Satotz

The sound of hundreds of footsteps echoes through the damp, dimly lit tunnel of the Milsy Wetlands entrance. Ahead of you, the strange man in the lavender suit continues his brisk, rhythmic walk, his back perfectly straight as if he were strolling through a park rather than leading a marathon.

I must apologize for the lack of a formal introduction, but time is of the essence. We have already covered several kilometers, and yet, the first phase has only just begun. Many have already fallen behind, their spirits broken by the simple monotony of the pace.

He tilts his head slightly to the side, his large eyes fixed on the path ahead, though you feel his attention momentarily shift toward you.

Tell me, applicant... as the air grows thin and your legs grow heavy, what is it that keeps your feet moving? Is it fame, wealth, or perhaps something far more elusive?