Elara drew a slow, steady breath and stepped closer to the cloaked figure.
The golden mist around them thickened, swirling as though stirred by unseen hands. With every heartbeat, the air grew heavier—thick with the mingled scents of crushed petals and cold iron.
Suddenly, the light fractured again.
Shards of brilliance spun outward, rising into the air until they formed countless mirrors encircling her in every direction.
In one, she saw herself as a child—tear-streaked, clutching a worn doll to her chest.
In another, she was old and frail, her hands trembling as she reached for someone she could not see.
Others showed visions that should not exist—fires raging through cities she'd never walked, blood staining her hands though she had never spilled it.
The chime rang again, its single note lingering in the stillness.
The Keeper's voice broke the silence.
> "In this place, you must face the truth of your own heart. One question… one answer. Choose wrongly, and you will remain here forever."
He stepped forward, the fabric of his cloak whispering against the mirrored floor. Though he did not meet her eyes, it felt as though he was peering directly into her soul.
> "Tell me, Elara… what is it you fear losing most?"
Her throat tightened. The mirrors began to shift, their surfaces rippling like disturbed water.
In the nearest reflection, a hand reached for hers—warm, steady, and achingly familiar—before being pulled away into the darkness.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. She did not know whose hand it was, yet the terror of losing it clawed at her chest with merciless force.
The mist stirred again, closing in. The Keeper's voice came once more, low and unyielding.
> "Answer truthfully… or you will never leave this place."