CHAPTER 25: WHO ARE YOU?
Adam ran, heart hammering, mud splashing up his legs as John's shout tore through the storm behind him. He didn't dare look back. The beast's roar followed, shaking the ground, but John had its attention now.
He dove behind a shattered wall, pressing himself flat against the stone. Rain streamed down his face, his chest heaving. He clamped a hand over his mouth, forcing himself to stay silent. Every instinct screamed to keep running, but his best option was to hide.
The storm raged overhead, thunder rolling like war drums. Adam's pulse matched it, heavy and relentless. He shut his eyes, whispering inside his head: You are still alive. Nothing to worry about. Don't panic.
Then he heard it.
Thunder cutting through the air as lightning tore downward from the sky, followed by the shrill shriek of the beast. The ground convulsed, mud and stone trembling from the sheer force of its collapse.
Adam pressed his back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. But after a few deep breaths, he slowly forced them open. He peeked from behind the shattered wall and saw the massive figure of the beast lying unmoving on the ground.
His lips twitched, a grin threatening to break free. He came out of the ruin and crept forward, one cautious step at a time.
When he was close enough—yet still at a safe distance—he snatched up a rock and hurled it at the beast, bolting back instantly.
Nothing.
He threw another, harder this time. Still no movement.
Satisfied, Adam raised his short sword before him and edged closer. The first thing he did was stab the beast, driving the blade into its hide. When he felt certain it was truly dead, a slow chuckle slipped from his mouth.
Then he dropped onto his back, the sound swelling into full-blown, maniacal laughter.
"That lunatic… he actually did it."
A laugh slipped through before Adam continued, "I helped, sure, but he did most of the work, right? Nah, who cares—I AM STILL ALIVE! Alive! And that… is all that matters… this feels unreal, hahah…"
Minutes later, the adrenaline drained, leaving him panting. He pushed himself upright, scanning the shattered field. Rain hammered down, mud sucking at his boots as he staggered forward.
Then he froze.
John lay collapsed in the mud, blood mingling with rainwater, his body motionless.
Adam's breath caught. He stumbled forward, knees slamming into the ground beside him.
"Oh no—no, no, no, John. Don't do this to me."
He pressed his ear to John's chest. For a moment, terror gripped him—then he caught it, though faint, the steady and rhythmic beating of a heart. Relief washed over him, and he let out a shaky sigh.
But as he pulled back, his eyes caught the bandage on John's back. It had come loose, soaked through with blood. Adam peeled back the loosened bandage, rain mixing with blood as he probed the wound. And John's brow furrowed, a low groan slipping past his lips.
Adam's face tightened. "Damn it..." His voice shook, but determination edged in. "… I need to fix this. But first we need to get out of sight."
He slid an arm under John's shoulders, another beneath his legs. The weight nearly buckled him, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself upright. Rain hammered down, mud sucking at his boots as he staggered forward, carrying John's limp form against his chest.
Step by step, he dragged them both back toward the ruins, the storm swallowing his ragged breaths. "Just hang on… wait—you're unconscious. What the hell am I saying? I need to focus."
The jagged outline of the ruins loomed ahead. When they finally reached it, relief flickered in Adam's chest as he stumbled through the broken archway, half collapsing with John still in his grip.
Adam lowered John onto the cold stone floor, hands trembling as he tore at the soaked bandage. "Okay… what do I need to do? Think, damn it, think…" His voice was ragged, muttering to himself as he searched for anything to stop the bleeding.
Then a shadow stretched from his back. Adam stiffened, instinct dragging his hand toward the hilt of his sword. Before he could draw, something pressed against his back firmly.
A voice sliced through the storm, sharp and cold.
"Well… what do we have here?"
Adam stiffened, breath catching in his throat. Slowly, he turned his head. In the haze stood a boy—dark green hair plastered by rain, eyes glowing an unsettling pink. Vines coiled around his body like living armor, one of which was pressing firmly against Adam's back.
Adam swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he forced the words out.
"Wh-What do you want?"
The figure tilted his head, vines shifting with a faint, serpentine rustle, his expression unreadable.
Adam's pulse hammered, his face tightening as he spoke.
"Are you deaf… or maybe mute?"
The figure's expression didn't change as he finally opened his mouth.
"I'm here for him."
Adam stepped in front of John's unconscious body; shoulders squared despite the fear twisting in his gut.
"Why? What do you want with him? Who are you?"
The figure sighed, tone edged with impatience.
"Too many questions. My name is Sylas—a… friend of that idiot. Now move."
He stepped forward, but Adam refused to yield. The vines lashed out instantly, striking Adam in the chest and sending him crashing into the mud, rolling until he skidded to a stop. Sylas didn't even glance back—he simply kept walking toward John.
Gritting his teeth, Adam forced himself upright, mud streaking his face. With raw determination, he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Sylas's legs.
"I won't let you hurt him!"
Sylas turned his head, face cold, voice cutting.
"You're wasting my time. Why would I hurt him? I just said I'm his friend."
Adam's mouth opened and closed before he gritted his teeth.
"Because… how am I supposed to know you're telling the truth? If you are, then—what's his name?"
"John," Sylas answered without hesitation.
