Huh, did I fall asleep?'Dawn drowsily thought to himself.
He had entered his inner world. It was pure white, with a very thin layer of water rippling beneath him whenever he moved. The water was cold—but not freezing.
The silence spoke louder than anything here—until a voice shattered it with sinister weight.
"You're finally here," said an ominous voice.
Dawn lifted his head and turned around to face his mask.
He saw a figure clad in red, orange, and black. Beside it was another one—pure red—lying motionlessly, as if asleep.
Dawn frowned.'Two masks...? Impossible. I—I never made a contract. Perhaps I was born with them... no, I've never heard of this.'Then another thought struck him.'Perhaps the books didn't mention this on purpose.'
Either way, it didn't matter.
He could just beat it out of his mask, right?
Just as Dawn opened his mouth to speak, the mask rushed him—deliberately, like it had been waiting.
A blink.That's all it took.
As if the time between seconds had been stolen, the mask appeared in front of him, like a distortion in space.
'Wha—' Dawn froze. He'd never been in battle before—certainly not prepared for one.
The mask launched a flurry of punches, its arms like the limbs of a spider, water splashing all around them.
Dawn stumbled backward, dodging the strikes with messy, instinctual movements.
He was arrogant by nature—a general trait of his race—but in this case, he had reason to be. While he lacked technique, he had real strength, stamina, and regeneration.
"That's it? You think such slow swings can hurt me?" Dawn grinned."Try harder."
"I merely gave you the chance to breathe, Dawn. Don't mistake my mercy for powerlessness," the mask replied with a hint of disdain.
'Human?'Dawn didn't get time to consider it.
The mask dashed forward again, unleashing another storm of punches.
This time, Dawn focused. He blocked the first blow—aimed at his face—with his forearm. It hurt, but he could take it.
The second strike came for his stomach. He blocked it and spun, redirecting the force.
'Gotcha,' he thought, swinging a fist into the mask's gut.
But the punch passed through.
Dawn blinked.The mask's smell—it was gone.
Everything had a scent, no matter how faint. But now... he couldn't smell it at all.
His punch had gone straight through.
'He disappeared…?'
All Dawn could see now was that pure, heavenly white. It was calming. Beautiful, even. Only a lunatic would notice something like that in the middle of a fight.
The impact came.
All at once.
Bones shattered. Agonizing pain screamed through his body. His knees hit the ground.
His ribs—destroyed. Blood gushed from his mouth, the taste of iron flooding his senses.
He had no words.
He had to let go of his pride.
The mask stood a few feet behind him, arms raised in a wide "Y" shape.
"Pitiful… how naïve. Did you think I would leave myself open for no reason?"There was both disappointment and laughter in its voice.
'What the hell happened?! I went through him… Is that his power? The power of the masks…?'
"Correct," the mask said enigmatically."I have the ability to phase through things."
'What? But how? Can he read my thoughts?'
The mask laughed and turned."No, I can't read your mind. But your face makes your thoughts incredibly easy to read."
At that moment, Dawn understood.The mask wasn't taking this seriously. It was playing a game.
It was just as prideful and arrogant as he was.
It had even revealed its own power.
Dawn was no longer fighting to win.
He was fighting to survive.
One more blow like that, and he'd be dead.
Dawn steadied himself. There had to be a time limit on its intangibility.
'Being intangible forever is impossible, right?'All he needed was one hit.
He braced himself, preparing to strike.
"You think you have a choice in this, Dawn? You're just another page in a story already written."
The mask's voice deepened.
"I'm cursed to be Soulborne time and time again. Every failure rebirths me, gives me another chance at life. But you…?"
"Your insignificant life will meet its end before my eyes—forced to watch me live the life you would have lived. Your future friends? Killed by me. Your family—the Noctherians? Corpses, bloodied before me. You will lose. Ev-er-y-thing."
Dawn shuddered.
This was real fear.
His heart pounded like a gorilla drumming against his chest. His breath grew thin. His stomach twisted violently.
These were the consequences of ignoring the warnings.
The masks were evil.
He had been naïve—fooled by fairy tales into thinking this was a trial.
It wasn't.
It was a ritual.
A replacement.
And Dawn... was the sacrifice.
Now, he finally understood the stakes.
He stripped away every useless thought. Focused only on willpower and wit.
He turned and dashed toward the mask.
It met him with a kick—but he blocked it.
Dawn punched its left shoulder, letting it block intentionally. Using that moment, he stepped in and delivered a back kick toward its head.
As the mask raised its guard, Dawn's hips twisted more.
His left foot pivoted—and he slammed a devastating back kick through the mask's face.
The mask grinned, wide and wicked.
Of course, it didn't land. It phased again.
But Dawn had anticipated it.
Instead of following through, he dropped his leg straight down.
The mask aimed a strike at his face—too late.
It was surprised.
Dawn grinned just as wickedly.
'You're mine!'
While still phasing through the mask, it couldn't touch him.He stepped past it, water glistening on his dark skin, teeth glowing under the white light. His eyes burned with golden determination.
Then—he struck the mask square in the middle of its back.
His smile—wide. Eerie.
Water ran down his midnight face.
His white eyes, glowing gold, stared down at the one who had dared to threaten his light.
"Pitiful…"He said it in a half-crazed tone—consumed by battle.
The word echoed.
Even the world itself seemed to agree.
The mask laughed—maniacal, unshaken.
Dawn stepped back, startled.Was the trial… not over?
"It appears I really was born from you," the mask said, smiling."I underestimated you."
"You deserve to call upon my name... and use me in battle."
"My name is..."
"Eyrndor."
Then, in a dialect unfamiliar to Dawn, Eyrndor whispered something—perhaps to himself.
"He even used the ███████ of the Forgotten."
Dawn didn't catch the words—but he felt them.
They lingered in the white space like an echo.
As if resonating with something ancient.
Something eternal.