Beyond the Chamber of Sacrifice, a narrow hallway stretched into darkness. At its end, a circular room opened, its walls gleaming like liquid silver. In the center stood a towering mirror, flawless and unbroken, reflecting not only their forms but something deeper.
The Keeper's voice returned, echoing faintly:
"Power without truth is a shadow. To ascend, you must face what lies within yourselves."
Rafael frowned, stepping closer. "It's just a mirror."
But as his reflection shifted, his breath caught—he saw himself not as a warrior, but as a beast drenched in blood, eyes wild with rage.
"No…" He staggered back, claws trembling.
Allara's reflection changed too: not a proud dragon, but a child, abandoned and afraid, flames sputtering weakly in her hands. She pressed a hand to the mirror, tears burning her eyes.
And then Prava approached. Her reflection was not warped or monstrous. Instead, she saw herself surrounded by darkness, holding the Heart Key—but behind her stood countless shadows whispering: You are not enough. You are human. You are weak.
The words pierced her chest. For a moment, doubt nearly shattered her.
But she gripped the Key tighter, whispering through clenched teeth:
"I may be human. I may be weak. But I am not alone. And that… is my truth."
The shadows dissolved. Her reflection straightened—strong, unbroken, with light blazing in her eyes.
The mirror glowed, shattering into fragments that swirled into a radiant doorway.
The trial was passed. Not by strength, nor by sacrifice—but by truth.