Trials of Stone

The Trial of Mind

When the light cleared, he found himself surrounded by the same dull granite that he had just left, only now instead of being surrounded by an endless landscape he was surrounded by the walls of a narrow tunnel, sloping gently down away from him and disappearing into blackness far away. Where he stood was lit only by the light of the red and white crystals on the back of his hand. He turned to look around, but there was only smooth stone behind him. He had no way to go but forward.

Just to rub it in, he thought.

He started walking forward.

He reached the edge of where the darkness ahead of him started, and found only more waiting for him. He reached that, and again there was more beyond it. On and on he trekked, tunneling through the black.

Then he collapsed, and was surprised as he did. He simply blinked for a moment, sprawled across the stone floor, and then rolled himself over, propping his back up against the wall. He looked down, and saw that his legs were shaking violently, as if in exhaustion. He frowned at that. He didn't feel exhausted. He tried to sit up, but when he pushed against his legs they simply gave out from under him. He had felt fine, relatively, when he came out of the Trial of Soul, and he hadn't been walking that long, had he?

He rested long enough for him to recover from his apparent exhaustion, and after hesitant testing of his legs, found that he could stand and walk again. He paused for a moment, for no particular reason, then continued down the tunnel.

He woke up, finding himself on the ground, not remembering having fallen. He frowned, confused. How had he passed out? His blurry eyes came into focus after what felt like too long, and he saw something ahead of him, ugly red-brown lettering scrawled onto the cavern floor in front of him. It simply read "NO MORE."

Beyond it, just in the light of the crystals, was an old, dry skeleton.

He shivered at the sight, then pushed himself to his feet. A wave of nausea hit him when he did, and he was forced to hold himself up against the wall. The nausea was only partly physical. His mind was weary, oh so weary, from having walked for so long...wait, no, it hadn't been long. He'd just gotten here. He could remember it, clearly, appearing at the start of the tunnel and then walking, walking on and on and on in the black for so long, so so long...

He shook his head violently, trying to clear the confusing memories, but it made the nausea hit him twofold and he fell to his knees again. He vaguely registered his body shaking. Of course it was shaking, he had been walking for so so so so so long...

No. He'd just gotten here. He hadn't walked far. It couldn't be far to the end. He pushed himself to his feet again, waited until he felt steady, then walked on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on.......

He blinked again. He was on his hands and knees, crawling forward. Wait, no, he was sprawled across the floor, dragging himself forward inch by inch. How had that happened? He felt something hot and sticky on his cheek that lay on the ground. He lifted his head to look at it, and saw more words, written in blood, "MAKE IT END MAKE IT END MAKE IT END END END." There were blood words all across the walls and floor and ceiling of the tunnel, some old, some glistening new, and then he saw the ruined flesh and bared bone at the tips of his fingers and realized that the new blood was his own.

Then he remembered the walking walking walking crawling crawling crawling on and on and on and on and on through the black and through black for so so so so so so so long.....

His fingers were thin, bony, his skin dry and falling apart into dust. Time was all that was left, and time was taking him.

His withered hand fell.

On the handle of his hammer.

He blinked, slowly, painfully. Of course, his purpose. How had he forgotten that?

He grasped the handle of the hammer. He dragged it across the ground toward him, through the carpeting of old bones on the floor. With a painful push of his entire upper body, he pushed it a couple inches off the ground. He did it again, and again. Then he had the hammer upright, head on the ground, and he heaved himself to his knees, supporting his weight on it on it, then to his feet. He shook violently, though he couldn't really feel it. He pushed the hammer forward, ahead of him, and managed to take a step. Then another. He took two in more rapid succession. Three. Four purposeful, almost steady steps.

Then he slipped and fell to the granite floor.

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