Endymion's fingers curled, then unfurled, slow and deliberate. They were his hands—he knew that. The subtle lines etched across his flesh, the faint scars from battles fought and forgotten, the way his knuckles moved beneath the skin—all were intimately familiar.

And yet, as he watched them move, they felt disconnected, as though they belonged to someone else. As if another force guided them, pulling invisible strings while he merely observed from a distance.

He continued to turn his hands over, palms up, then down, noting the way the dim light cast shadows that rippled and flowed. The motions were smooth, precise, but devoid of intention. Each movement seemed preordained, executed without his conscious command.

Utterly lost, he ran a hand over the fabric of his pant leg. The smooth texture seemed like it should have been familiar, yet it wasn't. Back and forth, he continued to rub, hoping that perhaps it would trigger something, remind him of something.

Nothing. Nothing changed. Nothing remained.

The lack of substance was strangely familiar, as if he'd been suffering from a lost identity for a lifetime.

Endymion shifted on the seat nervously. He didn't like this feeling of being so completely detached. Desperate for some answers, he glanced about the room, hoping for clues, answers, anything. The chamber was austere, carved from dark stone that absorbed more light than it reflected. The air was heavy, thick with an unplaceable scene that lingered just beyond recognition.

A face peered back at him in a fractured mirror mounted on the far wall.

He took a hesitant step toward it, each footfall echoing softly in the silence. As he drew nearer, the features came into focus—the sharp lines of a jaw, the unruly dark hair framing a forehead, deep blue eyes. There was something wrong with the eyes… they appeared flat, lifeless, like the eyes of a poorly painted portrait.

"Who am I?"

He raised a hand to touch the face in the mirror, watching as the reflection mimicked the gesture. There was a distinct dissonance between action and sensation; he saw the movement, understood it intellectually, but felt nothing. His fingertips brushed the cool surface of the mirror, but the tactile feedback was muted, as if filtered through layers of fog.

"Is this really me?"

The question floated through the air, lacking the urgency or emotion such an inquiry should carry. Leaning closer, he searched those eyes for a spark of recognition, a connection to a real person. Memories drifted on the periphery of his consciousness.

Vague sounds of laughter.

Indistinct glimmers of sunlight dancing over gold.

Obscured curves of a smile.

But they were hazy, like scenes from a distant dream. From someone else. From another lifetime.

Even more unnerved, he glanced down at the clothes he wore: a dark, regal uniform that seemed tailored to fit him perfectly. The fabric rested against his skin without weight, another element of his reality that failed to anchor him.

He ran a hand down his sleeve, noting the texture but not truly feeling it. Even his thoughts seemed distant, as if they belonged to someone else. They rippled softly, lacking resonance, each one fading before he could grasp its full meaning. A persistent fog stretched across his mind, a barrier that dulled his perception and kept true understanding just out of reach.

"I am Endymion…" Aren't I?

The name was right, but carried no actual meaning. He knew it was his, yet it was merely a label, devoid of the personal significance it once held. He tried to recall more—the details of his life, the people he knew, the places, the emotions he'd felt—but he only met resistance. It was like trying to bottle moonlight; the harder he tried, the more it scattered into the night.

"What is this sensation?"

A subtle ache pulsed behind his left ribs, a faint warmth that contrasted with the numbness enveloping him. It was a whisper of something important, a tether to a truth he couldn't quite access. He pressed a hand against his chest as if to soothe the burning, or perhaps to encourage it, but the barrier within him remained.

The room seemed to close in around him, the shadows deepening. The darkness was palpable, alive, wrapping around him like a cloak. Strangely, it didn't unsettle him. If anything, it was familiar, a contrasting presence that neither comforted nor disturbed. It simply was.

Stepping back from the mirror, he let his hand fall. Since the reflection offered no answers, there wasn't a point. Turning away, he paced across the chamber as the silence pressed in. The only sound was that of his footsteps. There was no wind. No scent.

"What happened to me?"

He paused by a narrow window carved into the stone wall. Beyond it, an expanse of darkness stretched endlessly, dotted with distant, cold stars that offered no light. The view should have evoked wonder or perhaps melancholy, but instead, it felt as empty as everything else.

