Darius and Favian rode through the night without daring to stop. Even when the sound of pursuit had long faded in the dark, they did not rest; only slowed their pace to a weary trot beneath the shroud of trees.
Favian gazed over his shoulder at every bend in the path, ever watchful. Darius, slumped with exhaustion, alerted only at each rustle in the woods, his nerves stretched thin by the thought of unseen eyes following them.
Dawn came sooner than either expected. The attack had come when they were most vulnerable, when sleep should have claimed them both.
They pressed on until the forest broke into open land. There, in the midst of the plain, stood a vast ruin—a building of once-great stature, its entrance torn away so that only the pillars remained. The rest of the structure loomed in silence, its roof half-fallen. It was scarred as though large stones had rained upon it from the heavens.
As they approached, Darius lifted his head, his voice rough with fatigue.
"What happened here?" he asked.
"No one truly knows," Favian replied. "It's called the Fallen Temple. I first stumbled upon it weeks ago, when I came into this world."
Darius turned his weary eyes toward him, startled. "Weeks ago?"
"Yes," Favian said. "Most Truthers arrived around that time, barely three weeks past."
"Then why did I arrive only yesterday?" Darius asked.
"If you came just yesterday," Favian answered, slowing his horse, "then others must have been sent as well. The Unknown brings us in batches."
Their horses came to a halt before the temple's ruined façade. Favian dismounted, his boots sinking into the dew-soft earth, and Darius followed suit. They tethered their mounts to a half-fallen pillar whose stone was veined with moss.
"What was your life like before you came here?" Darius asked, breaking the silence.
Favian's face darkened. He rose slowly from where he had crouched with distant eyes. "A boy had gone missing in our village," he began. "A search party went out to find him. I joined them. None of us knew there was an old well hidden in the woods, covered by leaves."
He paused, his jaw tightening. "I stepped on it by chance… and fell." His voice dropped to a murmur. "I fell for what felt like forever. And when I finally struck the bottom, I awoke here, in this very temple."
Darius raised a brow in sympathy, but it soon furrowed into a frown. "I was attacked by the Night Hag last night," he said grimly. "A strange being paralysed me in my sleep and pressed its weight upon my chest."
He turned to Favian, locking eyes with him… eyes that now trembled with unease. His next words came out low. "I think I died last night too."
Favian's expression did not change. He merely turned and began walking toward the temple's entrance. "That's very possible," he said over his shoulder. "Many men sleep and never wake to see the dawn."
Darius lowered his gaze to the earth, his thoughts reeling at the notion of death. If that were true, then there was no returning home. No family, no familiar life. Only this strange new world. His heart felt heavy as he sighed and followed Favian inside.
The great hall of the Fallen Temple opened before them, vast and broken. Rubble and shards of stone lay scattered across the once-beautiful mosaic floor. Along each side stood towering statues of armoured men, their hands resting upon stone swords thrust into the ground, as though standing eternal guard.
Darius lifted his head, awe widening his eyes. "The Truthers…" he murmured.
"Yes," Favian replied quietly. "They were here long before us, in an age long forgotten. They built this temple. But no one knows what befell them… or why their sanctuary fell to ruin."
They walked on until the hall curved into a side corridor. Darius noticed how clean it was compared to the chamber they had passed through.
"Serge once told me," Favian began, "that a great battle was fought here. A battle that ended the Truthers' age."
"Serge?" Darius asked.
"The keeper of this place," Favian said as they reached a closed door. "He taught me most of what I know about this world."
He pushed the door open, calling softly, "Serge…"
The room was quiet and orderly. A neatly made bed stood by the wall, red curtains hung around the tall windows, and above the mantle rested a sheathed blade.
Favian crossed to the balcony, and Darius followed. There stood an old man in a sleeveless cream-coloured robe, his hands folded behind his back, gazing out across the wind-swept fields.
"Favian," the man said without turning. His voice was calm with wisdom. "What brings you back here?"
"I was attacked where I'd taken refuge," Favian replied. "I'll stay only for a while."
The man turned at last, his gaze falling upon Darius with a curious, measuring look.
"He's a friend," Favian said quickly. "A Truther, like myself."
"Kriger," Darius added at once, bowing his head slightly.
The old man nodded in acknowledgment, with understanding in his eyes.
Serge turned his gaze back to Favian. "How much of your task have you completed?" he asked
"Not much," Favian admitted. "I've been reassigned by my guide to serve as a companion to Kriger. He arrived in this world only yesterday."
Serge's brow lifted slightly. "I see… then time is not on your side."
"I know," Favian murmured.
Behind them, Darius yawned helplessly, still heavy with exhaustion from the night before. His limbs ached, and his eyes burned from lack of sleep.
Serge's gaze softened when he saw him. "There is a clean room prepared. Take him there, let him rest."
