Falling had begun to feel like waking up. Like his body remembered gravity wrong.
Joe landed with surprising ease, feet crunching onto a floor of mirror-like obsidian. The space around him pulsed—not with light, but with thought. It was a massive chamber, spherical and endless, lined with thousands of floating fragments—each one a shard of memory.
In the center stood a pedestal surrounded by seven objects: a cracked mirror, a rusted crown, a sealed scroll, a blade of frozen glass, a black feather, a vial of blood-red liquid, and a broken chain.
The Warden waited, silent as always.
"This is the Vault," it said. "Your mind, drawn out. Echoes of choice. Traps of truth."
Joe's gaze fixed on the mirror.
It called to him.
He stepped forward, hand hovering above the cracked glass. His reflection shimmered—his face, older, colder, eyes like broken stars. He looked powerful. He looked alone.
"This is who I could become," Joe said.
"Should you choose pain over connection. Power over mercy."
He touched the glass.
It shattered.
A scream erupted in his mind. He staggered backward as a thousand voices clawed at his sanity. Moments of shame. Rage. Regret. He saw his sister's face. Her smile. Her betrayal. His cowardice.
He dropped to his knees.
The third eye opened.
The pain vanished. Clarity remained.
Joe stood slowly. The mirror was gone.
"I won't be that," he said. "Whatever it takes."
"You already are," the Warden replied. "But now, you are also more."
The objects around the pedestal vanished, one by one, as the room darkened.
The floor split.
One step.
One choice.
Another descent began.
End of Chapter 3.