You can't run from something that doesn't move.
Because it doesn't need to.
It only waits for you to blink.
The Letter That Wasn't a Request
Guildhall's upper floors were quieter than usual. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made your skin crawl — like even the air was afraid to breathe.
Elion handed me a sealed envelope.
"Don't say no to this one."
I tore it open.
One word was scrawled across the parchment.
"Looker."
I blinked at him. "That's it?"
Elion leaned forward, lighting a cigarette with his fingertip flame.
"That's the name of the thing you're hunting. But don't call it that out loud. It hears names."
I narrowed my eyes. "So what do I call it?"
Lunelle answered behind me, her voice unusually hollow.
"Nothing. Don't call it anything. Don't even think its name when you're near it."
She tossed me a charm — a jagged shard of mirror wrapped in cloth.
"Hold this when you sleep tonight. You'll understand tomorrow."
I didn't ask questions.
That night, I slept with the charm under my pillow.
Midnight Dream
I woke up inside a hallway.
Long. Endless. Wooden floors. Paper walls. Like some cursed old temple.
And at the far end stood it.
A tall, thin figure.
Not moving.
Not breathing.
Head tilted.
It wasn't blurry. It wasn't hidden.
It was just there.
Like it had always been.
I blinked.
It was closer.
I blinked again.
Closer.
My heart slammed against my chest.
I stopped blinking. Let my eyes burn.
Tears welled.
Still, I stared.
It didn't move.
But I felt my name drifting from my mouth, like a whisper.
Like it was being pulled out of me.
I covered my lips. Bit down hard. Drew blood.
The figure smiled.
Just once.
And disappeared.
Morning – Guild Briefing Room
"I saw it," I said.
Lunelle nodded. "Then you're ready."
Elion threw a scroll on the table.
"Village of Darnwall. God-Class threat. Only survivors are blind. All others vanished after seeing it."
He looked me dead in the eyes.
"This thing doesn't fight. Doesn't move. Doesn't chase. It only waits."
"Waits for what?" I asked.
Elion leaned back.
"For you to look away."
Journey to Darnwall
I took the northern path alone. Guild protocol forbade backup for a God-Class candidate trial.
The deeper I rode into the hills, the more broken the world looked.
Birds stopped flying.
Trees bent away from the road.
The sky above Darnwall hung heavy, like it wanted to fall.
When I reached the edge of the village, I tied my horse under a dead willow.
The houses were half-sunk, like they were slowly being swallowed by the earth.
And then…
I saw it.
The Thing That Shouldn't Be
It stood in the middle of the main square.
Tall. Still. Waiting.
No face.
Just a smooth, skin-colored oval where eyes and a mouth should've been.
Its hands dangled by its side, fingers twitching like they were remembering pain.
And I understood now why they called it the "Looker."
Because the moment you laid eyes on it, you couldn't look away.
Not without dying.
I stepped forward slowly.
The mirror shard pulsed in my pocket.
Don't blink.
The wind howled around me, picking up dust and ash. But the creature stood untouched.
Unmoving.
But something about it kept pulling at my name.
Not Rai. Not Ashmael.
My true name.
The one even I didn't fully know yet.
And I realized…
It wasn't trying to kill me.
It was trying to take me apart, one piece at a time.
The First Mistake
I blinked.
Half a second.
A gust of wind.
It moved.
Now it stood five feet away.
I stumbled back. Heart in my throat.
This wasn't a normal cursed being.
It didn't attack.
It just repositioned — every time you blinked.
And if it got close enough?
Your name disappeared.
Your soul vanished.
Your body stayed.
But empty.
I stared harder.
Eyes burning.
Tears streaming.
I took the mirror shard from my pocket and angled it just enough.
Its reflection didn't move.
Only the real one did.
"Got you," I whispered.
The Trick That Turned the Tide
If I could see it through the mirror — and it didn't respond — maybe that was the key.
I positioned the shard over my eye like a monocle.
The thing twitched.
Like it could feel me figuring it out.
And it didn't like that.
It raised one arm.
A finger pointed.
Directly at my chest.
And then it ran.
Not walked.
Ran.
Faster than a scream.
I screamed too — not out of fear, but rage.
I summoned my black fire. Not a full flame. Just sparks.
Ashmael stirred inside.
"You'll die."
"You're not ready."
"You're still blinking."
"Then teach me how not to," I hissed.
The Name Strike
Right as the thing reached me, I forced my body to move without vision.
Closed my eyes.
Used the mirror.
And whispered:
"Ashmael — One Spark."
A thread of black flame danced across my fingers.
I pressed it to the shard.
And the world exploded.
When I opened my eyes, the village was burning.
But not from destruction — from purification.
The cursed thing was gone.
Ashes swirled in the wind, slowly fading like forgotten nightmares.
And in my hand, the mirror shard had cracked.
But it glowed.
Gold.
Return to the Guild
Elion didn't say anything when I handed him the cracked shard.
He just nodded and lit another cigarette.
"You lived. Good."
Lunelle smiled faintly. "That's one God-Class trial down."
I slumped into the seat.
"What's the next one?"
Neither of them answered.
But Elion tossed a folder across the table.
It was sealed with wax.
But on the front, scrawled in red ink:
"Trial Two: Speak Your Name to the Void."
And underneath, in smaller letters:
"You only get one chance."