Time had frozen, crystallized on the shore of the Lake of Destiny. The familiar grey shroud spread over all of Illyria was darker, heavier here; as if the sky feared touching the jet-black water, hanging suspended a hand's breadth above it. The silence was like a substance; tangible, hanging in the air, making it hard to breathe, pressing on their eardrums. With every breath Sere drew, she felt it was a betrayal, holding her breath to avoid disturbing this ancient stillness, then forgetting for a moment and taking a deep breath, feeling like she would suffocate in the vacuum created by the absence of sound.
The water stretching before them was less a body of water and more like a wound sliced into the world. It was so flat, so perfectly black, that it reflected the clouds and grey hues of the sky like ghosts of an underworld. This was not a mirror; it was a tomb. And in the distance, at the heart of this watery graveyard, rose the half-submerged tower. Its stones burst from the water like the bones of a giant, covered in centuries of moss, silently watching them.
"It feels like it will never end," Sere whispered, her voice dropping into the heavy silence like a pebble into the water, disappearing.
Without taking his eyes off the tower, Moaito said, "Everything ends," his voice lowered with respect. "Only its mark remains. The mark of this place is carved into the memory of stone and water."
Sere took another step closer to the water. She stood on the very edge and looked down at her reflection. But this wasn't the reflection she saw in the clear waters of a spring. The figure here was a stranger, pale, faint, looking back at her with an indefinable sorrow in its eyes. A shudder ran through her.
"Pure intent..." she murmured, the words seeming to lose their meaning the moment they left her lips. "What does that mean, Moaito? How can I be sure my intent is pure enough? It's... such a big word." A voice inside whispered, "Too big for someone ordinary and cowardly like you."
Moaito finally turned his head. His eyes held a wisdom nested in the depths of oceans. "It is not the innocence of a child," he began, weighing each word. "Nor is it merely goodness. Pure intent is like the purest heat burning at the core of a flame. It is a purpose purified of self, fear, personal ambition, even the slightest dust of doubt. It is the step you take not because you have to, but because your very being commands it. It is an action in harmony with your essence, your deepest truth."
"And me?" Sere's voice grew even smaller before this philosophical weight. "What is in my essence? What is my purpose? To follow you? To save the world? These... these are things told to me, imposed on me. It's as if I'm in a game and someone else wrote the rules. How will I find that 'pure' thing inside me? Maybe it's not even there!" Her confession was the first real, naked sound to pierce the silence on the shore. It was the very essence of her fear.
No judgment or disappointment appeared on Moaito's face. He just looked at her with a deep understanding, as if sharing part of the ancient burden he carried. "It cannot be told to you, Sere. It can only be found. And when you find it, the water will give way. It will test not your faith, but your essence."
He took a deep, seemingly calm breath, and took the first step onto the water.
The moment the sole of his foot touched the surface, the black surface did not form ripples. Instead, a dark, dense vortex swirled inward around his foot. It was as if each step emptied the weight of his past into the water, and the water accepted this weight but made him pay the price for carrying it. His second step was even harder. The muscles in his leg tensed, his breath grew tight. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead in this cold air. The water wasn't drowning him, but with each step, it judged him, scrutinizing the dark corners within him, the secrets he hid, the millennia of regrets. He was moving forward, yes, but each step was a torture, an internal reckoning. The lake found the cracks in his ancient soul and pressed on each one.
Watching him like this, Sere turned back to her own reflection. This time, the figure had become clearer, changed. It was no longer a pale stranger; she saw a little girl trembling with fear in front of her mother's hospital room door, unable to muster the courage to enter. In that moment, she felt that her flight from that door was the cornerstone of every flight, every surrender, every "I can't" in her life. Even following Moaito was an escape—an escape from her own ordinary, pain-filled, responsibility-laden life. Taking refuge in his strong presence was a way to escape the weight of her own decisions.
"I..." she croaked, her throat tight. "I'm not ready for this." She couldn't tear her eyes away from that small, helpless girl in the water. That girl was her essence. The very embodiment of fear.
Moaito, a few steps ahead, struggling to stay on the water, turned. His face was tense, but his voice was surprisingly patient and soft. "Don't wait to feel ready, Sere," he said. "That feeling may never come. Waiting only lets your fear consume you. Just decide. Right or wrong, pure or not. Just decide."
