Ape of the Wilds

The monolith's glow faded, its golden light dimming to a mere pulse, like a slowing heartbeat. The guardian's form had dissolved into dust, its ritual blade vanishing with it, leaving only the silence of the ancient chamber.

Kuro stood still, breathing deep, feeling the aftermath of the fight settle into his bones and muscles. He had fought smarter, not harder, and that was what had made the difference.

Then it hit him—a sudden shift, a change in his body's awareness.

His claws flexed, his reflexes felt sharper, the weight of his own body more natural than before, as if his instincts had finally caught up to his experience.

Skill Level Up!

Unarmed Combat (Lv.4 → Lv.5) [+]

• Attacks are faster, more precise.

• Increased efficiency in claw strikes and counterattacks.

A slow grin tugged at the corner of Kuro's mouth. He felt the difference immediately. His movements were always fast, but now they felt refined—like his body wasn't just reacting anymore, it was predicting, adjusting before the attack even landed.

Kota let out a slow breath beside him, rolling his shoulders with a wince. "That was different," he muttered, glancing at the monolith.

Sia nodded, her bow still half-raised, eyes flicking to the space where the guardian had been. "It let us go," she said. "That wasn't a fight to the death. It was… something else."

Kuro exhaled, stretching his fingers, his muscles still burning from the trial. "A test," he said simply. "And we passed."

Boru snorted, crossing his arms. "Then why does it feel like we just got permission to walk into something worse?"

Kuro didn't answer.

Because he felt it too.

The monolith remained, but its purpose had changed. The chamber was no longer a battleground—it was a threshold to whatever came next.

At the far end of the room, a new passage had opened, its walls lined with more golden symbols, no longer the faded remnants of a forgotten age.

No.

These were new.

They had reacted to his victory.

The ruins were guiding him now.

Kuro glanced at the others, then moved first, stepping into the passage. The moment his foot touched the new path, the golden symbols flared briefly, their glow running along the walls, disappearing deeper into the corridor—as if leading him somewhere.

Sia followed without hesitation, her bow at the ready. Kota moved next, his fingers still twitching slightly from the last fight.

Boru and Ruka exchanged glances before stepping in after them, their footsteps heavier, less cautious—but still wary.

Varek was last, his spear tapping lightly against the stone floor, his posture unreadable.

As the last of them entered, the monolith's glow faded completely, the chamber behind them plunged into silence once more.

The trial was over.

But the real test was just beginning.

The deeper they went, the tighter the walls became, the passage narrowing just slightly, enough that Boru muttered under his breath, adjusting his stance so he wouldn't scrape against the stone.

The glow of the symbols shifted—not just in brightness, but in form.

The carvings along the walls moved, not physically, but in a way that made Kuro's fur bristle. He knew the patterns weren't actually changing, but when he looked at them, they seemed to… shift, morphing into different shapes, different meanings.

And then the voices started.

Not words. Not speech.

Just whispers, low and constant, like a thousand breaths just beyond hearing, filling the space around them.

Ruka tensed, his club raising slightly. "Tell me I'm not the only one hearing that."

"You're not," Kota muttered, his daggers drawn again.

Sia slowed slightly, pressing a hand to the stone, as if trying to feel the source. "They're not coming from anywhere. They're just… here."

Kuro said nothing.

Because he had realized something else.

The whispers weren't random.

They were saying his name.

The corridor finally widened, opening into another chamber, but this one was smaller—less like a battleground, more like a waiting hall.

A single statue stood in the center, different from the monolith. This one was shaped like a figure kneeling, its hands outstretched, as if offering something unseen.

And behind it—

Another door, identical to the black gate they had opened before.

Kuro moved forward, stepping toward the statue, but the moment his fingers brushed against the stone—

The whispers ceased.

The silence was deafening.

Then, a single voice broke the void.

"You should not be here."

The others tensed, weapons raising.

But Kuro did not move.

Because he recognized the voice.

It wasn't coming from the ruins.

It was coming from inside his own mind.

And then—the statue moved.

The stone cracked, splitting at the seams, revealing golden light spilling from within, as if something was inside the statue, trapped beneath the surface.

It lifted its head.

"Turn back."

The voice was layered, deep, ancient.

"Or you will be lost."

Kuro's claws tightened, his instincts screaming, but he didn't take a step back.

"Who are you?" he asked, voice steady.

The statue's cracks widened, its form starting to crumble, the golden light inside growing brighter.

"You are not ready."

"And if you continue, you will not return the same."

Kuro felt something deep inside him shift, a part of his mind stirring in response—like something was answering the presence before him, something he had yet to understand.

Then, the statue collapsed completely, its stone form breaking apart—

Leaving only the golden light, fading into the air like mist.

The message was clear.

This was the final chance to turn back.

The ruins had been watching.

And now, they had given him their warning.

