The following days blurred together, one following the next in a repetitive cycle. Most of their time was spent marching under a suffocating sun, where every mile felt like a grind against the heat and the endless succession of hills.

  They remained cautious, eyes drifting toward the horizon out of habit rather than fear. Whenever they spotted a creature in the distance, they moved wide around it, choosing a long detour over a risky fight.

  The nights were different. The air turned cold and the sky filled with a thousand stars, shining clearly over the world. For once, the landscape felt quiet and beautiful, and looking up was the only thing that felt right.

  To kill the boredom of the march, Riven found himself watching Lya.

  He realized she spoke far more than she needed to. Most of it drifted from one harmless topic to another.

  She would gesture toward the sky, her voice breaking the quiet of the plains. "Do you think the stars have names," she asked, "or do people just make them up as they go?"

  If the silence lasted more than a few moments, she felt the need to fill it. When her words finally ran dry, she kept the noise going by humming a low tune.

  The red sun had been a heavy weight on their shoulders all day. Their boots felt like lead, dragging through the crimson grass, while the heat shimmered off the ground until the horizon seemed to melt.

  They had been forced to stop often, seeking out whatever slivers of shade they could find. In those brief moments of stillness, they would press their water flask to their lips or force down a few bites of dry meat, their chests heaving as they waited for their heart rates to slow enough to move again.

  As the sun finally began to dip, bleeding into a bruised blue sky, the long-awaited end of the march arrived.

  They could finally rest. Their eyes scanned the darkening landscape, searching for a familiar silhouette—the towering shape of a stone hand rising from the plains

  Riven’s muscles were stiff, his body weighed down by the accumulated strain of the day. Beside him, Lya seemed less affected—though her pace had slowed, she still moved with a trace of energy that Riven had long since exhausted.

  As time went by, his physical condition improved slightly. He was no longer enduring the same treatment as in captivity, and his body was slowly beginning to recover.

  However, he remained weak. His strength was still limited, and the toll of his past left him fragile.

  "We should sleep in one of the corrupted hands," Riven said.

  Lya gave a short laugh. "Just like every other night, anyway."

  "Aside from the freezing cold and the corrosive liquid," she added, "I’m actually starting to like it in there."

  Riven looked up at the sky as they neared the stone structure.

  You can see the full reach of the stars at night.

  They began to climb the black hand with caution. The structure was massive, a monolith of dark stone with fingertips that reached ten meters toward the sky. It felt like scaling the remains of a buried giant.

  The surface was irregular, worn down by time and pitted with hollows that offered easy, natural grips. These indentations made the ascent steady, allowing them to find their footing without much struggle.

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  Once they reached the wide expanse of the palm, they settled in for the night. Riven leaned back against one of the cold stone fingers that pointed upward, while Lya mirrored him, resting against the one beside him.

  Lya broke the silence. "Riven... do you think we’ll make it out?"

  He was absently running his thumb along the edge of his blade. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, do you think we’ll actually leave this place alive? This... purgatory."

  She didn’t wait for him to answer. "We’ve been walking for days, maybe even weeks, with no direction. But nothing changes. It’s as if... as if there’s no end to it."

  "And that’s without mentioning the things constantly lurking," she added, her voice wavering slightly. "Our food is almost gone. Soon... we’ll have to hunt one of those beasts again."

  Riven took a few seconds for himself before answering. "I’m not sure I’m the best person for comfort," he said. "But what I am sure of, is that I don’t plan on dying here. Not right after becoming free."

  "So I don't know how long it will take us, but we’ll find something. I don’t know what or when... but I believe it."

  He paused, his voice turning harder, more deliberate. "And as for the food. We’ll do it again. We will kill another beast."

  Lya looked down. "I know. I shouldn't... no, we shouldn't lose hope." She hesitated, her voice soft and trembling. "But I can't help it. What will we do if we find nothing? Or if we never find another living soul?"

  "Do you remember what the veteran said, before we landed here?" she asked, her tone heavy with the memory. "The Ascensions were not meant to be challenged alone."

  "And I... I can't help but feel that two is still far too few."

  She paused. "Two people aren't a team, Riven."

  He couldn’t see her expression because the darkness was absolute, but he was certain she must be sad—weary and defeated.

  Riven felt himself falter—her words had shaken him, leaving a hollow silence between them.

  Finally, he answered simply, "If we’ve managed to survive this long, then others have too."

  He tightened his grip on his sword. Even if the idea of thinking I’m special doesn’t bother me—on the contrary, he thought.

  We’ve made it this far without powers. Aside from Lya, of course, but when it comes to combat, we have nothing but basic strategy.

  He stared into the void where the horizon should be. It’s practically impossible that we’re the only ones who survived. Even if it pisses me off, most of the people who came to challenge the Ascension were more capable than us.

  He let out a short, quiet breath, almost a scoff. Even if a lot of them died because they were too stupid or reckless... some must have survived.

  Even though the thought left him feeling uneasy and bothered, he pushed it aside, refusing to dwell on it.

  He tried to settle in, shifting his weight to find a comfortable position to rest, but he kept tossing and turning. Nothing felt right.

  The stone was hard and uneven. Above all, he had to remain cautious, constantly mindful of the corrosive liquid pooling in the hollows of the palm, a single slip away from a nasty burn.

  He glanced over at Lya. In the faint, silver light of the stars, she was nothing more than a silhouette, already curled into a ball and ready for sleep.

  Riven, however, chose to wait. He wasn't ready to let go of the waking world just yet.

  At the beginning of their journey, they had established a strict routine, taking turns watching the horizon to ensure no monsters caught them by surprise.

  But as the nights passed in eerie silence, the habit had slowly withered away. Seeing that nothing ever approached their stone sanctuary, they had gradually stopped keeping watch, allowing themselves to drift into longer and deeper sleeps.

  He let out a long, weary breath, his head finally coming to rest against the cold stone. The silence of the plains was heavy, broken only by the faint, rhythmic sound of Lya’s breathing nearby.

  For a moment, his eyes lingered on the horizon. He had no way of knowing how much distance they had covered since they arrived—and no way of telling what still lay ahead of them. The vastness of the plains seemed to swallow their progress whole.

  But tomorrow would be another march. Another stretch of sun, crimson grass, and detours.

  He didn’t think about how many tomorrows it might take. He simply let the darkness take over, his mind finally drifting into the same deep silence as the plains.