He continued walking. He didn't know how long he'd walked. He just wanted to find a Cindershrine and move further away—further away from whatever that tree had become.
The air didn't clear up. It still stunk of old dirt and animal dung. It clung to his hair, to his skin, even inside of his throat, making it harder for him to breathe by the minute. But he kept walking anyways.
The ground sloped, cracking in long, jagged seams. The trees thinned out into scanty silhouettes, and the sky above never seemed to change color either.
Sometimes he saw things moving in the distance, but when he stared closer, they disappeared. Sometimes he heard sounds that resembled monsters in the game—low groans, snarls but when he turned, there was always nothing there, or whatever it was didn't want to be seen.
Eventually, he found an ancient-looking building.
It was old, half-swallowed by dirt and rot. Arches leaning like dying things, doorways that seemed to lead nowhere.
From a distance, it looked like it was once a chapel, the kind of place players ran past without a second glance.
It reminded him that he wasn't a player anymore. "I really need to get my shit together and find some hideout soon enough."
He moved slower due to the pain in his body, carefully dragging his steps through the gray dust until he saw something.
Barely visible beneath the blanket of rot and moss....
A faint spiral of light etched into the stone, just right in front of him.
He stood there for a while, trying to remember where he had seen it.
With a sudden jump of hope, he remembered. "That's a Site of Grace!"
Exactly like it was in the game. Same shape, same bright orange glow.
He staggered forward, dropping to his knees right in front of it. His heart pounded as his fingers brushed against it softly, still trembling from lack of food and water.
The glow responded to his touch, though it was soft and weak, but it was still hope.
He released a soft laugh. "Finally! Something that can help me."
Maybe things were finally starting to make sense. Maybe the game hadn't completely abandoned him yet.
He reached for it with the hope of it healing and guiding him.
He carried it softly, the light pulsing in between his fingers, warmth blooming through his fingertips as he held it.
Then it flickered off.
He stared at it, confused. "I don't remember it behaving like this."
The warmth faded away, and the spiral dimmed. Gone. Just like that.
He blinked rapidly. "No, no, no, please don't give up on me!" he shouted.
He tried again, but it remained silent.
He pressed his hands against the stone, harder than he intended—desperate. But it still didn't respond. The Emberlight was totally gone.
His heart slowly giving out as he gave up. He was still bleeding, and all he wanted was for the world to give him something to hold onto, something to make him push harder. But it didn't, and probably wouldn't.
The realization hit him like a knife to the gut. He was without a Flame Keeper, and now his only source of hope had died down.
The words continued to echo in his head like a cold reminder that he was a forgotten human in a game-like world.
He was alone. No guidance. No resurrection. No checkpoint. And no one coming to save him.
The Emberlight didn't light for him because it probably wasn't meant to. I mean, he wasn't from this world, and the Emberlight only responded to game characters. He's a human, not a game character.
He was never supposed to be here to begin with.
He stumbled back from the circle, sat in the mud, and stared at his dirty palms. The Rune still glowed faintly, but it didn't change anything. He was still stuck.
It just stayed there, like a constant reminder telling him he chose this for himself when he clicked on the claim option.
He clenched his fists.
The wind bristled through the chapel, stirring the dust into little flurries that danced across the dead Emberlight.
He just sat there, staring at it. He wasn't sure he knew where he was going anymore.
He thought he had seen everything when he saw the Rootspire. But this was it—this quiet rejection from the Emberlight, this emptiness, this lack of anything to assist him.
"No Emberlight for the Forsaken," he said softly, almost whispering.
He tilted his head back, looking up through the broken chapel roof. The sky was still gray, but it seemed darker now.
He released a harsh laugh. "So what now?"
"What else is gonna forsake me?" he shouted, as though the world would answer him back.
He wanted to scream his lungs out, wanted to throw everything, wanted to claw at the Emberlight and make it work, but none of it would help him. Nothing mattered anymore.
He was just an intruder in a world that had been reconstructed, its rules now different from before.
For a long while, he sat at the chapel, reminiscing everything that had happened up till now.
He wanted to end it all, but there wasn't a quit option or a pause button—not even a logout icon.
Finally, with a low cry, he stood up. Dusted his clothes, his ankle still throbbing with pain, but he ignored it.
His body was almost reaching its limit, his mind already past its limit. But he was still alive, still breathing.
"If there's no Emberlight to guide me towards my path, then I might as well guide myself," he muttered.