My father taught me the way of the gunblade in this memory. The world had started to fall apart by this time. I was twenty when this happened. We opposed each other on opposite sides as I failed yet again to pass his rigorous tests. I remember baring my teeth and trying again—only to fail and earn another bruise on my body. Often those days were filled with blood for the purpose of growth. Too often in those times did I consider my own personal worth based on how well I trained. You were the first to break through those bad habits of mine.

  Hauthe 19th, 758

  Waylan leads us through a winding corridor, his footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls as we venture deeper inside. The path is dimly lit, with sconces sporadically placed along the way. The soft flicker of torchlight begins to mess with my eyes, making it feel like we are walking in place to forever keep descending downward.

  Finally, we arrive at a massive, heavy wooden door that creaks ominously as it swings open. The room beyond is expansive, a stark contrast to the narrow corridor we left. The chamber is bathed in light, thanks to the high-set windows that connect to the surface above. The beams of light create patterns on the white-painted floor.

  The boundaries of the chamber are marked by a well-defined white circle etched into the floor. The echoes of our footsteps are replaced by an almost reverent hush as we step into the room. Waylan takes his place at the opposite end of the circle. It's clear that this chamber has seen countless battles, but today it is my battleground.

  The feeling of dread, which has been growing since we entered this place, is now a tangible heaviness deep in my chest. It coils within me, settling deep in the pit of my stomach. My heart is pounding louder and louder in my ears. I struggle to steady my uneven breath. "I simply don't want my people to suffer. I don't want my father to have regrets for putting his trust in me," I respond, my voice quivering.

  His voice drips with skepticism as he retorts dismissively, "That's a boy's answer. Merely platitudes for a land that possesses so much and yet craves even more."

  With deliberate precision he slams the end of his cane onto the ground, a heavy thud that reverberates through the chamber. My eyes widen as I watch in awe and trepidation, for from the top end of the cane, a blade springs forth like a serpent awakening from slumber with a razor-sharp edge, catching the pale light filtering through the windows above. His eyes remain unwaveringly locked on me, a piercing gaze that dissects my thoughts. A knowing smirk plays upon his lips.

  I am gripped by an overwhelming fear that threatens to paralyze me. My stomach churns with anxiety, and despite my best efforts, my palms grow increasingly sweaty, causing the grip on the Sword of the End to feel precarious.

  Waylan closes the distance with swift precision, three steps in and he’s already broken into my space. He swings his cane in a deadly arc and my heart races, and I can't help but flinch as I barely manage to lift the sword in time to block the blunt end. The clash of our weapons sends sparks flying, illuminating the chamber with a momentary burst of brilliance.

  My defense is far from perfect, and I pay the price for my hesitation. Waylan's combat experience shines through as he lands a punishing blow, his boot striking above my groin, sending me stumbling backward. A sharp jolt of pain surges through my body, and I'm momentarily breathless. I let out an embarrassing sound as I arc myself up with the sword.

  "Come on, you aren’t going to be any challenge if you keep letting me get easy hits,” Waylan spits.

  I raise the Sword of the End, ready to defend myself as Waylan launches another assault. His movements are swift and precise, the menacing cane cutting through the air with a deadly grace. I block his strike once more. Adrenaline begins to flood my system and I recognize that he could be following up on these strikes way more than he is.

  My eyes hone in on his legs as the cane gets pushed back. He’s clearly capable with the speed he’s moving at to mix up his style. So the question then becomes why. Why does he choose to give me these opportunities to close in?

  He leaps to my side and swings the blade near my neck—prompting my reaction, but he quickly shifts his balance so the blunt end sweeps me off my feet. I land hard on my back and I feel the stabbing pain in my right arm—my breath catches in my throat and I think the worst has happened—but instead I see he’s jabbed the blunt end of the cane into my arm. The action causes me to let go of the sword and it clambers to the ground.

  "Why...are you toying with me?” I rasp out, my voice still trembling. "I don't...”

  His laughter echoes coldly through the room, fueling my anxiety. "What's the matter, boy?" he taunts with a sneer. "I figured you would be appreciative that I used the dull end. Might save you from losing a limb or two."

  He kicks me the sword and then steps back, retracting the blade to hold his cane from the top. His voice drips with disdain as he continues, "Are you so weak that this is all you can muster?"

