The arch released them into silence.
The air within was different—dense, alive, as though every breath drew in centuries of forgotten voices.
They stood inside a vast cavern hidden beneath the forest, where roots as thick as towers reached down from unseen heights, pulsing with light. Streams of silver flowed between the roots, weaving patterns across the ground like veins of a living heart.
Prava felt her chest tighten. Each pulse of light mirrored her own heartbeat, pulling her deeper into its rhythm.
"This place…" she whispered, unable to hide the tremor in her voice. "It feels… alive."
Allara's gaze swept over the roots, her expression solemn.
"It is alive. These roots are the memories of the world. Every sorrow, every joy, every choice… they are bound here."
Rafael stepped closer to one of the glowing roots. His reflection appeared within its surface—not of himself now, but of a battlefield, littered with shadows and broken steel. He pulled his hand back sharply, his jaw tightening.
Prava, however, could not look away. One root pulsed brighter than the rest, calling to her. Slowly, she stepped forward, drawn as though her very soul belonged to it.
The moment her hand touched its surface, her vision shattered.
She stood not in the cavern, but in another time—another life.
The air was heavy with smoke. Flames consumed a village, screams echoing through the night.
And in the chaos, she saw the woman from the stream—the same sorrowful eyes, the same silent lips.
This time, the woman spoke:
"Do not forget… who you are meant to be."
The words pierced her, flooding her with emotions she could not name—grief, longing, love, and a guilt that did not feel entirely her own.
"Prava!" Rafael's voice reached her faintly, pulling her back. She gasped, stumbling into his arms, trembling as if she had awoken from a nightmare.
"What did you see?" His tone was firm, but his hand gentled at her back.
Prava's lips quivered. "…Her. Again. She was there. And she spoke this time."
Allara approached, her eyes sharp but filled with quiet understanding.
"The roots reveal not only what has been, but what must be remembered. That woman… she is bound to you, Prava. Through the threads of fate."
Prava's hands clenched. Her heart was a storm—fear, confusion, and a fragile spark of determination.
"I don't understand… but I feel… I must find her. Or I will lose something I can't afford to lose."
The cavern trembled as if answering her words. The silver streams flared with light, rushing toward the heart of the roots, where a path of stone emerged, glowing faintly.
Rafael exchanged a glance with Allara, then back to Prava.
"Then that's where we go. Together."
Prava looked into their eyes—saw their trust, their unwavering bond.
And though her hands still shook, she nodded.
With the roots of memory whispering around them, the three stepped onto the glowing path.
And the forest, as though recognizing their resolve, opened its way deeper into destiny.