The crows had long since settled, their calls fading into an eerie silence. The pounding of your heart filled the void, each beat a desperate drum against your ribs. The locker was cramped, the air thick with the scent of rust and decay. You barely dared to breathe, pressing yourself against the metal, as if willing yourself to disappear.

Outside, slow, deliberate footsteps echoed through the trial grounds. A sickly sweet hum accompanied them, drifting between playful and menacing. The Trickster was enjoying himself. He always did.

You had heard the others scream. One by one, they had fallen, their struggles reduced to fleeting echoes in the fog. Now, only you remained.

The footsteps stopped.

Silence.

Then—

The locker door swung open, metal screeching against metal. Golden eyes met yours, glinting with amusement. Trickster grinned, his head tilting as if savoring the moment. A low chuckle escaped him, his breath warm against your skin.

"Oh, there you are," he purred, eyes drinking in the fear written across your face. "Were you hoping I wouldn't find you? Tsk, tsk." He clicked his tongue, fingers tightening around one of his gleaming blades. "Hiding only makes the game last longer."

For a moment, he simply stared, letting the tension coil between you.

He was in no rush. He never was. Then, with agonizing slowness, he reached forward, dragging the cold edge of his blade along your jaw, tilting your chin up.

"Let's see..." His voice was honeyed, laced with cruel amusement. "What should I do with you?"