  My muscles ache, and the throbbing pain from the impact surges through me, but I know I can't stay down. I push myself onto my hands and knees, determined to prove him wrong. As I laboriously climb to my knees, my fingers clutch the hilt of the Sword of the End, its touch sending a shiver down my spine. The polished metal feels cool to the touch, contrasting sharply with the feverish beads of sweat that have gathered in my clammy palms. Do I have the strength to bear this weapon, this burden?

  "Are you done?" Waylan's words cut through the haze of despair that clouds my thoughts. His taunting voice only deepens my sense of ineptitude.

  "Mal, you can’t give up...not…” Ezra's feeble attempt at encouragement carries a hint of resignation, a stark departure from her initial confidence.

  "Malachi…” Elara’s voice cuts out in the middle of them all. "Is it not clear you do not deserve this responsibility? It’s evident you should relinquish your blade now before you get hurt any further. I’ll even allow you to return to your home—the trip is not so long that you’d miss a hearty dinner back at old Logrith’s.”

  Elara's offer, though tempting, isn’t a true option. The promise of everything returning back to the way it is is but a false hope—but at least I’d be alive. I wouldn’t have to experience this any further. Surely, I couldn't do this. The first sign of danger being this difficult must be a sign, a warning to reconsider. But something deep within me refuses to yield, a stubborn ember of determination burning in the darkness of uncertainty. I can't give in to these doubts, not now. If I doubt my purpose, then I should confront those doubts and prove them wrong.

  Then, a voice within me, soft but resolute, rises above the din of despair.

  Pick up your back! Pull up those dukes and give it your all. There’s no chance you give up now, unless you’re ready to plunge that weapon deep into your heart and let loose. If you doubt your purpose, then you should give up now.

  The voice resonates deep within my head, but its owner is foreign. My vision clears and I look up to Waylan. He is not in his fighting stance—simply looking down at me with a sad sense of pity. There’s less anger there than I anticipated.

  I...am not worthless. I am not without strength. I am not backing down.

  I stand to my full height, the weight of the Sword of the End feeling right in my hand. I look to Waylan. "I’m not done.”

  Struggling to my knees, I clutch the hilt of the Sword of the End, its cool, reassuring touch sending a shiver of resolve through my spine. As I rise, the polished metal feels more natural in my grip, the connection between us strengthening. The metallic tang of blood and sweat mingles with the distinct scent of polished steel in the air, creating a unique blend of anticipation and tension.

  Waylan narrows his eyes, recognizing a shift in my stance. He closes the distance with a swiftness, his strikes are still precise, but something within me changes. With a quick, graceful movement, I lift the sword to block the blunt end of his cane. This time I am sure of myself. This time I feel the energy of the fight jolting through my body

  I manage to send his weapon off course, my instincts sharpening. I find my balance, and for the first time, I see Waylan's true fighting style, using the cane's deceptive design to his advantage. He still holds back his lethal blade, but I sense that he is no longer toying with me. His strikes come faster, more purposefully, and I struggle to keep up, but I am keeping up.

  Our exchanges become a mesmerizing display of martial skill, an intricate dance of combat. I parry Waylan's strikes with calculation, the ring of steel on steel reverberating through the room. Each clash of our weapons sends sparks flying, illuminating our intense duel with brief, fiery bursts.

  Waylan adjusts his tactics, his eyes locked onto mine with a burning intensity. He feints and jabs, forcing me to react swiftly. The tip of his cane comes perilously close to my chest, but I sidestep in the nick of time, countering with a thrust that he narrowly evades. The sheer speed of our movements sends gusts of wind across the room, rattling the parchment scrolls scattered on nearby tables.

  Suddenly, he launches a rapid series of blows, his cane cutting through the air. I backpedal, frantically blocking and evading, until I find myself dangerously close to the circle's edge. My heart races, and for a moment, I fear that I've been outmaneuvered.

  I see an opportunity, an opening created by Waylan's relentless assault. With the Sword of the End guiding me, I make a split-second decision. When his next strike comes, I do something that neither of us expects. I step directly into the path of his attack.

  Waylan, surprised by my audacity, hesitates for a fraction of a second. At that moment, I seize the chance. With a swift and unexpected movement, I bring the Sword of the End down on his cane, striking it with a focused and overwhelming force.

  The impact sends vibrations through both our weapons, causing a momentary disarray of sparks. Waylan's cane shatters, a resounding crack filling the room as it breaks into pieces. The Sword of the End, undamaged and alight with an even brighter radiance, stands victorious.

  Waylan falls to the ground, staring up at me with an irritated look.