Just then, something rose from the depths of the lake. Not a sound or an image, but a memory itself, a bundle of pure, unrefined emotion. It seized Sere's mind without giving her a chance to resist.
The smell of medicine and disinfectant. White, cold walls. A door. And behind that door, a pale, weak hand. Sere, on the threshold, her feet as if poured in concrete. To go in, to face the reality of that room, that final moment... Impossible. Fear swelled inside her like an avalanche. Not just the fear of death, but something more cruel: the fear of helplessness. The crushing weight of standing there, able to do nothing, only watch. Her heart pounded as if trying to escape her ribcage. And then... her body moved before her mind. She turned. Her feet carried her to the other end of the corridor, away, towards safe solitude. She ran. She fled. From everything.
"No!" Sere's scream shattered the static silence of the lake like glass. She was no longer screaming at her reflection, but at her own past, her own betrayal. Tears of anger and pain, held back for years, streamed from her eyes, evaporating before they could fall into the waterless water below.
"ENOUGH!" she shouted, her voice crashing and echoing over the lake, growing louder. "I ran that day! I was afraid! And that fear... that vile, cowardly fear poisoned every step I took, every thought, every breath! I follow you because I'm running away again! Running from making my own decisions, from taking responsibility for my own life, my own destiny! It's that simple! That vile and simple!"
She was breathless, her chest heaving. She had fallen to her knees, no longer looking at her reflection in the water. She was looking inside, to the place where that little girl still lived. Her fists were clenched, nails digging into her palms.
"But no more," she whispered, her voice now filled with a fierce, steely calm. "That is not my purpose. My purpose... is to conquer my fear. That's all. Nothing else. The only real, the only pure reason I follow you, to be part of this balance, is this. For myself... so that little girl never has to look back again, never has to run with her heart in her throat again, never has to run from herself again!"
As these final words left her lips, something broke inside her. A chain. A shackle. An invisible weight fell from her shoulders. She stood up. Her legs were still trembling, but this time not from weakness, but from the tremor of liberation. She slowly looked at the water.
Her reflection in the water had changed. The little girl was gone. In her place was a woman, the traces of tears on her face not yet dry, but her gaze no longer fleeing, standing straight. A fire burned in her eyes, and on her face was a deep, hard-won peace. She was not fearless, but she had accepted her fear and was walking through it. She had a pure, purified intent: To be herself.
Without hesitation, she took a step.
Her foot touched the water's surface. Unlike Moaito's, the water formed a light, clear, almost joyful ripple and supported her perfectly. She did not sink. There was no weight. Only... acceptance. The second step was even lighter, even more natural. She was simply walking on the water, without expectation of a terrible fall or a great victory. It was as if she had walked on this black surface all her life.
Moaito watched this transformation. With the eyes of a being crushed under a millennia-old burden, he looked at the purity this "ordinary" human had achieved with a moment of courage and raw sincerity. He knew his own path was one of discipline, power, and the painful path of endless perseverance. But this... this was different. This was a heart accepting its own darkness and transforming it into a source of light. The expression on his face filled with astonishment, deep respect, and a silent, echoing admiration. Inside him, perhaps for the first time in centuries, a genuine spark of hope ignited. Perhaps balance needed not a perfect instrument like him, but a perfect moment of an imperfect human like Sere.
Sere took a few steps forward and stopped. She looked back at Moaito, who was still grappling with his own heavy trial. Her eyes no longer held fear or doubt, only a calm invitation.
Moaito took a deep breath. Sere's purity seemed to have touched him too. He walked towards her on the water. This time, his steps were a little lighter, the water's resistance a little less. The shadows of his past were still there, but now there was also a light reminding him he didn't have to carry them. When he reached Sere's side, he looked at her. He was not the usual proud, distant Guardian. He was something more human.
"Shall we go?" Sere asked, her voice as calm and determined as the water's surface.
Moaito simply nodded with a gratitude and a dawning belief he could not put into words.
And in that moment, Moaito understood; that the key to balance might lie not in a millennia-old legacy, an ancient power, or a perfect plan, but in a heart's moment of pure, naked, and heart-rending decision.
Together, they began to walk towards the unknown.