devoured.
Or what was left of it.
"You're new," the voice mused. "Still whole. That won't last."
Ezra clenched his jaw. "Is this how it works? I take something, and I get haunted by its last words?"
"No."
The whisper curled around him like smoke.
"You get haunted by what remains."
Ezra's fingers tightened around his weapon. "Great. Just what I needed. A built in regret system."
More laughter.
Then the voice softened.
"You will need me soon."
Ezra frowned. "For what?"
"To survive."
The trees around him shifted.
The shadows stretched, growing faces.
Too many faces.
Too many mouths.
And they were all watching.
Ezra exhaled sharply, his muscles tensing.
Here we go again.