The pale glow of moonlight filtered through the narrow window, casting long, accusing shadows across the stone floor. Endymion's skin prickled under its touch, a sensation as discordant as his crushed memories. The silverly beams seemed to pierce through his fog, carrying with them a weight of expectation and disappointment.

He turned towards the light, feeling it caress him with an almost sentient intent. The moonlight wasn't just illuminating; it was scrutinizing. Each ray felt like a question, demanding answers he couldn't provide. Who are you? What have you become? How could you betray everything you once stood for?

The judgment stirred something deep within him. Duty and a love that transcended celestial bodies. He could almost remember a flash of crystal, mischievous eyes. But they slipped away, leaving only a hollow ache and the moon's unrelenting gaze.

"You have no right to judge me."

Endymion raised a hand, watching as the moonlight played across his skin. It highlighted every imperfection, every scar, as if cataloging the ways in which he'd changed. A fallen prince who'd strayed too far from his path. The light had always felt like stone, but now it left him feeling even more wanting.

He wanted to turn away, to shield himself from this silent inquisition. But something compelled him to stand there, bathed in the moon's intrusion. It was a punishment and a reminder of what he couldn't quite grasp. The moonbeams continued their relentless examination, a constant, uncomfortable presence that seemed determined to break through the numbness enveloping him.

Now, surrounded by darkness and unable to escape the moon, Endymion felt truly alone. The light hinted at things he'd lost, of what he'd become, even if he couldn't fully comprehend.

He closed his eyes, taking a slow, measured breath. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he searched for a spark—a glimmer of something haunting. The moon bit into him, and for a moment, he thought he sensed a faint glow reflected in the beams dancing across his face.

The golden light emanated from the depths of his being. It pulsed gently, resonating with the moon's light and the ache behind his ribs.

But as he reached for it, the light faded, slipping away like a forgotten dream. He opened his eyes to find nothing had changed. The room remained the same, the emptiness undisturbed. The moon still judged, the stars mourning.

Endymion turned away, refusing to struggle anymore. This is who he was, after all, who he'd always been. Someone fractured, broken, devoid of memory or tethers.

Now a subtle sound broke the silence. A distant echo of footsteps approaching. He turned his head slightly, acknowledging the change without curiosity or concern.

Whoever—or whatever—was coming would arrive soon enough.

A subtle shift in the air alerted Endymion to another presence. The temperature dropped slightly, and the shadows in the chamber deepened, coalescing into darker hues. He turned towards the doorway as Queen Beryl swept into the room. He didn't know why she was familiar, why he knew her name, but he did.

Her movements were graceful yet imbued with undeniable weight. She commanded the space effortlessly, each movement deliberate, the train of her gown whispering against the stone. Living tendrils of darkness coiled around her, wrapping her in tangible power. The shadows twisted and bowed in her wake, clinging to her like a loyal subject. A cold fire gleamed in her eyes, and a faint, knowing smile played on her lips.

Endymion watched with a detached curiosity. There was a growing sense of envy stirring within him, a subtle longing that felt both intrusive and innate. Perhaps it was the ease in which she commanded the darkness. How it responded to her slightest whim.

Power radiated from her in waves, an aura that filled the chamber and filled him completely. For a moment, he wanted it—craved the control, the certainty, the liberation from the emptiness that consumed it.

The desire flared, a spark in the void, but even as it ignited, it felt distant, like a hunger that didn't truly belong to him.

"Endymion." The name rolled off her tongue with a familiarity that hinted at a shared history.

She halted a few paces before him, her eyes trailing up and down his body, appraising him. He dipped his head in a slight acknowledgment.

Without another word, she extended her hand to present four gleaming stones. They caught the dim light and pulsed faintly, each emitting a subtle glow that fought the surrounding darkness. They drew him in, stirring something in the depths of his mind.

"Your loyal servants, ready to serve you once more."

He reached out mechanically, allowing the stones to slip into his open hand. The moment they touched his skin, a faint warmth flowed from them, almost as if in rejoice. Finally, they seemed to say, we're reunited.

Something fluttered through the back of his mind—faces, voices, brotherhood—but nothing solidified before it all vanished.