  Claps from my right interrupt the both of us. I turn to see Elara offering a smile brighter than any before. She steps out onto the field and places a hand on her hip. "Well, there’s the End stubbornness I’d hoped to see.”

  "Excuse me?” I ask.

  "You expected this result?” Ezra adds in.

  "Well, of course. It is Logrith who called in the favor—of course I trust his judgment, much like he trusts yours,” she turns to me.

  "He what?!” The surprise is too much for me to handle. "So...this is all a test?” My heart sinks in my chest.

  "Oh, I can assure you Waylan is trying his hardest,” Elara says, looking over to him.

  He’s looking off to the side, obvious anger toward how it ended.

  "But I decided of my own volition to test you. Don’t give your father all my credit. I simply knew him from those days and he figured he’d give me a heads up that you would be arriving...although he did think you were traveling alone…” her voice is laced with the mischievous nature I’d come to expect.

  "I struggle to think that is the most important thing right now. So...you’re not upset we came into your land?”

  Elara laughs. "Hardly. I’m nothing if not a fan of a good trial by combat. I’ll make any excuse to have conflict be settled with it—it’s a bit of a flaw of mine, I admit.”

  "That’s...insane,” Ezra says.

  "Maybe, but if you’re stuck with all the paperwork I’ve got on a daily basis—you soon start to crave some violence to lighten up the day.”

  "So...it is to entertain you?” I say, my anger starting to flare. "All this time wasted...and we could have moved on?”

  "Calm down. You speak nonsense,” Waylan says.

  I turn and see he’s grabbed another cane—a recess from the wall reveals a set of them stored. The wall returns into itself and he slowly makes his way over to us. "If you had gone when you wanted to, you would have been mercilessly killed by the first foe you came across. Do you think that would have been worth it?”

  "Besides,” Elara says, looking from Ezra to me. "I would not be able to entrust Waylan to your duty without getting a clear indication of how much he still needs to teach you.”

  "You...what?” I look at Elara, confusion clear on my face.”

  "I have every intention of getting that sword to the Emperor—I have no desire to bring his rage to this neck of the woods—not while tensions with Ester are the way they are.”

  "Then…you seek to help us?” Ezra asks, her eyes searching Elara's face for any hint of deceit.

  Elara's gaze remains unwavering as she replies, "I aim to not lie in most conversations I’m in. Omission may be another story, but yes. I aim to lend you our services in order to help your journey be at least probable. I owe at least that much to your father.”

  The room's atmosphere shifts as the weight of her words sinks in. The tension between us begins to thaw, and a glimmer of hope flickers within our hearts.

  Ezra turns her piercing gaze toward Waylan, still skeptical. "So then, that whole hatred of our kind is an act?”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Waylan's expression remains stoic, his animosity clear. "Hardly. I will accompany you to the Empire. But it is as the chief says. I hold no love for the people of Khadein.”

  "And why's that?”

  Waylan's response is terse. "It's none of your business.”

  Elara, with a touch of amusement in her voice, retorts, "I think your time now should best be served getting packing.” She turns to me, "He doesn't think you'd pass our little test, so he hasn't bothered to prepare anything. I'm sure you'll forgive him for his misgivings.”

  Waylan's eyes narrow in response, but he doesn't contest her words. He acknowledges the truth in her jest with a subtle nod.

  "I...can't say I expected to pass either, but I also can't say I wouldn't have kept trying.” I confess.

  Elara regards me thoughtfully as she speaks, her gaze holding a depth of wisdom that has been forged through years of experience. "You are much like your father,” she observes. The look in her eyes vanishes as quickly as it appears, replaced by the present. "Of course, you’re also free to take up lodgings here for the night before you continue out—I expect that would be the wisest thing since I’m sure the sun outside has set. There are plenty of inns at respectable rates I can recommend.”

  Curiosity gets the better of me, and I inquire further. "How did you know him, again? My father, I mean.”

  She takes a moment to recollect her past, her eyes focusing on some distant memory. "Back when he was a soldier in the Empire, I was conscripted in the unit next to his. I didn't have direct interaction, but his reputation spread far and wide. It was some time before I returned to Obskurd to take my mantle here.”

  She then turns to Ezra, glancing down at one of the spare pages she had brought with her. "Right, and this report mentions you're going to be in need of some more ammunition—yours had been improperly stored when you descended the spiral?”

  Ezra's cheeks flush with embarrassment, and she offers a sheepish smile. "Y-Yes. It’s a bit of a long story.”

