They had been walking for a while now.
The scorched terrain of the Ashlands stretched out in all directions, cracked earth and jagged rocks making every step a battle against the uneven ground.
Hope adjusted the heavy slab of fiend meat on his shoulder, feeling the weight dig into his already sore muscles. His makeshift dagger was tucked into his claok, though he doubted it would do much against anything truly dangerous.
Nefer, walking slightly ahead, led the way. She moved effortlessly, her long white tunic billowing lightly with each step. Her sword rested on her hip, and in her other hand, she casually tossed a small, glowing object—the soul core she had extracted from the fiend.
It pulsed with a soft, eerie glow, a reminder of the creature they had slain.
Beside her, Massa walked at a steady pace, her green cloak swaying gently. Though she still looked a bit drained, her soul essence had recovered enough that she no longer seemed on the verge of collapsing.
Hope, on the other hand…
He probably looked like a slave.
If someone saw them from a distance, they'd assume as much.
Two beautiful girls—
One dressed in pure white, like some celestial warrior—
The other, a walking model of elegance, her emerald hair and eyes striking against the dull, barren wasteland—
And then there was him.
Barely a rag to his name.
Skin rough and weathered from malnutrition and hardship.
Hair that refused to fall into place, sticking out in every possible direction.
A body that looked like it had been starved for months.
If not for the lack of chains, he would have looked like some poor servant forced to carry their supplies.
Hope sighed.
"Are we close?" he asked, shifting the weight of the meat again.
Nefer glanced back at him.
"Yes," she said without hesitation.
Hope narrowed his eyes.
That was the third time she'd said that.
His patience was wearing thin.
Well, damn.
"We're here."
Nefer's voice cut through the stillness, and Hope followed the direction of her outstretched hand.
Ahead of them stood a dilapidated structure, half-buried in the cracked earth. Its walls were crumbling, barely standing against the dry, biting winds of the Ashlands. The roof was partially caved in, and from the outside, it seemed more like a tomb than a shelter.
"We'll camp here for now," Nefer continued. "If it gets dark and the landscape changes, we'll move again."
Hope didn't need her to explain.
He had already experienced firsthand how this world shifted underfoot, the land twisting and reforming with every cycle. A cave that had given him shelter during the night had simply vanished with the sunrise, leaving him exposed beneath the burning sky.
The Ashlands were alive, reshaping themselves in ways that defied logic.
With little choice, they stepped inside.
The interior was cramped, barely five meters in length and four meters in width. The air smelled of dust and decay, the walls stained with age, deep cracks running along their surfaces like veins. Hope dropped the heavy slab of meat onto the floor with a dull thud and exhaled sharply, finally allowing himself to rest.
Nefer and Massa settled down with delicate, controlled movements, dismissing their Memories with a flicker of light.
Then—silence.
Not the comfortable kind.
But a silence that stretched thin, pressing down like an unseen weight.
Hope was used to silence.
It had followed him like a shadow for as long as he could remember—back in the outskirts, when he had wandered empty streets, avoiding trouble.
Except, in his solitude, there had always been one companion.
That voice.
The one in his head.
The one that had never left.
The one that whispered condemnations in the dark corners of his mind.
Hope gritted his teeth, shaking his head as if to physically dislodge the intrusive thoughts.
Nefer raised an eyebrow at the sudden movement, but he simply waved it off. "Just a thought."
She didn't press.
"Let's get some rest," she said, leaning back.
Hope agreed immediately, his exhaustion crashing down on him like a tidal wave.
He slumped against the wall, allowing his body to relax for the first time in what felt like forever. His eyes drifted shut, and almost instantly, he was pulled into the abyss of sleep.
A deep, endless void.
The kind that felt almost tangible, like it could wrap around him and consume him whole.
"Hello!"
His own voice echoed, swallowed by the abyss.
Then—
A voice answered back.
"You should be used to this by now."
It was familiar.
Because it was his own.
Hope whipped around, searching for the source. The darkness stirred, shifting like liquid shadows, and from the nothingness, a staircase emerged.
At the top of the steps, a figure stood.
It began to descend slowly, each step measured, deliberate.
As it moved into the faint glow of the unseen light, Hope's breath hitched.
It was him.
An exact replica.
Same features. Same build. Same expression.
But there was something off.
Something in the way he carried himself—an unsettling certainty, a quiet dominance, as if he knew exactly how this would end.
Hope's jaw tightened.
"Seems you've met new friends," the doppelgänger remarked casually.
Hope scowled. "What do you want?"
The other tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.
"I just have a feeling you'll get them killed."
Hope's stomach twisted.
"Like what happened to Kelvin and Walker."
The words hit like a blade to the gut.
Hope's breath caught, his fists clenching instinctively.
He had tried not to think about it.
Kelvin—the armored warrior who had saved him.
Walker—the reckless fool who had died before he even had a chance to truly fight.
Gone.
Because they had crossed paths with him.
Because—
"Bad luck follows you like a stench," the voice continued smoothly, watching him with those cold, knowing eyes.
Hope forced a wry smile, masking the turmoil within.
"Seems so," he muttered.
The doppelgänger chuckled. "You think this is funny?"
Hope didn't respond.
" It is my job—to torment you."
Hope scoffed. "Oh? And here I thought you were just a figment of my exhausted mind."
The figure took another step forward, closing the distance.
"No."
The shadows tightened around them.
"I am you."
Then—
"I am what you will be."
For a split second, something flashed in its eyes. Something deep. Something terrifyingly real.
Hope's breath hitched.
The doppelgänger shook his head.
"You wouldn't understand."
And then—
He vanished.
—
Hope woke up gasping.
His eyes shot open, his chest heaving, his fingers digging into the ground beneath him.
His skin felt clammy, his pulse hammering violently in his throat.
The structure was exactly as he had left it—dimly lit, cracked walls, the scent of dust in the air.
Nefer and Massa were still asleep, their breathing slow and steady.