"They were weak," the darkness whispered. "Not like you."

"Jadeite, Nephrite, Zoisite, and Kunzite," he said, his words a mere whisper.

Comrades? Brothers? The exact nature of their connection remained blurry, but the magnificence was undeniable. Yet, a part of him dismissed them as lesser. They were pawns to be commanded. They hadn't embraced the darkness willingly, as he had. Right?

Conflicting emotions swirled within him, indistinct and transient. Still, an unexpected protectiveness welled up, a desire to keep them close. They were his, after all.

"Yes, they will aid you in your mission. Together, you will achieve what others could not."

Her hand traced a line of cold up his arm before settling possessively around his neck. The touch was cold like dead stone. This was wrong, or so the itch at the back of his mind said. But he dismissed it.

"Finally, Endymion, you'll be mine and together we'll rule the stone ruins of Earth."

He closed his fingers around the stones, the smooth surfaces pressing into his palms. "We'll rule together."

Her smiled widened slightly. "Good. There is much to be done. Prepare yourself and when you are ready, join me in the throne room."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and glided out of the chamber, the darkness closing in behind her like a curtain. Endymion glanced down at the stones in his hand. The light continued to flicker from deep inside, screaming out to him.

Dismissing them, he slipped them into a pocket, noting the distinct weight they carried. Glancing about, he didn't know what else to prepare, so he left the meaningless room.

Stone walls stretched out before him in an endless passage of shadows and echoes. Darkness slithered across his skin as he moved, settling into his bones like an old companion. Cool air filled his lungs with the crisp scent of minerals and something indefinably ancient.

"So, this place is home?"

He should have felt peace here, enveloped in the embrace of the Dark Kingdom. This place of shadows was meant to be his domain, a sanctuary of power and purpose. Yet, there was something uncomfortable about it. An irritation that lingered just under his skin that he couldn't scratch. It felt too perfect, too complete, like a trap laid out just for him.

With each footfall, the steady rhythm underscored his internal disquiet. The walls seemed to close in on him, the ceiling pressing down ever so slightly. He traced a hand along the rough surface, seeking anything that would remind him of who he was.

"What is wrong? It must be the White Moon. They're the cause of this."

Approaching the throne room, the atmosphere grew heavier. The air thickened, laden with an oppressive energy that weighed on his shoulders. Here, the darkness was different, denser, a tangible weight.

It clung to him, with each step requiring more effort than the last.

At the threshold he paused, a hesitation he couldn't fully explain. The grand doors loomed before him, adorned with intricate carvings that writhed and shifted when not directly observed. Taking a measured breath, he steeled himself and pushed the doors open.

The darkness was overwhelming, enveloping him in ways he hadn't thought possible. It suffocated, thicker than tar. It froze each cell, burned every inch. The air tasted bitter, like ash on his tongue. A foul, metallic scent filled his lungs, and even his vision blurred, as though the black clung to his eyes.

Here, the shadows were alive, whispering unintelligible secrets that brushed against the edges of his consciousness. They weighed him down, a palpable force that tried to drag him to his knees.

But he was Prince Endymion. Heir to the darkness, and he would bow to nothing but the void.

Endymion clenched his teeth, forcing himself to stand straighter. The force was immense, but he refused to yield. He took a deliberate step forward, then another, each movement an act of defiance against the crushing atmosphere.

Sporadic flashes of crimson light pulsed from unseen sources, illuminated the vast chamber, casting eerie glows on the obsidian pillars and the ornate throne at the far end. Beryl awaited him there, a solitary figure radiating a tantalizing dark allure.

"You've arrived."

Each step felt like wading through a deep mire, the shadows tugging at him, begging him to surrender. Whispers grew louder, more insistent, but their words remained just out of comprehension.

Keep moving.

He focused on channeling his will into maintaining his stride. The ache behind his ribs flared briefly, a sharp reminder of something forgotten.

Nearing the throne, the oppressive force intensified. His breath came in measured, shallow draws, but he maintained his strength. He stood tall as he stopped before Beryl and the throne, inclining his head in acknowledgment.

"Endymion."

He met her gaze. "I am yours to command."

