I Awakened A Divine Curse

Curse: [Devourer]

Type: [Passive]

Description: [This is the Requiem of a Failed Hero, how that every trial to save was met with a devastating ruin and end, such that he could succeed no more. He became the embodiment of failure. True Failure. He became the embodiment of Death, and Death devours all. This was the birth of Devourer.]

Auren's eyes remained fixed on the Devourer entry, his brow furrowed in confusion. This wasn't what had appeared before—he was certain of it.

Was this change connected to the events in the Home of Rage? After countless deaths, had his soul grown accustomed to Devourer, like a weapon becoming an extension of its wielder?

Only that in his case, Devourer wasn't being wielded—it was doing the wielding, feeding on each death like a starving beast, growing stronger with every fatal blow that led to his death.

And as it grew, so did the information it revealed.

The logic escaped him, slipping through his grasp like smoke, yet it was the closest explanation he could muster for what was happening.

'Every trial to save was met with a devastating ruin and end. Such that he could succeed no more. Then he became the True Failure. Death. He became death...'

The words echoed in his mind, bitter as poison, impossible to swallow.

Death was failure's ultimate form—that much was clear. But how could someone transform into such a fundamental concept merely by failing to succeed? It was like saying a drop of water could become the ocean simply by failing to reach the shore.

Auren covered his face and slumped backward, his weary shoulders finding little comfort against the bench's worn surface.

The cramped room around him resembled a shipwreck of sorts—furniture lay shattered across the floor, with only the shelf, table, chair, and his bench having survived whatever calamity had swept through. Nestled in an alcove, a small round window—stripped of its glass—framed the hypnotic flow of black dunes beyond, their constant motion a stark contrast to his forced stillness.

With thoughts swarming like angry hornets, Auren's mind found no sanctuary. This place, whatever it was, felt alien to his very soul.

Right now, he craved nothing more than the simple mercies—a hot bath, a plush bed and the blessed oblivion of dreamless sleep to silence the cacophony in his head, if only for a while.

He tried desperately to push certain thoughts away, but they circled back like stubborn predators.

He couldn't, not when each step forward seemed to be drawing him toward an inevitable conclusion—the end of whatever twisted journey he'd been thrust upon.

Dawn was captured and imprisoned within him. Why him, of all people?

And why did the Priestess Meredith and Jasper's claimed to have met sound so eerily familiar? Aynesа... Asenya spelled backward. Could they possibly be the same person?

'I was with Asenya the whole...'

No, he wasn't.

He'd been overlooking something crucial—the irregular flow of time had warped his perception, creating a chasm between his experience and that of others.

To Auren, these events still felt fresh, moments strung together beneath an unchanging night sky that refused to acknowledge the passage of hours. The stagnant darkness only reinforced this illusion.

But for others, time had passed. Dawn's theft had halted daybreak, yet the world continued turning beneath the endless night.

Lives changed, events unfolded, and time—though distorted—marched relentlessly forward.

Auren's eyelids drifted shut, the weight of revelation pulling them down like anchors.

'So, there's a chance that she might be the same person?'

The possibility hung in the air, undeniable as the endless night outside.

'Wouldn't that make her a lie? Everything she's living, doing, it'd all be a facade, a carefully constructed lie.'

Yet one thing gnawed at this theory—her struggle to leave the Night Temple. The desperation in her eyes, the tremble in her voice when she spoke of freedom... these weren't performances. Even he, with all his doubts, could recognize genuine yearning when he saw it.

Which meant there was a catch, some missing puzzle piece that would make sense of these contradictions.

He'd need to face Asenya again to unravel this mystery, and when he did, he'd weigh her words with newfound caution—like a merchant testing gold coins between his teeth.

Auren tried to force his mind into stubborn resolve, to build walls around these thoughts, when a whisper of stone against stone pulled him back to reality. The door shifted, revealing a familiar silhouette.

Jasper stepped into the room, his eyes aglow with an inner light that contrasted sharply with the melancholy etched across his features. His blonde hair had grown rebellious, cascading past his eyes in golden streams. The Passion lad brushed it aside for perhaps the hundredth time that day—a movement so practiced it had become as natural as breathing.

'Come to think of it...'

A stray thought snagged Auren's attention. His own hair should have matched Jasper's by now, should have grown long enough to irritate him equally.

Perhaps time truly had twisted around him differently, or maybe death was stingy, reclaiming life but leaving no room for something as trivial as hair growth.

Auren watched as Jasper approached, his movements betraying a casualness his eyes couldn't match. Even through half-closed lids, Auren's crimson gaze pulsed with a dangerous chill that made the Passion lad's steps falter.

Jasper gingerly pulled the chair closer and sank into it, deliberately angling his body away from Auren. Instead, he fixed his attention on the ruins scattered throughout the room—mirroring Auren's own gaze when it wasn't drawn to the hypnotic dance of dunes beyond the glassless window frame.

A heavy silence stretched between them. Auren remained mute, his thoughts too tangled and thorny to make space for whatever troubled the young man beside him.

After what felt like an eternity, Jasper cleared his throat. When he finally spoke, his voice emerged like rusty hinges—unused and uncertain.

"Master Auren?"

Auren flicked his gaze sideways and released a weary breath.

"Master Jasper."

A visible tremor ran through Jasper's frame. He scratched his head, fingers disappearing into his golden strands.

"Ah, ah, you really don't need to refer to me on such a level of formality."

Auren arched a single brow, the gesture speaking volumes.

"Oh, but you do?"

A shy laugh escaped Jasper, nervous as a cornered animal.

"I... I wasn't just sure if I could be familiar with you... after not seeing you for so long... and you... sometimes look... uhm..."

His voice dropped to a whisper.

"Scary."

Auren tilted his head back slightly, one finger pointing toward his own chest in disbelief.

Jasper nodded, that timid smile returning like an unwelcome guest.

"Yes, Master Auren... You actually seem like a very scary person. I can be quite careless, so I needed to make sure I'm not that around you, so I don't get killed... or just find myself unfavorable towards you."

Auren studied him as one might examine a peculiar insect found in their breakfast.

"You are so weird. I am not even scary. Why would I even kill you? I'd rather be killed by you."

Another nervous chuckle bubbled from Jasper's throat.

"There it is... your jokes too... they are quite grim."

"Oh, well, you're gonna have to get used to that one. But please do not call me 'Master Auren' anymore, else you want me to really consider killing you."

His brow furrowed as he muttered under his breath.

"Hm, sounds weird calling my own name."