Kuro let out a slow breath, then turned to the others.

"We keep going."

There was no hesitation.

They stepped past the ruins of the guardian's last warning, approaching the second black gate, watching as it began to peel open, revealing the darkness beyond.

And as they entered, the last trace of golden light behind them vanished.

The black gate split apart, revealing a darkness that wasn't empty—a space that was waiting to be filled. The air beyond did not move, did not breathe, yet Kuro felt it pressing against his skin, like the ruin itself was testing his resolve.

There was no turning back.

The moment he stepped forward, the last traces of golden light behind them vanished, leaving only the path ahead.

The others followed in silence. Not because they weren't afraid—but because fear had no meaning here.

This place was beyond fear.

It was forgotten for a reason.

The new corridor was different.

The walls weren't covered in carvings, nor were they weathered stone like the rest of the ruin.

They were smooth. Perfect.

Like something had remade this place long after the ruin itself had been abandoned.

Boru ran a hand along the surface, frowning. "This isn't natural."

Ruka gripped his club tighter, his shoulders stiff. "Nothing here is."

Kota exhaled sharply, his daggers still in hand, his golden eyes flicking to Kuro. "This is worse than the last door. We're not in the same place anymore."

Kuro felt it too.

The ruin had changed.

It wasn't guiding them anymore.

It was watching them.

The passage stretched deeper, downward, the path leading them into a space that felt less like a tomb and more like a cage.

But a cage for what?

The corridor opened into a vast chamber, but this one wasn't empty.

It was lined with massive stone slabs, each carved with names.

Not just a few.

Thousands.

The inscriptions ran from the floor to the ceiling, each carefully etched, preserved as if time itself refused to erase them.

Sia ran a hand across one, her fingers tracing the letters. "These aren't written in any language I recognize."

Kota stepped closer, narrowing his eyes. "No, but they're written like names."

Kuro scanned the walls, his gut tightening. This wasn't just a memorial.

This was a record.

A list of something lost.

Then he saw it.

His own name.

Carved into the stone.

Perfect. Unaged. Like it had always been here.

Kuro stopped breathing for half a second.

Then Kota's voice came, quiet but sharp. "Kuro."

He turned—and saw Kota pointing further down the list.

More names.

Names that shouldn't exist here.

Kota. Sia. Varek. Boru. Ruka.

All of them.

Carved into the stone like they had always been here.

Sia's breath was steady, but her grip on her bow tightened. "What is this?"

No one answered.

Because there was no answer.

Their names had been written here before they arrived.

Before they were even born.

This place had been waiting for them.

Then—the wall moved.

Not in the way stone should move.

Not like a shifting mechanism or an ancient trap.

The names themselves shifted, rearranging, like something beneath the stone was trying to push through.

Then a voice echoed through the chamber.

Not a whisper.

Not a warning.

A question.

"Do you remember?"

Kuro's fur bristled, every muscle in his body tensing.

"Do you remember who you were before?"

The voice wasn't from the ruin.

It was inside his own head.

And for the first time, Kuro didn't know if the thoughts in his mind were truly his own.

He clenched his fists, pushing forward, ignoring the shifting names, ignoring the voice.

"We keep moving."

No one hesitated.

Because they all felt it.

Something had noticed them now.

And it was waiting.

The chamber at the end of the passage was empty.

But Kuro knew better.

Empty did not mean safe.

The air here was still, too still. The walls bore no carvings, no symbols—just smooth, unbroken stone.

And at the center—

A pedestal.

Upon it, a black sphere, pulsing faintly, as if it were breathing.

Kuro didn't approach immediately.

His instincts were screaming, every part of his body telling him that this was not something that should be touched.

But the ruin had led them here for a reason.

Kota moved beside him, staring at the object with narrowed eyes. "I don't like this."

Boru grunted. "No one does."

Sia's expression was unreadable. "Then why do I feel like we don't have a choice?"

Because they didn't.

Kuro stepped forward.

The moment his fingers brushed the surface, the world shattered.

For a moment, he was falling.

Not physically. Not through space.

Through time.

Visions flashed before his eyes, too fast to comprehend—a jungle burning, figures kneeling before something unseen, a gate being sealed by hands that had long since turned to dust.

Then—

A name.

A name that did not belong to him.

And yet, it was his.

"You were meant to be forgotten."

"And yet, here you stand."

"What will you do, Kuro?"

The name burned in his mind, but before he could speak, before he could think—

The world snapped back into focus.

He was standing in the chamber again, his breath ragged, his claws trembling slightly.

The sphere was gone.

But the weight of what he had seen remained.

And in the silence that followed, the final door opened.

Not a stone door, not a gate of the ruin.

But something else entirely.

Something that should not exist.

The others stared at him, waiting.

They had seen nothing.

Only Kuro had been given the memory.

And now, he had to decide what to do with it.