Yamino continued his relentless workouts, jumping from burpees to high-knees, from push-ups to plank holds, shadowboxing until his phantom fists sliced through the air like blades. Hours must have passed—if not more. He couldn't really tell. There was no clock, no sun, no pulse of time to anchor him. Just endless movement, endless breathless silence, and the glowing throne behind him casting a soft crimson shimmer like a beating heart.
But as he paused, leaning over with hands on knees—not from exhaustion, but from the emptiness of repetition—he noticed something strange. No strain. No burn. No breathlessness. Not even the gentle ache that usually followed exertion. It felt like his limits had been peeled away, one by one. His body, or rather his soul-body, no longer had the shackles of flesh. No muscle fatigue. No tight lungs. No thirst or hunger. He was moving purely by will.
It should've felt empowering. It didn't.
The realization left him colder than the dungeon stone beneath his translucent feet. Was he becoming less human? Or was he simply realizing what it meant to be a soul? Without the physical body's constraints, there was no boundary to push. No satisfaction from overcoming pain. Just movement. Just the echo of effort in a place that didn't answer back.
And now… he was bored again.
Not just bored—but deeply, painfully aware of the monotony. The workouts had distracted him, but now they just highlighted how little had changed. The dungeon remained sealed, the walls pulsed with the same quiet energy, and the throne glowed behind him—mysterious, regal, silent.
He stood up and let his arms fall to his sides. "This is pointless," he muttered, his voice echoing faintly through the chamber.
He began to walk. Slowly at first. One step. Then another. His bare feet made no sound against the stone floor, his presence almost ghost-like. He wandered through the vast chamber, eyes tracing the same walls he had seen hours ago, the same cracks, the same shadows. The throne remained the only source of light—casting long, warped silhouettes that danced gently along the cold stone.
He circled the perimeter, running a hand along the walls. They pulsed faintly under his touch, almost like breathing. The dungeon was alive. Aware. But still… unmoved.
Yamino tilted his head upward, searching for an exit—anything that might offer a way out. The ceiling loomed high, shrouded in darkness beyond the reach of the throne's glow. He tried jumping. Then leaping. Then scaling the wall with his hands, despite the smoothness of the stone.
Nothing.
No door. No crack. No breeze. Just an eternal chamber of blood-colored light.
He let out a long, irritated breath and collapsed onto the stone floor, lying flat with his arms sprawled wide. He stared up at the invisible ceiling. "Am I just supposed to sit here? Be your king and rot?"
The throne didn't answer.
But it glowed a little brighter—mocking or encouraging, he couldn't tell.
He groaned. Rolled over. Then stood again. He paced back and forth like a caged animal. His feet followed patterns he didn't plan. Circles. Zigzags. Steps up and down the platform leading to the throne.
"This place... it's a prison."
But even as he said it, part of him knew that wasn't entirely true.
It was something else. A cocoon. A crucible. Waiting for something. Waiting for him.
And yet, as he stood before the glowing throne once more, bathed in the faint red light, Yamino could only whisper his deepest desire to the still air:
"I want to go out."
.
.
.
.
Yamino walked around the room again, slower this time, one hand dragging across the rough stone walls as if hoping for a secret, a clue—anything. His fingers brushed over the surface, feeling nothing but a faint, cold resistance. It didn't matter what this place was or why it existed. What mattered now was simple: he needed a way out. The throne's glow had become a cage, and this room was starting to feel like a tomb without a corpse.
He clenched his jaw and stepped back. Then, driven by frustration, he punched the wall with his soul-fist—only to find his arm phasing right through it. Like mist. But when he relaxed his hand and tried to press it gently again, it met a solid, impenetrable surface. It made no sense.
He repeated the experiment. A hard punch—his hand passed through like slicing air. A soft touch—solid, cold stone. Again. Again. Confusion twisted his features as he stared at the wall. "What kind of cursed logic is this…?"
He began pacing faster, touching every inch he could reach, slamming his fists, running his palms, tapping, swiping. His mind was storming with thoughts. Maybe this is a test? A mechanic? A key locked behind a contradiction?
And then… it happened.
As his hand reached out absently toward one section of the wall—something shifted. His arm didn't pass through like smoke, nor was it stopped like before. Instead, it sank in smoothly, like plunging into a pool of warm, invisible water.
Yamino froze. His breath caught. He pulled his hand out. Nothing unusual. Then he pressed again—and once more, it slipped through the wall without resistance.
His eyes narrowed.
Slowly, he lowered his gaze—and saw the ground. Tiny lines in the dust. Trails. Ants.
Dozens of them—maybe hundreds—had been marching across this particular spot again and again since the day he noticed them. So that's where they were going... He had ignored them before, dismissing them as meaningless, but now he understood. They were leading him to something.
Without hesitating, Yamino pressed his full body forward—and slipped through the wall like smoke through a crack.
The world beyond was not what he expected.
His feet touched stone. Cool. Uneven. His eyes widened as the light around him shifted. He was inside a cave. A massive one. It stretched so far into the darkness that even his enhanced vision could barely trace the far walls. The air was thick with silence. Yet it shimmered—because thousands of gems embedded into the walls, ceilings, and stalagmites glowed with ethereal light. Blue. Crimson. Emerald. White. Gold. The colors danced across the stone like spirits, creating a breathtaking spectrum of hues.
And then he saw them.
Bones.
Everywhere.
Piles of them. Some small, some towering. Skulls with broken jaws. Ribcages cracked open like broken cages. Arm bones still gripping rusted weapons. Scattered armor. Hollow eye sockets watching him silently from every corner of the cave.
Yamino took a step forward, his gaze scanning the eerie beauty of the place. This wasn't just a cave. It was a mass grave. A forgotten battlefield. A dungeon filled with the remnants of the fallen.
The gems flickered as he moved, their lights reflecting off his translucent form, casting strange shadows across the bones. He didn't speak. He didn't breathe. All he could do was stare.
This place… held answers.
Or maybe… something far worse.