  Elara nods. "You can visit our armory, down this path here and take a right. I'm prepared to offer some reserves to support you on your journey. I'll settle the tab with your father later.”

  Ezra, now relieved and grateful, bows her head respectfully. "Thank you ma’am.” Then she looks at me. "I’ll meet up with you after I recoup my bearings?”

  "Yes, yes, he shall.” Elara says, turning to Ezra. "I have some things to discuss with him, privately.”

  "Privately?” Ezra inquires, clearly intrigued by the idea of a private conversation with Elara, but she's gently dismissed by Elara with a wave of her hand.

  "Come, Malachi,” Elara continues, turning her attention back to me, "We’ve much to speak about.”

  Ezra and I exchange awkward looks and equally move our separate ways. I follow Elara back. I sit across from her at a weathered wooden table, her scrutinizing eyes lock onto mine.

  "So, putting small talk aside, there's some important business I need to speak with you about. I wish to show you I respect the limited amount of time you have to partake in your mission. I feel having this conversation wait would unnecessarily extend your time doing things detrimental to your cause—such as sitting here with me.”

  A nervous energy flares through my body, causing my words to stumble. "Oh, well… it's not...the worst…"

  Elara shakes her head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Malachi, I hope you understand I am placing my watchman with you for multiple reasons, none of the top reasons being friendly banter.”

  My brain is racing trying to search for her meaning. I can trust the motivation behind testing my strength and resolve, but this? "O-Oh…” I stammer.

  "Not to say I dislike you,” she clarifies, "you’re merely a boy of a man I once knew. My favor to you has both begun and ended. I admit a selfish reasoning of including Obskurdian favor with the Emperor in your quest—which should mean you can trust Waylan to not hinder your quest. It would do us no good if the mission we’re trying to butt in on gets compromised.”

  I nod. That makes enough sense. Even though Waylan has his own personal feelings against me and Ezra, I could believe he cares more about his people here. Still though… "Even though he hates our guts?” I venture.

  She tilts her head, "His reasons are his own—it isn’t my place to tell you his story, but I do care for him. I do think in part that this journey might help him ease some of his woes. It is a request of mine that you aid him in this, if the opportunity presents itself.”

  I don’t feel great about everything yet. "I understand,” I nod. "I can tell he’s not angry for no reason. But I can’t promise that he’ll choose to look past that.”

  "Probably not,” Elara adds. "But I figured I’d try, you know?”

  "Would he not open up to you?” I ask. "Uh, forgive me if that’s a bit too forward.”

  Elara shakes her head, "It’s not at all a forward thing to ask, however similarly it’s not at all going to happen. We’re too different...no, I shouldn’t go further. It’s not something that would happen.”

  "I...see. Well, I’ll try.”

  "Excellent...” Elara continues. "The last thing I wanted to talk about with you is the mark on your hand.”

  I glance down at my hand. The mark is faded, but still there.

  "You obtained that when you entered the Abyss. This much I told you previously. Based on my reports I read you are barely scraping the edge, yet it is enough to land the mark.”

  "I remember hearing voices in my head. This mark...what does it mean?”

  "It is an ancient Obskurdian phrase, meaning abandon, and the voice you heard is most likely Obsidias.”

  "Obsidias?! That can’t…”

  "You’ve heard the stories, then?” Elara asks.

  "Abandon…” I say, looking down at it. "I think I remember voices on the edge of my notice saying something similar.”

  "Interesting,” Elara says. "Do you have any idea why that glyph could have chosen you?”

  My eyebrows furrow in confusion.

  "Do you know the stories of those that travel into the Abyss?” She asks.

  "Just that they never come back?”

  Her mischievous grin returns, "Most never come back. Of course we cover the situation whenever we do get survivors—of course, they aren’t diving deep into the blackness. I mainly expect they’ve gone in as deep as you have—maybe a little more. They’ve each returned with one of those marks—though notably each different from the last.”

  "What are their markings?” I lean in close.

  Her eyebrows raise slightly, and a hint of surprise crosses her features. "I’m shocked at your level of enthusiasm—the most I’ve seen since you’ve arrived," she observes. Her voice is tinged with a touch of incredulity. She then shakes her head with a thoughtful expression. "Unfortunately, some of the characters are outside of the ones we know the translation for—our history is as scattered as much of Khadeinite history is," she explains, her tone carrying a note of resignation. "We try what we can with what we have. Of note, I’ve seen others marked with the characters for Reject, Failure, and Deny."

