Dawn looked hesitantly toward the stairs. The endless darkness stretched before him—vast, consuming, almost eternal. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back, to flee from the abyss that yawned beneath his feet. But there was nowhere else to go.
So, he went down.
He followed the emotions—raw, undeniable—that burned within him like an unquenchable fire.
"Flame, stay close to me. I don't know if I'll have to make a last-minute run for my life."
The small flame's delicate figure trembled, its flickering embers dancing in a nonexistent wind. It whimpered, sending him a message soaked in sentiment.
*"Yes, Master."*
Dawn pressed forward, his steps echoing in the consuming blackness. He walked for what felt like hours, his only light the fragile flame perched upon his shoulder. And yet, the deeper he descended, the stronger the pull became—an invisible force, dragging him ever closer to whatever lay at the bottom of these forsaken stairs.
Helplessness.
Isolation.
The emotions of solitude tightened their grip, growing heavier with every step.
And then—something else.
Something foreign.
Something that did not belong to the horrors lurking at the abyss's heart.
It slithered into his soul like an uninvited shadow.
An ancient, primal terror—eternal, unstoppable.
Fear.
A fear unlike anything he had ever known. It rooted deep within his being, growing sharper, more unbearable the lower he went—as though each step carried him closer to death's waiting arms.
He glanced at the whimpering flame beside him. For a fleeting moment, pity stirred in his chest. But he steeled himself.
This was it.
This—or death.
Either way, he would die.
So he might as well take the path with even the slimmest chance.
Then—at last—he saw it.
A throne room.
Pitch-black marble gleamed under the dim glow of his flame, polished to eerie perfection. The obsidian throne—deeper, darker than the abyss itself—stood tall, proud, unrelenting. Murals of battle and glory stretched across the pristine floors.
Yet none of that compared to the figure seated upon the throne.
Silver hair, tied in a loose ponytail.
Heterochromic eyes—his left, a brilliant sapphire blue; his right, a malevolent crimson red.
Armor so dark, so absolute, that it seemed to absorb the very shadows themselves—outlined in deep, blood-red borders.
A crown—obsidian black, yet pulsing with faint golden light.
Then, in a voice as harmonic as it was exhausted—confident yet laced with an undeniable weight—the man spoke.
*"So... you have arrived."*
"I've been waiting for you," he continued, his small, delicate smile carrying the burden of countless years. "But I imagine you have your fair share of questions.
Go ahead, child. Ask."
Dawn swallowed hard. His throat was dry. His chest was tight.
"I—I... what are you?"
The man chuckled softly.
"A good question, child." His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "I am Alis—no... I am no longer worthy of that name."
Instead, he straightened, his presence growing impossibly heavier.
"You may call me by my title."
*"I am the spawn of destiny. A cursed Titan."*
The words hit Dawn like a tidal wave, an unbearable pressure crashing over him. He gasped as dizziness overtook him, the weight of the revelation threatening to crush his mind.
The Titan laughed—a quiet, knowing chuckle that filled the empty throne room with unnatural harmony.
Dawn fought to refocus, but when he turned his gaze back to the man, he saw something had changed.
The amusement was gone.
"You are enjoying my suffering too much," Dawn muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Do you blame me, child?" The Titan's tone remained calm, but the exhaustion beneath it was unmistakable. "It has been many, many centuries since I last spoke to a human."
"But do not fear—I hold no ill will toward you. I imagine you can feel it now, can't you? Is that not your flaw?"
Dawn stiffened.
"...Empathy?"
The Titan gave a knowing smile.
"How do you know my flaw?"
*"Like I said, child—I have been waiting for you for a long, long time."*
"Many choices in this world are made by beings far greater than you could ever comprehend. But know this, Dawn—
Your life is your own.
But your destiny—your end—
Is not."
Dawn's breath hitched.
"What does that even mean?"
A soft, yet deadly serious expression crossed the Titan's face.
*"I pray that you never find out, child."*
He snapped his fingers.
Darkness twisted—folded—and a pathway materialized before them.
"Go," the Titan said. "Follow the passageway. At its end, you will find a simple bedroom and kitchen. You may stay here for a few days."
Then—his voice lowered.
"I warn you—now that you have entered this place, you have only three days until I disappear. When that happens, this place will no longer be protected."
*"Rest well."*
Bewildered, Dawn obeyed—not out of trust, nor understanding, but out of fear. Fear of angering the cursed being before him.
As he disappeared into the passageway, the Titan watched, his gaze unreadable.
*"Poor child... He does not know the suffering that awaits."*
*"Oh, what a cruel destiny you have forged, Nether, for such an innocent soul."*