A Decision to Burn
Dawn in the Abyss was a lie. The light didn't come from the sky, and there was no sun, just a dim, oppressive glow that made the forest's embers pulse faintly, like the entire realm was trying to breathe. I sat at the lake's edge, knees pulled to my chest, staring out at the endless, twisting paths of trees that refused to stay still. My reflection flickered in the molten gold, distorted and wrong.
Another fucking night survived. Barely.
I traced the edge of my palm where a Molten Watcher's chain had left a scorched welt, the skin blistered but healing. The forest didn't care how long I'd been here. It didn't care how much I bled or how close I came to collapse. Every time the sun set—or whatever passed for it here—it sent new horrors to finish what the last couldn't.
And the lake? The lake just sat there, silent and still, like a smug bastard watching me flail.