  I take a moment to process this information and contemplate the implications. "So, they all follow a certain theme," I remark, my mind racing to connect the dots. "Isn't it said that Obsidias lurks down at the bottom of the Abyss?"

  Elara's eyes brighten with intrigue as she leans in. "Wouldn't that be the cherry on top of the cake?" she muses with a wry smile. "Yes, legend says our divine one guides us from deep below—hence our desire to feel close to the air of mystery by living beneath the surface. Alas, such has led to the petty conflict between our two nations. The land above and the land underneath—a conflict I don't think will blow over overnight."

  I can't help but question the mark on my palm. "If it is true that the God of Mysteries is deep in that infernal darkness...would that mean he is the one that gave me this mark? Abandon. Is it a threat...if I don’t abandon this quest, or is it a promise?" I voice my inner turmoil, the weight of the unknown bearing down on me.

  Elara senses my confusion and nods solemnly. "I'm sure there's going to be many more questions for you moving forward," she offers a comforting reassurance. "I simply advise you to slow down and take them one by one. As for that," she nods toward my palm, her gaze holding a touch of sympathy, "consider it...a token of your stay here. Think of it as something to avoid. A mnemonic of sorts."

  "Yeah...I think I will,” I say, a depth of uncertainty under the surface.

  "I think I’ve taken enough of your time. If you rush I think you might be able to catch up with your friend...maybe even drum up the urge to reveal those inner feelings of yours?”

  I look at her with surprise. Elara's laughter fills the room.

  She flashes a knowing smile, "It’s a fifty-fifty shot,” she says. "Your father is unaware of her presence here—so clearly it isn’t a planned addition. You’re here with her, so we realistically have two possibilities. You have feelings for her, or she has feelings for you. Well...I guess technically both, but I have a feeling you’re the one that’s smitten. Your reaction means I’m right.”

  "What do you care of it?” I say, trying to deflect the heat rising to my cheeks.

  "Nothing,” she shakes her head, chuckling. "Only that I know the feeling. Go on, I’m sure she’s looking for someone to find a place to rest with. Though I’d recommend separate beds—try the Imperium down in the commonplace. Tell them I sent you and they should be able to get you a good deal.”

  "S-Separate...I wasn’t thinking of…”

  Elara burst out laughing. "I’m teasing, child. Don’t worry about it. These things tend to sort themselves out.”

  I step out of the Chief’s office, feeling a strange mixture of relief and unease. The conversation we had was odd, and it left me with more questions than answers. Ones I feel won’t reveal themselves simply by dwelling on them. As I rejoin the common area of the Obskurdian outpost, I see Ezra standing there, her presence immediately commanding my attention. Her deep emerald eyes, framed by her golden-blonde hair captivates me. Her sharp features, softened only by her gentle smile, offer a striking contrast to the rugged surroundings.

  Though, thinking on it, her eyes did match the brilliance of those crystals we passed by when we first entered.

  "Malachi, what takes you so long?" she asks, her eyes locking onto mine.

  I let out a nervous chuckle as I approach. Her eyes, still that familiar golden, hold a mixture of curiosity and concern, making her gaze all the more captivating. "It is a weird conversation in there. A lot more on the things I haven't thought of—stuff about Waylan and this," I say, holding up my palm, clenching it to accent the mark to her.

  Ezra raises an eyebrow, her fingers reaching out but hesitating before touching my marked hand. "I haven't noticed it before...what's it mean?” Her lips curl into a slight frown as she contemplates its significance.

  "She says I got it when I crossed over the edge of the depths. I’m shocked at how fast she received Waylan's report. He must have had some way to send it to her remotely—I don't think I saw them speaking separately since we got here. She also explained that it is Obskurdian—ancient Obskurdian, meaning abandon."

  "Well, that's not all too comforting. Though I guess I can't say that it doesn't take away from your new-found ruggedness."

  I feel the heat rising in my cheeks. "I...I'm not sure what you mean," I offer a light laugh to deflect her compliments.

  "Are you joking? You are amazing in that fight. I am worried that is going to be it...but you had this deep well of strength inside you. It kinda reminded me of…" she says, then realizes where her mind is leading her. "Oh...well…"

  I address her unspoken question. "It's not like that, Ezra. I wasn't praying to any specific god or anything like that. It is more like...a voice. Something that's been hidden deep within me, and it only recently started to wake up."

