The road didn't end. It never ended. But, for the first time, it didn't feel like it was dragging us—it felt like it was walking beside us.
Ever since we left the Well of Truths and followed Malrik's letter, the air had changed. It was no longer dense with expectation, but light with purpose. Even the leaves seemed to fall more carefully, as if they knew we were close to something that couldn't be rushed.
"You're walking differently," Vespera said, without looking at me. Her bow rested on her back, but her hands were calm—rare for her, who lived in constant motion.
"It's just because I stopped expecting the ground to open a portal with every step."
"Liar," she replied, a half-smile on her lips. "You're quieter. Less scared."
I didn't deny it. It was true. Since the Garden of Worlds and the encounter with Veridiana, something had settled inside me. It wasn't courage, exactly. It was the certainty that, no matter what came, I wouldn't be alone.
Elara walked ahead, her fingers brushing the low leaves with a new curiosity. "The magic here is… quiet. Not like it's sleeping, but like it's listening."
"Or waiting for someone to arrive," Liriel added, floating just above the ground, her feet nearly touching the moss without leaving a trace.
She no longer wore the spider medallion. I had it stored in my backpack, wrapped in thick cloth. The necklace that once bound her to the mortal plane—now around her neck—glowed with a soft, steady light, as if responding to something ahead.
Then we saw it.
In the middle of the road, there was a bridge. Not of ancient stone, nor of rotting wood. It was made of broken mirrors glued together, as if someone had tried to rebuild a path from shattered reflections. On the other side, the mist moved as if it breathed.
"This isn't on any map," Vespera said, observing the abyss below. "Not on the stolen ones, not on the fake ones."
"Because it's not a place," Liriel explained. "It's a threshold."
We stopped at the entrance of the bridge. The air was colder there, denser. Liriel's necklace pulsed—not with fear, but with recognition.
"Anyone want to turn back?" I asked, looking at them.
"After all this?" Vespera scoffed. "Only if it's to get more wine."
Elara smiled. "I've lost too much to give up now."
Liriel said nothing. She simply stepped forward, crossing the first arch of the bridge.
Nothing happened. No thunder. No portal. Just the sound of our steps echoing on the fragments of glass.
But halfway across, the world changed.
Not violently. Gently. As if we had stepped into a dream we all shared.
The mountains disappeared. The mist faded. We were in a garden.
Not an ordinary garden. It was made of light and memory. Crystal flowers bloomed at our touch. Glass trees whispered ancient stories. And at the center, there was a simple wooden bench where someone—or something—waited for us.
She was a woman. Young, with silver hair and eyes that seemed to contain the entire sky. She wore a simple white dress, but it shone as if woven from stars.
"You came," she said, without surprise.
"Who are you?" I asked, sword still in its sheath but ready.
"I am what remains when all lies are gone." She smiled. "You may call me Veridiana. Or simply… the Path."
Liriel frowned. "You're not a goddess. Not a spirit. You're… something older."
"I am the balance between what was and what can be," Veridiana replied. "And you… you are the first in millennia to reach me without seeking power, revenge, or redemption."
"We just wanted to keep going," Elara said, simply.
Veridiana nodded. "And that is why you are here."
She stood and walked to a tree at the center of the garden. Its fruits weren't apples or pears—they were luminous spheres, each containing a scene: a kiss not given, a word not spoken, a step not taken.
"Choose one," she said. "Not to change the past. To accept it."
Vespera was the first. She chose a sphere where she saw herself, alone, in an empty tavern, telling stories to empty chairs. She touched the sphere. It dissolved into light. "I don't need them to listen," she said, her voice firm. "I just need to keep telling."
Elara chose one where she saw herself failing a spell, falling, being mocked. She touched it. The light surrounded her. "My weakness doesn't define me," she murmured. "My persistence does."
Liriel hesitated. Then, she chose one where she saw Azeron, not as an enemy, but as someone who once loved her — and whom she also loved, before power corrupted everything. She touched the sphere. Silent tears fell. "Forgiveness isn't forgetting," she said. "It's choosing to move forward."
Finally, it was my turn.
I chose a sphere where I was back in my old world, alone, invisible. I touched it. The light wrapped around me, warm and comforting. "I wasn't brought here by accident," I said. "I was brought because someone believed I could belong."
Veridiana smiled. "You no longer need to prove anything. The path has already chosen you back."
The garden began to fade, not like a dream ending, but like a promise fulfilled.
When we returned to the bridge, the valley was different. The mist had cleared. The sun, now visible, painted the ground in gold.
"What happened?" I asked.
"You remembered who you are," Liriel replied, looking at the horizon. "And that was enough."
We continued forward. The road went on, but it no longer frightened 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, Liriel's necklace glowed softly against her chest — not as a warning, but as a reminder.
That even in a world full of lies, it was still possible to choose what was real.
And, for the first time, that wasn't just enough.