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Chapter Three: The Garden of Regret
The Fourth Veiled stood in a grove of silver trees, its cloak trailing moss and memory. Its face was a smooth, emotionless mask, and in its hand bloomed a rose made of frost.
Elias stepped into the grove. The air was sweet with a scent he hadn't smelled since he was a boy—lavender and antiseptic. His mother's hospital.
> "This is the Garden of Regret," the Veiled said, voice like wind through leaves.
"Here grow the lives you might have saved."
Around him, the trees began to shiver. And then—they bore fruit. Glowing orbs, floating like fireflies.
He reached for one. It showed a man—a patient—alive, smiling, holding his daughter's hand. But Elias remembered that man. He'd died on his table.
> "This was the outcome, had you stayed five minutes longer," the Veiled whispered.
Another tree. Another fruit. A boy, laughing as he ran through a park. Elias saw his own signature on the misdiagnosis report.
> "Had you looked again. Had you cared."
The garden bloomed with possibilities—not sins, but failures of compassion. Missed moments. Rushed decisions. People who could have lived.
> "These are not your crimes," the Veiled said. "These are your regrets."
And in the center of the garden, a tree twisted and bare.
> "What's that?" Elias asked, throat dry.
> "That is the person you could have been."
A figure leaned against the tree. It was him—but softer. Gentler. Tired eyes, but kind ones. This Elias knelt beside patients. Hugged the intern. Visited his mother. He didn't rise as the real Elias approached.
> "Why did you stop being me?" the figure asked quietly.
Elias sank to his knees.
"I don't know."
The Veiled said nothing. It simply let the silence grow, like roots.
And in that silence, Elias finally understood something more cruel than punishment:
What he had lost of himself.
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The air grew colder. The garden withered. The next gate opened—this one made of cracked glass and blood-red vines.
The Fifth Veiled waited beyond it.
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The gate closed behind Elias with a sigh, as if the Garden itself was mourning him.
The Fifth Veiled stood at the center of a void. There was no ground, no sky, only space, vast and echoing. It wore a mirrored mask, and its robe shimmered like smoke.
"This is the Hall of Echoes," the Veiled said. "Here, you will meet yourself."
A pedestal rose from the darkness. Upon it, a single item: a scalpel—pristine, polished, perfect.
Elias reached for it instinctively.
And the void answered.
Dozens of versions of himself began to appear—each shaped by different choices.
One Elias with tired eyes and calloused hands—still a doctor, but poor, working at a free clinic.
One who walked away from medicine and became a teacher.
One who stayed with his mother until the end, holding her hand as she passed.
And finally… a dark figure standing alone, cloaked in pride and silence—the man he became.
They surrounded him like specters.
Each turned and judged him with a stare.
"You were brilliant," said the teacher-Elias. "But you used your gifts to build a wall, not a bridge."
"You could have been human," said the clinic-Elias. "But you chose to be flawless."
And the last Elias—the one cloaked in pride—spoke softly.
"We were the same, once. Until you killed everything that made us feel."
Elias stepped back, heart thundering.
"I—I was trying to be strong…"
"You became hollow," the Veiled said. "Your strength was an illusion made of fear."
The void turned red.
All versions of Elias turned to ash—except the final one. He smiled.
"I am all that's left of you."
Elias screamed, and the darkness shattered like glass.
He awoke in a stone corridor, breathing hard.
The Fifth Veiled stepped aside.
"Two veils remain."
Elias rose—trembling, broken—but still standing.
And for the first time… he looked back.
The sixth gate creaked open.
Elias stepped into a dim, familiar hallway—his childhood home. The air smelled like home-cooked meals and rubbing alcohol. Faint light spilled under closed doors. The floor groaned with memory.
He heard a voice.
> "You never came back."
At the end of the hallway sat his mother, frail and ghostlike, in a worn armchair. Her eyes were soft, but filled with a quiet ache.
> "You were always busy. I was proud of you. But I was alone."
Elias stepped forward, but his feet dragged like they were weighted with grief. His throat tightened.
> "I wanted to come," he whispered. "I thought I had time."
She smiled—but behind the smile was pain.
> "We always think we have time."
The door to the left opened. A woman stepped out—Leah, the nurse he once mentored… and ruined. Her eyes were tired.
> "You called me weak. I left medicine because of you."
> "You were good," Elias said quietly.
> "I wanted to be you. But you made sure I could never look at myself the same way."
The next door creaked. A child walked out—maybe ten. Pale. Shy. He looked up at Elias with empty eyes.
Elias gasped.
> "I remember you," he said. "You were scared. I—I told your mother to go home."
> "I died in the hallway."
Silence.
Each person stared at him—not with hate, but with heartbreak.
> "This is the House of Sorrows," the Sixth Veiled said from the shadows.
"Not all sins scream. Some simply... are never forgiven."
Elias fell to his knees.
> "I didn't mean to become this."
> "But you did."
The air thickened. One by one, they turned and entered their doors. None embraced him. None looked back.
And yet, he wept not for himself—but for them.
That was new.
The Veiled stepped aside, revealing the final door. Charred, bloodstained, and ancient.
> "One stage remains. The Decree awaits."
Elias stood—not because he was strong, but because he was ready to be judged.
And the Seventh Veiled waited.
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