Adam's eyes narrowed. "Still not enough. What is he—"
Sylas cut him off, voice sharp. "I don't have time for this."
The vines whipped, knocking Adam aside once more. Sylas dropped to one knee beside John, his expression shifting from cold detachment to sharp focus. He peeled back the soaked bandage, eyes narrowing at the wound.
"…That's bad."
He probed carefully, jaw tightening as he felt the jagged edge of a broken arrow still lodged inside.
"Damn it. I need to get this out first... Bear with the pain."
He turned his head, voice slicing through the storm.
"Hey, you. Give me your sword."
Adam staggered upright, clutching the weapon. "No."
Sylas's gaze sharpened. "Do you want this idiot to die?"
Adam faltered, voice low. "…No."
"Then give it to me."
Reluctance twisted across Adam's face, but he stepped forward, boots dragging through the mud. His hand trembled as he extended the blade. Sylas snatched it without hesitation and pressed steel to the wound.
The cut was brutal. John's body jerked, a strangled groan escaping his throat despite unconsciousness. His breath hitched, uneven.
Adam lunged forward, panic breaking through. "What are you doing? You're hurting him!"
Sylas's head snapped up, eyes blazing.
"Shut up. I'm saving his life."
He drove the blade deeper, vines tightening around John's torso to hold him still. After one harsh scrape, the broken arrowhead came free. Sylas tossed it aside, jaw locked.
"Hey," he barked. "Get me a cloth."
Adam hesitated, but Sylas didn't look at him. His voice cut again. "Now."
Adam ripped a strip from his tunic, rinsed it quickly, and handed it over. Sylas took it, but instead of using it, he raised the sword to one of his own vines.
For a moment, Sylas froze, hesitation clawing at him. Then he drew a deep breath and cut.
Pain flashed across his face. His eyes reddened as he swallowed it down. The severed vine writhed in his grip before he pressed it into John's wound. It sank, dissolving into torn flesh as if consumed by it.
"You owe me one," Sylas whispered, almost to himself.
Adam stood rigid, watching in disbelief. His hands clenching hard, torn between suspicion and awe. Sylas ignored him, wrapping the cloth tight over the wound, binding it with practiced precision.
At last, John's breathing steadied—ragged gasps easing into something more even. Sylas let out a long breath of his own and leaned back, head resting against the wall of mud and stone behind him. His eyes closed.
Adam lowered himself to the ground a few feet away, still wary, his gaze fixed on Sylas. The storm's roar filled the silence between them until Adam finally spoke, his voice cautious.
"So, uh… how do you know John?"
Sylas didn't open his eyes as he answered, "We are teammates."
Adam let out a short chuckle as he scratched his head. "Ya right… what a stupid question. So, are you two… close friends or just friends?"
Sylas's lips twitched, but his eyes stayed shut. "We don't actually see eye to eye."
Adam leaned forward, brows furrowed. "Even though you went as far as to cut… like your vine."
Sylas finally opened his eyes, the pink irises catching the light. "We have… differing opinions. Doesn't mean I want him to die. Besides, he's a good guy… reminds me of someone."
Adam shifted, mud soaking through his clothes, his eyes never leaving Sylas.
"…Reminds you of someone?" he pressed, voice low.
Sylas leaned his head back, gaze drifting toward the storm‑lit sky. For a moment, he didn't answer. The vines at his side twitched faintly, as if echoing his hesitation.
"Yeah," he said at last, his tone quieter. "Someone I used to be close to. Stubborn. And too nice for this world."
Adam frowned, studying him. "And John's like that?"
Sylas's lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile. "Not exactly." He closed his eyes again, voice dropping. "But close enough."
Adam shifted, still watching Sylas. "Hm… you know, my first impression of you was a cold jackass." His voice dropped lower, muttering, "Which you are, for hitting me like that."
He scratched at his arm, then spoke louder again. "But you're actually not bad."
Sylas turned his head, fixing Adam with a cold stare.
Adam raised his hands quickly. "Alright, alright—sorry."
The silence stretched, broken only by the storm. After a while, Sylas spoke, his tone flat. "Does John have enough points?"
Adam smirked, puffing out his chest. "Damn right he does. Haven't you seen the dead beast outside?"
Sylas's eyes flicked open, surprise cutting through his calm. "John killed it?"
Adam grinned. "Eh… more like fifty-fifty. But you should've seen it—The battle was legendary. I was all over it, drawing its attention, keeping it off John's back so he could get the clean shot. He landed the final blow, but none of that could've happened without my help. We took it down together." He leaned forward, voice brimming with pride. "Not bad, huh?"
Sylas studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod. "Impressive."
Adam kept going, words tumbling out in a rush, but Sylas finally cut in. "Are you always this talkative?"
Adam froze mid-sentence; the grin drained from his face. After a beat he muttered, "You know… you and John aren't so different."
After that, he fell quiet, lips pressed tight, the storm filling the gap.
The silence lasted only a moment before Adam started talking again, unable to help himself. Sylas sighed, exhaustion flickering across his face as he leaned back against the wall.
Then, at last, the bracelet on Adam's and Sylas's wrist chimed—a sharp, metallic tone that cut through the storm. The sound echoed in both their minds, steady and final.
The trial had ended.