She rose from the throne, and the shadows parted before her, swirling in intricate patterns that followed. Queen Beryl's eyes shimmered with a twisted glow as she approached, her steps deliberate and fluid. Darkness thickened around her, the shadows bending towards her as though compelled. His knees buckled, and only his sheer will power prevented him from collapsing to his knees.

As she came closer to him, the air became cooler, the heavy sensation increasing as it wrapped around him like death itself. His breath misted in the cold, and the weight of her presence pressed down on him. A knowing smile curved across her lips, the gleam in her eye darkening.

She stopped before him, her gaze sweeping over his form. Slowly, she extended her hand, her fingers gliding up his arm, light and cold like the first brush of winter frost. Endymion nearly shivered as her touch sent a chill cascading down his spine.

It wasn't unpleasant. The darkness that clung to her slithered through his veins, awakening something primal within him.

Somehow, he found himself leaning into her touch, craving the cold that oozed into his skin, the numbing sensation that promised freedom clouding his mind. The temptation of power radiated from her, a certainty that pulled him deeper into the void she offered.

It was intoxicating.

A faint discordant note stirred, a whisper of wrongness that refused to be silenced. Like a splinter in his mind—small but impossible to ignore. A flicker of unease danced at the edges of his consciousness. His instincts recoiled, but the feeling was fleeting, swallowed quickly by the allure of the darkness offered.

"Endymion," Beryl murmured, her voice a velvety caress as her lips brushed against his ear. "You belong with me. Together, we will rule this world. The Earth will be ours, and nothing will stand in our way."

Her breath was cool on his skin, the sensation sending shivers coursing through his body. He closed his eyes; the shadows pulsing in time with his heartbeat, and her words washed over him. Joining in a hypnotizing pattern, her fingers traced a path from his shoulder along his neck, her energy tightening around him in a seductive dance.

"You have accepted the darkness, and now it's time to prove your loyalty."

He stiffened as her words hit him, something instinctual rising in response. But he nodded slowly, the gesture not all his own. "Yes." The word felt distant, like it didn't belong to him.

Beryl moved closer, pressing herself against him. "There is one final task to prove you're mine."

"Anything, my queen."

Closer she moved, her lips barely grazing his ear. "Kill her." Her words slid into his mind like a blade cloaked in silk. "End Princess Serenity. Take the Silver Crystal from her cold body. Secure our future."

The command reverberated through his mind.

Sharp and cold.

Hard and fast.

Poisonous and devastating.

The words twisted inside him, bringing with them a bitter bile that rose in his throat, acrid and burning. A jolt of resistance shot through him—a visceral, instinctual reaction that clawed at his chest. For an instant, golden hair and bright blue eyes filled his mind, twisting that ache behind his ribs.

His fists clenched, his knuckles white as he struggled to hold himself together. "I…" He knew what answer he wanted to give, but the words faltered, caught in his throat.

Why did the very thought of hurting her cause such a reaction?

Darkness surged. It rose like a tidal wave, swallowing everything. His thoughts vanished. His feelings vaporized. The warmth that dared surface disappeared.

Shadows filled his mind, smothering everything but the dark.

Endymion gasped as the onslaught crashed over him, consuming him entirely. Somehow, he was slipping away, everything being crushed under the weight of the dark power. Stone closed in, relentless and all-consuming.

"Endymion." Her voice called to him, pulling him back. Her hand rested against his cheek, a cruel mockery of tenderness. "Do this for me. For us. Embrace your destiny."

He blinked, unsure of what caused this brief hesitation. Slowly, he nodded again, the movement devoid of feeling. Nothing but a hollow vessel remained.

"Yes, I will kill Princess Serenity," he said, the words tasting like ash on his tongue. Each word held a weight, like the ultimate betrayal. That spot twisted painfully behind his ribs.

Beryl smiled, her fingers drifting from his cheek, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. "Good, I knew I could count on you."

She turned, her gown whispering against the icy stone as she moved away; her form dissolving into the shadows until she was no longer visible.

Endymion remained rooted in place, a strange heaviness in his heart, the ache in his chest throbbing in protest. But the shadows held him fast, and the weight of the darkness buried whatever flicker of warmth had surfaced.