The road didn't end. But, for the first time, it didn't feel like a sentence — it felt like a choice. And, more than that, a promise.
Since we left behind the valley of shattered mirrors, the world had subtly changed. Not with fanfare or blazing portals, but with small signs: moss growing in perfect spirals, the song of birds that didn't exist on any map, the way the wind seemed to move around our steps instead of pushing us back.
"Did you hear that?" asked Elara, stopping suddenly.
"What?", I asked. "Besides the sound of my stomach begging for a decent piece of bread?"
She ignored me. "The silence. It's… different."
Vespera closed her eyes for a moment, her bow resting on her shoulder. "It's not empty. It's full. Like it's holding its breath."
Liriel, floating lightly above the ground, watched the spider medallion stored in my backpack. It no longer pulsed. It rested, as if it were sleeping. "Malrik isn't teasing us," she said in a low voice. "He's waiting for us."
We continued forward. The forest around us was dense, but not oppressive. Tall trees formed a canopy that filtered the sunlight into golden rays, as if the path itself were blessing us.
It was at dusk when we found it.
In the middle of the road, there was a well. Not old, not abandoned. It was clean, with a new rope and a polished wooden bucket. Around it, wildflowers grew in perfect circles, as if they had been planted on purpose.
"This is… weird," said Vespera, suspicious. "No place like this stays intact by accident."
"Maybe someone took care of it," suggested Elara, kneeling to touch the earth. "There's magic here. But not aggressive. It's… protective."
Liriel approached, her eyes sharp. "It's not common magic. It's memory magic. Someone left this well as a marker."
I approached and pulled the bucket up. The water that rose was clear, clean, almost silver. When I touched it, I felt a soft cold, not unpleasant. And, for a moment, I heard a whisper — not in words, but in feelings: hope, pain, choice.
"It's a well of truths," said Liriel, recognizing it. "It doesn't show what you are. It shows what you chose to be."
Vespera frowned. "And what if I don't want to see?"
"Then don't look," answered Liriel. "But if you do… don't lie to yourself."
We fell silent for a moment. Even the wind stopped.
Elara was the first to step forward. She knelt before the bucket and looked into the water. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then the surface rippled, and she saw — not her reflection, but a scene: herself standing before a broken mirror, holding the shards with bleeding hands. But instead of crying, she smiled. "Even broken," she told herself, "I can still reflect light."
She looked up, eyes wet but steady. "I don't need to be perfect to be useful."
Vespera took a deep breath and knelt beside her. She looked. The water showed an empty tavern, her telling a story to empty chairs. But little by little, the chairs filled — not with strangers, but with familiar faces: Elara laughing, Liriel rolling her eyes, me trying not to look embarrassed. "I don't need applause," she murmured. "Just those who listen."
Finally, it was my turn.
I knelt. The water was calm. Then it trembled. I saw myself back in the world from before — alone, invisible, nameless. But instead of staying there, I reached out my hand. And on the other side, three figures pulled me: Elara with her grimoire, Vespera with her bow, Liriel with her wine cup. "You're not alone anymore," they said, without words, only presence.
I stood up, my heart tight. "I don't deserve this."
"No one deserves to be saved," said Liriel softly. "But everyone deserves the chance to choose to save others."
Then the well shone.
Not with light, but with sound. A soft, nearly forgotten melody — the same one we heard in the Garden of Worlds. The flowers around it bloomed all at once, and the air grew lighter, as if something had been freed.
"The well wasn't a trap," said Elara, understanding. "It was a test. And we passed."
"Or maybe," corrected Liriel, "we were approved simply for not trying to pass the test. Just for being here."
We camped right there, around the well. Vespera prepared a stew with roots that, miraculously, weren't poisonous. Elara lit a fire with a snap of her fingers — without fainting. Liriel sat by the water's edge, her feet almost touching the surface.
"Are you okay?" I asked, sitting beside her.
"I'm… light," she answered. "Like I let go of something I'd been carrying for a long time."
"And what was it?"
Here is the translation, keeping the content exactly the same:
"The fear that, deep down, I didn't deserve to be here."
"You do," I said simply.
She didn't answer. She just rested her head lightly on my shoulder — a gesture so human, so fragile, that I almost forgot she had once been a goddess.
Later, while the others slept, I stayed awake, watching the stars. Liriel's necklace pulsed softly against my chest. The child's mirror, in my backpack, reflected the moonlight.
I picked it up carefully. This time, it didn't show the past or the future. It showed the present: the four of us around the campfire, laughing at something silly, with worn-out clothes and tired eyes, but at peace.
And despite everything — the debts, the disasters, the transparent clothes — there was something there that no mirror could corrupt: belonging.
The next morning, we left early. The sun rose behind the trees, tinting the path in gold. The road continued, but it no longer scared us.
Because we knew that no matter what Malrik showed us, no matter how many mirrors tried to divide us… the most important truth wasn't out there.
It was between us.
And as we walked, the wind brought the sound of something rare: the song of a bird that no longer existed.
Maybe, I thought, some truths weren't lost. Just waiting for someone brave enough to hear them again.
And for the first time, I didn't feel like we were walking toward an end.
It felt like we were walking home.