Favian bowed his head in acknowledgment and led Darius through one of the temple's inner corridors. The room they entered was simple but warm, the scent of herbs faint in the air. Darius collapsed onto the bed the moment he saw it, his mind surrendering to weariness.
He slept deeply and peacefully for so long, that time itself seemed to fade.
When at last he awoke, the rich aroma of stew filled the room. He blinked against the sunlight that poured through the curtains, then saw Favian setting down a tray beside him. In it, a large bowl of boiled yams and a plate of steaming red stew.
"Ah, good. You're awake," Favian said, glancing up with a faint smile.
The midday sun flooded the chamber.
"Come, eat quickly," Favian urged. "You'll need your strength before training begins."
"Training?" Darius asked, frowning as he swung his legs off the bed.
Favian nodded. "Yes. You'll need it for the trials ahead, lest you fall before your time. You are a Truther now, Kriger. The greatest enemy the underworld has ever known."
After their meal, the two men stepped outside into the golden warmth of the afternoon. The wind carried the scent of wild grass, and before them stood Serge once again, hands clasped neatly behind his back. His gaze was fixed upon a line of scarecrows set across the open field—bundles of hay crudely shaped into men, their hollow eyes staring into nothing.
Favian turned to Darius. "This is where it begins," he said. "You must learn to call forth your weapon. Every Truther has the ability to summon what was given to him from the start."
Darius frowned slightly. "How do I do that?"
"Simply say the word: [Reveal Armoury]," Favian instructed, taking a step back.
Darius hesitated for a breath, then spoke the word aloud. "[Reveal Armoury]."
Nothing happened.
Favian shook his head and held Darius by the shoulder. "Say it like you really want it."
Darius drew his breath again, and with a frown and more serious tone, he called. "[Weapons]"
At once, the air before him shimmered like rippling water. Two blades appeared, floating weightlessly; one was the same sword he had awoken with in this strange world, and the other, the blade he had taken from the man who'd burst into parts. Both hovered in the air, gleaming faintly as though alive.
Darius stared, his breath caught in wonder. "They… respond to me," he whispered.
"Touch one," Favian said with a smile. "It will answer."
Darius reached out and laid his hand upon the sword he recognised as his own. The instant his fingers brushed the hilt, the second blade vanished, dissolving into air. The chosen sword fell into his grip with a metallic hum, as if greeting him.
A small smile tugged at Darius' lips. He raised the blade and gave it a few testing swings. It felt perfectly balanced, like an extension of himself.
"Good," Favian said, circling him. "Now, let's see how well you move."
Darius turned to the line of scarecrows. His pulse quickened as he steadied his stance, both hands firm on the hilt. Then, with a deep breath, he dashed forward. His movements were sharp, quick, and natural. The sword sang through the air as he slashed at the straw men, one after another. Hay scattered across the ground as he cut them down with precision and speed.
Favian grinned, clapping once. "Excellent! You've got the reflexes of a seasoned fighter. The way you move, it's almost instinct."
Darius lowered his blade, panting but smiling with pride. "Maybe I was meant for this after all," he said between breaths.
But Serge, who had watched in silence, merely exhaled and muttered, "Not nearly enough."
Favian turned to him. "What do you mean? He's doing fine for his first—"
"Watch closely," Serge interrupted, raising his hand.
The straw scattered across the field began to stir. Slowly, the fallen hay gathered, twisting and binding together until the scarecrows stood again, this time, moving. Their hollow frames filled with uncanny life as they straightened and turned toward Darius.
The young man stepped back, his sword tightening in his grip. "What… what in the gods?"
"Now," Serge said coolly, "let's make this even better."
The living scarecrows lunged. Their limbs moved with jerky, unnatural strength, and Darius swung wildly, slicing through one, then another. Hay burst into the air, yet more kept rising. He spun, parried, ducked, and slashed again, but the horde was relentless. One struck his side; another grappled his arm. Darius stumbled, struggling to stay on his feet.
"Don't stop moving!" Favian shouted, half-laughing, half-concerned. "They feed on hesitation!"
But there were too many. The scarecrows surged forward, their hay arms wrapping around Darius until they tackled him to the ground. He gasped, thrashing helplessly as the air filled with dust and straw.
Then Serge flicked his fingers.
Instantly, life left the creatures. The hay collapsed, falling limp and harmless over Darius' body.
Silence followed, broken only by Favian's laughter. "Well," he said between chuckles, "that could've gone better."
Darius lay on the ground, panting and wide-eyed, his chest heaving from exhaustion and fear. "You call that training?" he managed.
Favian grinned, offering him a hand. "You survived it, didn't you?"
Serge turned away, unimpressed as ever. "Barely," he muttered. "A Truther must do more than survive."
And without another word, he strode back toward the temple.