As Cynthia began to walk the long path toward the well, the blazing desert wind lashing at her skin like a whip, she began to talk to herself—an old habit meant to distract her from pain, from fear, from the maddening silence.
"I wonder how long it's been since this test began…" she muttered, wiping sweat from her brow. Her lips were parched, her breathing shallow. Each inhale tasted like dust and heat.
"It should've already been a few hours... but I don't even think any students are getting close to the end," she continued, voice dry and raspy, nearly lost to the howling wind.
She squinted up at the sky, hoping for any sign of time passing—stars, a sun shift, a shadow moving. Nothing. Just that cruel magical sun above, unmoving, radiating the kind of heat that scorched even thought.
"Will the professor continue even if it reaches night…?" she murmured.
Then, her brows furrowed as something clicked in the back of her mind.