  "That's odd. But we can figure it out later. Right now, I have something for you." She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small pouch filled with ammunition. "I’ve already filled my bag and I need some extra space...lo and behold,” she smiles with a mischievous look.

  "Am I a pack mule now?” I laugh, taking the bag and swinging my own over, unlatching the clasp and setting it inside.

  "Depends, are we heading out right away or…?” Ezra asks, her voice filled with a hint of confusion.

  I can feel my face redden slightly, and I clear my throat. "Well, there's this inn, the Imperium, that Elara mentioned. Maybe we could stay there for the night."

  Ezra's brow furrows, and her expression shifts from puzzlement to concern. "Why an inn, haven’t we already spent enough time here?”

  I shift on my feet, suddenly embarrassed. "It's just...you know, safety. We don't want to be out in the wilderness once the moon rises, right? Besides, if we are going to be traveling with Waylan, I’m sure not going to want to let my guard down around him.”

  Ezra raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a small smile. "Safety, huh? Well, in that case, the Imperium it is."

  "That is surprisingly easy," I say.

  "Did you expect me to fight you on every turn?" She says, offense taking root in her voice. "I’m not so bullheaded to say you don’t have good ideas."

  "S-Sorry," I say, sheepish.

  "Don’t worry about it. Let’s head over, and you can treat us both to a room to rest in." She winks as she hoists up her bag.

  As we walk towards the Imperium, I can't help but feel the weight of the villagers' curious gazes upon us. With a self-conscious smile, I keep pace with Ezra as we approach the entrance to the Imperium. The inn's atmosphere is warm and inviting, and the aroma of hearty subterranean cuisine wafts from the nearby dining area.

  "I guess we don't exactly look like we're from around here, huh?" I say to Ezra as we step inside.

  She chuckles, offering a reassuring nod. "No, but it's part of the adventure, isn't it? I'm sure they're used to travelers passing through from time to time. Let's see if they have a room available."

  Its wooden exterior exudes charm, and the soft murmur of voices spills out from within. We enter, and the cozy interior embraces us with the fragrance of hearth-baked bread and the warmth of a welcoming fire.

  I approach the innkeeper and book two rooms for the night. The innkeeper hands me both of the keys and points us in the direction of our rooms.

  The inn's interior is a contrast to the underground city's dimly lit streets. Soft, warm lighting emanates from wrought-iron sconces on the walls, casting a gentle, inviting glow. A few tables with mismatched chairs sit near the entrance, where groups of Obskurdians engage in lively conversations over steaming bowls of stew and frothy mugs of ale. The crackling of a fire in the hearth adds to the cozy ambiance, filling the room with its comforting presence.

  I follow Ezra down the short corridor, her footsteps echoing in my ears. We arrive at our respective rooms and stand in front of the wooden doors, exchanging a glance that holds a mixture of curiosity and anticipation.

  I want to say something, to break the tension, but no words come to mind. My mind is whirling with the events of the day. We've arrived at this remote inn, tired and hungry after a long journey. We have no idea what to expect, but we're both excited to find out.

  I chide myself for my silence, but then I realize that the best thing I can offer Ezra right now is a simple nod. She understands. She nods back and then turns to unlock her door.

  We enter our rooms and find them to be comfortable and inviting. A simple bed covered in cozy blankets sits against one wall, with a small table and chair nearby. The room is adorned with subtle touches of rustic decor, giving it a homely feel.

  I sit down on the bed and sigh with relief. It feels good to finally be able to relax after a long day. I look around the room, taking in all the details. The walls are painted a warm yellow, and the furniture is made of sturdy oak.

  As I prepare for a restful night, the thought of the day's events and the mysteries of Obskurd weigh heavily on my mind. We have faced many challenges, but we have also made some progress. We have learned more about the dangers that lurk in this strange and forgotten land, and we have developed a plan to overcome them.

  But there is still so much that we don't know. What other secrets does Obskurd hold? What dangers await us on our journey? I can't help but feel a sense of trepidation as I think about the days to come.

  And yet, I also feel a sense of hope. I know that we are strong and resourceful, and that we have a chance to succeed. I am determined to unravel the mysteries of Obskurd and bring back the knowledge that could save our world.

  I finish preparing for bed and climb into the soft, inviting sheets. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I can feel the tension in my body melt away.

  I smile to myself as I drift off to sleep. I know that tomorrow will be another day of challenges and discoveries, but I am ready for it. I am determined to see this journey through to the end.

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