The air around Reya was cold, colder than anything she had ever felt. The wind that had been battering them since their approach to the Spire had suddenly stopped, replaced by an eerie stillness. The landscape seemed to melt away, leaving nothing but a vast expanse of white, a frozen wasteland stretching out in all directions. She stood alone, the others nowhere in sight, the Spire itself a distant shadow on the horizon.

Her breath misted in the air, the only sign of life in the otherwise lifeless void.

Reya’s hand instinctively went to the hilt of her sword, her fingers tightening around the familiar leather grip. It was a comfort, a reminder that she was still herself, still grounded in the world of the living. But as she looked around, her heart pounded in her chest. Something was wrong.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

“Reya…”

The voice was faint, barely more than a whisper, but it sent a chill down her spine. She turned sharply, her eyes scanning the emptiness for any sign of movement. There was nothing. Just the endless white.

“Reya…”

The voice came again, closer this time, though still soft, like a breath of wind. It was a voice she hadn’t heard in years, a voice she had long buried in the deepest recesses of her mind.

Her mother.

“No,” Reya whispered, shaking her head as she took a step back. “This isn’t real. You’re not real.”

But the voice persisted, growing louder, more insistent. “Reya…”

Suddenly, the white landscape began to shift, the ground beneath her feet rippling like water. Reya stumbled, her heart racing as the world around her twisted and warped. The horizon blurred, and out of the swirling snow, a figure appeared.

Her mother.

Tall, strong, just as Reya remembered her. Her dark hair flowed in the wind, her armor gleaming with the same battle-worn scars that Reya had admired as a child. But there was something wrong. Her eyes. They were cold, empty, devoid of the fire that had always burned within her.

“You’re not real,” Reya repeated, her voice trembling despite herself.

Her mother said nothing, simply staring at her with those hollow eyes, her presence oppressive and suffocating. Reya could feel the weight of her gaze, the judgment in her silence.

“I’ve done everything I could,” Reya said, her voice rising in frustration. “I’ve fought. I’ve survived. Isn’t that enough?”

Still, her mother said nothing.

The silence was unbearable, and Reya’s anger flared. “What do you want from me?” she shouted, drawing her sword in one swift motion. The blade gleamed in the pale light, its weight familiar and comforting in her hand. “I’m not weak. I’m not!”

Her mother’s eyes flickered, and then, without warning, she drew her own sword. The movement was quick, fluid, the same graceful strike that Reya had seen countless times in her youth. But this time, it wasn’t a lesson. It was a challenge.

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Reya’s heart pounded in her chest as she raised her sword to block the incoming strike. The clash of steel echoed through the frozen wasteland, the force of the blow sending a shockwave through her arms. Her mother was relentless, pressing forward with a series of rapid strikes that left Reya struggling to keep up.

“You’ve always relied on your strength,” her mother’s voice said, cold and distant, as she continued her assault. “But strength alone isn’t enough.”

Reya gritted her teeth, parrying each blow with all the force she could muster. “I’ve survived because of my strength. It’s what’s kept me alive.”

Her mother’s strikes grew faster, more precise, each one pushing Reya further back. “And what will you do when your strength fails you?”

The question cut deeper than any blade. Reya faltered for a moment, her mind racing as doubt began to creep in. What would she do? She had always been the strong one, the fighter, the warrior who never backed down. But what if her strength wasn’t enough? What if it never had been?

Her mother’s blade found an opening, slicing across Reya’s arm with a sharp sting. Reya gasped in pain, stumbling back as blood trickled down her arm, staining the snow beneath her.

“You’ve spent your whole life fighting,” her mother said, her voice cold and emotionless. “But you’ve never understood what you’re truly fighting for.”

Reya’s grip on her sword tightened, her anger flaring again. “I’m fighting for my survival. For my friends. For a world that isn’t ruled by fear.”

Her mother’s eyes bore into her, unblinking. “And yet, you fear yourself.”

Reya’s heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. The truth of the statement hit her like a physical blow, the weight of it almost too much to bear.

Her mother stepped forward, her sword raised once more. “You’re afraid that without your strength, you’re nothing. That without this blade, you have no purpose.”

Reya’s mind raced, her vision blurring as her mother’s words sank in. She had always defined herself by her ability to fight, by her strength. But now, standing here, bleeding in the snow, she realized how fragile that definition was.

Her mother struck again, and this time, Reya was too slow. The blade cut across her chest, sending her to her knees in the snow. The cold seeped into her bones, numbing her body as her sword slipped from her grasp, falling to the ground with a dull thud.

“You’ve built your life around a lie,” her mother said, standing over her, her blade poised for the final strike. “And now, you must face the truth.”

Reya looked up, her vision swimming as she stared into her mother’s hollow eyes. The weight of her words pressed down on her, suffocating her, drowning her in doubt.

Was it true? Had she built her life around a lie?

She had always believed that her strength was what made her who she was. But now, as she knelt in the snow, her blood staining the ground around her, she realized that strength alone wasn’t enough. It never had been.

Her mother raised her sword, preparing to deliver the final blow.

But something inside Reya shifted.

It wasn’t her strength that had kept her alive all these years. It wasn’t her skill with a blade that had brought her this far.

It was her will. Her determination to keep going, no matter what.

Her mother’s sword descended, but this time, Reya was ready. She raised her hand, catching the blade in her palm, the cold steel biting into her skin but not stopping her. With a surge of strength, she pushed herself to her feet, her eyes blazing with determination.

“I’m not afraid,” Reya said, her voice steady and strong. “Not anymore.”

Her mother’s eyes flickered with something—recognition, perhaps, or approval. But then, as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone, dissolving into the swirling snow.

Reya stood alone once more, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts as she looked down at her hand, blood dripping from her palm. Her sword lay at her feet, but she didn’t pick it up. Not yet.

This battle hadn’t been about strength. It had been about facing her deepest fear—her fear of weakness, of losing herself without the blade. And now, as she stood in the silent wasteland, Reya realized that she was more than just a warrior with a sword.

She was Reya. And that was enough.