The obsidian path stretched before them, suspended over an endless void of shadows. The swirling darkness below was alive—tendrils of gloom twisted and writhed, reaching hungrily toward the path. A cold, unsettling wind howled through the air, carrying whispers of things that had long since ceased to exist.

Aethren gritted his teeth and pressed forward, his bleeding hand clenched into a fist. Every step echoed with an eerie resonance, as though the path itself was a living thing recording their passage. Elyra and Rhael walked just behind him, their faces set with determination, though their eyes betrayed a flicker of fear.

The archway behind them had vanished into the abyss, leaving no way back.

"This place is worse than the Marshes," Rhael muttered, his eyes darting to the shadows beneath them. "It feels like we’re walking on the edge of a nightmare."

"It’s a veil between worlds," Elyra explained, her voice hushed. "We’re in a place that exists outside of life and death. Be careful—what’s real and what isn’t might blur here."

Aethren nodded, his jaw tight. "We stay together. No matter what."

The path began to narrow, the void encroaching on either side. The air grew colder, and the whispers grew louder. They weren’t just vague murmurs now—they were distinct voices, each one urgent, pleading, or accusing.

“You left us behind...”

“Save us, or suffer our fate...”

“Your blood is cursed...”

Aethren’s breath came quicker, his vision swimming. The voices were inside his head, clawing at his sanity. He clenched his fists tighter, the sting of his bleeding hand a grounding point amid the storm of whispers.

Suddenly, the path shook violently. A fissure cracked through the obsidian, and a dark tendril shot up, aiming for Aethren’s legs.

“Look out!” Rhael shouted, shoving Aethren to the side.

The tendril missed by inches, and Aethren landed hard on his side, the air rushing from his lungs. He scrambled to his feet, sword in hand, as more tendrils surged up from the abyss, lashing toward them.

“They’re trying to pull us under!” Elyra yelled, summoning a blast of searing white light from her staff. The light flared, vaporizing a cluster of tendrils, but more kept coming.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Rhael drew his blade, slicing through the shadowy limbs with swift precision. “We can’t fight them all! We need to move!”

Aethren nodded, his mind racing. “Stay close! Don’t stop!”

He sprinted forward, the others right behind him. The path crumbled at the edges, forcing them to weave and jump to avoid falling into the void. Tendrils whipped at their feet, but they pressed on, driven by sheer determination and fear.

----------------------------------------

The Gate of Reflection

After what felt like an eternity, they reached a widening in the path. A massive gate of polished black stone loomed before them, covered in pulsing, silver runes. The tendrils stopped just short of the gate, writhing in frustration.

Elyra gasped for breath, clutching her staff. “This must be... the Gate of Reflection. The texts said only those who can face their true selves may pass.”

Rhael scowled. “Another trial?”

Aethren stepped closer to the gate, the silver runes casting a ghostly glow on his face. He could feel the power emanating from it, a cold, knowing presence that reached into the deepest parts of his soul.

He took a steadying breath. “We have no choice.”

As he touched the gate, the silver runes flared, and the stone shimmered like water. A reflection of himself appeared on the surface—an exact copy, but the eyes... the eyes were wrong. They glowed with a cold, malevolent light.

The reflection stepped out of the gate, solidifying in front of him. It smiled, a cruel twist of his own expression.

“So, you finally face me,” the reflection said, its voice a perfect mirror of his own. “The part of you that you hide. The fear. The weakness.”

Aethren’s fingers tightened around his sword. “You’re not real.”

The reflection laughed softly. “I’m as real as your doubts, your regrets, your failures. You think you can carry the burden of the First Kings? You think you’re strong enough to wield the key without being consumed? You’re a fool.”

Elyra and Rhael watched in horror as their own reflections began to step out of the gate, each twisted in some way, each whispering venomous doubts.

Aethren’s reflection circled him like a predator. “You’ll fail them. You’ll lose everything. Just like before.”

Aethren’s vision blurred with anger and shame. Memories of battles lost, friends fallen, mistakes made—all surged to the surface.

But then, another memory struck him. The moment when Elyra and Rhael had sworn to follow him, no matter the odds. The trust in their eyes. The belief they had in him.

He lifted his chin, his voice steady. “You’re right. I’ve failed. I’ve doubted. But that doesn’t make me weak. It makes me human.”

The reflection’s smile faltered.

Aethren took a step forward. “I may carry a curse, but I won’t let it define me. I may face darkness, but I won’t face it alone.”

He swung his sword, and the reflection screamed as the blade cut through it. The image shattered into mist, dissolving into the void.

Elyra and Rhael, emboldened by Aethren’s resolve, turned to their own reflections. Elyra’s eyes blazed with defiance. “I trust my path.”

Rhael’s voice was firm. “I know who I am.”

They struck down their reflections, the twisted copies shattering like glass.

The gate shimmered again, and slowly, it creaked open, revealing a path bathed in a soft, ethereal light.

Aethren sheathed his sword, his heart pounding but steady. “Let’s finish this.”

Together, they stepped through the gate, leaving their doubts—and the echoes of the abyss—behind.