I Awakened A Divine Curse

Auren wasn't sure how time flowed in the realm of true darkness.

And truthfully, he didn't want to find out.

If his instincts were right—and they usually were—then this place wasn't meant to be understood.

Not in the way normal things were.

This realm... it felt like it harbored secrets. Horrible, sacred ones.

Truths no sane mind should be forced to carry.

He remembered the first time he looked down—the way the ground pulsed with crimson light, like trapped memories clawing their way to the surface.

The whispers. The thoughts that weren't his, yet yearned to tear into his mind.

He had a theory:

They were fragments.

Slivers of forgotten things.

Broken echoes—desperate to escape.

And he would be indulging them if he let them stir anything in him.

So he didn't.

He kept moving.

A lone silhouette in the Hollow Plane, blanketed by a roof of endless black sand—hovering above like a sea of silent stars.

The journey was long. Too long.

His side ached. A stabbing pain bloomed near his ribs.

He winced, bent slightly, and clutched his side as he forced another step forward.

Each footfall brought subtle shifts to the world.

The ground warped.

Shapes reformed in the corners of his vision.

Light refracted strangely—as though reality was bending to accommodate him.

They weren't illusions.

Not exactly.

More like... the realm was adapting.

Reshaping itself for him.

Or against him.

He couldn't tell.

Up ahead, a fog rolled low and heavy across the ground. It stretched across the horizon like a funeral shroud.

Auren slowed his steps.

His brows furrowed, his stance wary. The ache in his side pulsed again, but he pressed forward.

As he approached, the fog parted.

No wind.

No sound.

Just silence—splitting open like a veil.

And there it stood.

A blackened archway, twisted in thorned vines.

It looked ancient. Lonely. A singular monument rising from nothing.

Yet its edges bled into darkness, and the fog on either side made it impossible to see what, if anything, stood beyond.

Roses grew along the archway.

Wilted—yet not dead.

Alive—but grieving.

Their petals shimmered faintly, each one cradling a single tear that refused to fall.

Auren halted a few feet away, his expression stone-still and unreadable.

But within him, the weight returned.

That feeling.

That terrible, quiet certainty that he was about to witness something he could never unsee.

It wasn't fear. Not exactly.

He had learned to stand above fear. To feel it—and choose differently.

So he exhaled and allowed it to flow through him. Then he looked down.

At the base of the archway was a gravestone. Black marble veined with silver, as though it had once captured lightning and imprisoned it.

And etched into its surface—runes.

Strange. Crooked. Familiar.

Garden of Grief.

He read the words silently, but his throat constricted as he did.

Auren's eyes narrowed. He leaned closer.

'...Why do they look... familiar?'

He couldn't place it, but the runes tugged at something buried deep within him.

Then Auren summoned his Cursed runes:

Name: [Auren Veyne]

Soul Name: [Not attained]

Curse: [Requiem of a Failed Hero]

Tier: [Divine]

Soul Rank: [Nascent]

Soul Heart: [Minor]

Absorbed Curses: [36/10,000]

Curse Abilities: [Devourer...]

Auren frowned slightly.

'They look the same...'

He compared the runes floating before his eyes with those carved on the gravestone, and indeed they were alike. Of course, there was a certain distinction in some letters, but they were more similar than they were different.

Auren was certain.

Whatever carved the name into the gravestone had something to do with the origin of his Curse.

'Now... this is a strange development.'

He exhaled and studied the gate. Auren took a step forward and the gate began to shift, slowly opening to admit him.

While the scene appeared majestic, Auren couldn't help but feel like he was being lured.

But he entered anyway.

He needed to escape this damned realm, and to do that he needed to hunt some red and black creature. So far, he was sure he had walked over a thousand miles, yet he hadn't encountered a single living soul.

Hence, he hoped this Garden of Grief might offer some kind of change.

Auren stepped inside and was met by a vast, dark field of hollow trees and colorless roses blooming from the black sand high above.

The trees had their roots buried in the black sand overhead, their twisted and scornful branches ruggedly reaching for the night sky that served as the ground.

It was an unsettling sight that resembled a thousand haggard witches frozen by darkness while trying to claw their way to the ground where Auren stood. Or perhaps they were reaching for the sky? Then the sky got overturned after they froze...

Auren couldn't quite settle on a description, but the trees radiated a foreboding presence.

He navigated carefully between their twisted branches that nearly touched the ground.

He bent where necessary and veered away where possible, ensuring he avoided contact with the sharp edges of the branches.

And after a few movements going forward, something strange happened. Auren heard a soft wail.

He pivoted sharply to confirm what he'd heard, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as he scanned behind him. The twisted branches of the Hollow trees remained motionless, the place falling silent for a fragment of a second.

Then Auren once again caught the subtle undertone of a sob that sounded like that of a child.

His brows furrowed tightly.

'I guess it isn't called Garden of Grief for no reason...'

Auren turned away to continue walking only to instantly widen his eyes and swiftly whirl around, using the sheathed sword in his hand as a shield while simultaneously hurling himself backward.

One of the twisted branches slammed into the sword with savage force, causing a shockwave to ripple outward in a perfect circle. Auren was thrown away, tumbling across the ground. The branch also seemed to recoil away in slight irritation, pulsating with disdain toward whatever it had just struck.