The valley of shattered glass stretched endlessly, reflecting countless versions of myself. Each reflection whispered secrets, fears, and desires I did not dare voice aloud. The fragments pulsed violently, as if warning me: the realm itself was alive, feeding on doubt, greed, and ambition.
"You carry power, mortal," a voice hissed from the mirrors. "Yet how long before you break under it?"
I turned. A figure emerged from the reflections: a woman, tall and graceful, clad in robes woven from shadow and light. Her eyes glimmered like molten silver, her smile both alluring and cruel.
"I am Selvara," she said, voice melodic yet dangerous. "I once served the gods, wielded fragments, walked realms… and I know what you feel. The weight, the temptation, the hunger. I can help you… or I can make you fall."
The fragments pulsed, shadows stretching around my feet, fire warming my veins, water cooling my thoughts. The crystal of clarity flared, warning me that this was not merely an ally or foe—this was a test of my soul itself.
"Why should I trust you?" I asked, gripping the shards.
Selvara laughed softly, stepping closer. "Because I can give you what you desire most: strength without consequence, power without restraint, the ability to claim any fragment you want, bend any realm to your will. All you must do… is take it. Use the fragments freely, abandon restraint, embrace ambition."
A shiver ran through me. Flame burned hotter, urging action. Shadow whispered seduction. Water tempted calm rationality, urging compromise. Clarity's pulse throbbed: see the truth, do not fall.
The valley seemed to close in, reflections twisting into images of failure: Kaelith, mortals who died because of hesitation, allies betrayed by weakness. Every step I had taken, every choice of mercy, seemed to hang over me like a weight.
"Do you yield?" Selvara asked, voice now a hypnotic pull. "Or will you continue your slow, painful path of restraint? You could be a god now, and yet… you hesitate."
I clenched the fragments. I felt the first real cost—the gnawing exhaustion in my limbs, the ache in my mind, the whisper in my soul telling me that I was weak, that I could claim power and avoid suffering. My reflection in the shattered glass seemed to nod, tempting me.
I took a deep breath. "I will not fall," I said firmly, though my voice trembled. "Power without restraint is corruption. I will endure—through wisdom, mercy, and choice."
Selvara's eyes narrowed. The shadows around her surged, forming tendrils that tried to wrap around me, to tempt, to coerce. But I focused the fragments together—flame to burn temptation, water to temper impulse, shadow to see the trap, clarity to pierce the illusion.
The tendrils recoiled, the valley shuddered, and Selvara's smile faltered. "You… may endure today, mortal," she said softly. "But the fragments are not yours alone. They will test you further, and the Shattered Sky will not forgive weakness. Remember me… and remember the taste of temptation."
With a swirl of shadow and light, she vanished into the reflections, leaving me trembling but standing. I sank to my knees, exhausted not just in body, but in spirit. The fragments pulsed gently now, acknowledging survival—but I knew the first true cost had begun: the fragments were altering me, slowly, imperceptibly, as if testing my limits, my morality, and my endurance.
I rose, gripping the shards tightly. Ahead, the next fractured realm shimmered, darker and colder than any before. My body ached, my mind strained, my soul trembled—but I had endured.
I was Eryndor, bearer of the Shattered Sky, mortal and bridge. And the Age of Gods was far from over.
The whispers of temptation had been resisted—but I knew this: the trials ahead would not only challenge my strength—they would challenge the very essence of who I was.