Jack stepped away from Celia’s unconscious form, feeling the strange pull of the Psychic Plane settle deeper into his mind. Elyra stood beside him, her normally composed expression marred by a trace of concern. The glade around them shimmered, the soft glow of the grass pulsating in slow, rhythmic waves, as if the world itself was breathing.

“The Realm of Memory is not far,” Elyra said, her voice calm but firm. “But the path through the Realm of Ego is never straightforward.”

Jack frowned. “You’re making it sound more complicated than it needs to be.”

She gave him a knowing look. “You’ll see soon enough.”

They began to walk and as they did so, the world around them shifted. The harmonious chimes in the air grew distorted, like an off-tune instrument struggling to find the right note. The serene glade twisted, its boundaries warping like reflections in rippling water. Jack tensed, gripping his spear, but Elyra raised a hand to still him.

“Do not fight it,” she instructed. “The Realm of Ego manifests the self—expect the unexpected.”

The moment she spoke, Jack felt an odd sensation, as if the air itself had thickened. Then, abruptly, they were somewhere else.

He stood in what looked like a vast, endless hall of mirrors. Infinite reflections of himself stared back, each one subtly different. Some were older, some younger. Some bore scars he didn’t have, others carried weapons he had never wielded. One version of himself stood in elaborate golden armor, a crown perched upon his brow. Another crouched like a beast, his eyes glowing red, his lips curled into a savage snarl.

Jack exhaled sharply. “Alright, that’s unsettling.”

Elyra walked forward, unbothered. “The Ego is a strange thing, constantly shifting between identities. Do not lose yourself here.”

Jack shook his head, pushing forward through the ever-changing reflections. As they walked, the mirrors flickered, displaying different moments—some real, some fabricated. He saw himself laughing with Cael and Lyla by a campfire, then suddenly the image twisted to show himself alone, standing over their graves. He saw Goldeyes fighting at his side, before being ripped apart by an indistinct figure. He clenched his jaw and moved on, refusing to linger.

The hall of mirrors cracked apart without warning, giving way to an open sky filled with floating islands, each connected by winding, shifting bridges made of nothing but threads of thought. The islands pulsed with shifting memories, surreal landscapes forming and dissolving with every step they took. One island held a colossal version of Jack’s childhood home, distorted in exaggerated proportions, while another featured an endless battlefield where shadows clashed without ever truly striking one another.

“We must not be distracted,” Elyra reminded him. “The Ego feeds on introspection. It will try to pull you in.”

Jack grunted in acknowledgment, keeping his focus forward as they moved across one of the narrow bridges. The moment his foot touched the next island, the ground beneath him pulsed, and suddenly, he wasn’t himself.

No, he was… someone else.

Memories that weren’t his flooded his mind. He was a noble, garbed in fine silks, addressing a court of faceless figures who whispered his name with reverence. He was a warrior, leading an army into a hopeless battle, his heart burning with purpose. He was a beggar on the streets, ignored by all, hunger gnawing at his ribs.

He staggered, clutching his head. “What the—?”

Elyra’s hand touched his shoulder, grounding him. “This is the Ego’s trick. It tests the boundaries of identity. Do not let it consume you.”

Gritting his teeth, Jack forced the foreign memories aside, feeling them slip away like sand through his fingers. He refocused, exhaling heavily. “I’m starting to hate this place.”

She merely gave him a knowing smile. “You are handling it better than most.”

They pressed on, navigating through landscapes that defied logic—a sea where the waves were made of whispered voices, a towering maze where the walls shifted based on unspoken doubts. At one point, Jack found himself face to face with another version of himself, this one looking older, weary but wise.

“Turn back,” his older self warned. “The answers you seek may not be worth the price.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “I don’t have time for riddles.”

His reflection merely sighed, stepping aside to reveal a shimmering doorway.

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Beyond the doorway, the world shifted again.

A weightless sensation gripped Jack’s body as he stepped through, and for a fleeting moment, he felt as if he were falling—not downward, but inward. The space around him blurred, stretching into infinity before snapping back into focus. He landed on solid ground, but the terrain beneath his feet was anything but ordinary.

The earth was woven from threads of light, each strand pulsing with a rhythm that resonated deep in his bones. Above, the sky rippled like the surface of a pond, images forming and dissolving within its depths—scenes of people he didn’t recognize, places he had never been. Yet, somehow, they all felt familiar.

He took a slow breath, steadying himself against the disorienting effect of this new place. “Where are we now?”

Elyra stepped forward, her gaze scanning the horizon. “We are still in the Realm of Ego, but we have reached its threshold. Beyond this point, we cross into the Realm of Memory.”

A path unfolded before them, constructed from shifting fragments of mirrors, each one reflecting Jack and Elyra from impossible angles. Some mirrors showed him as he was, others as a child, and still others twisted his image into something monstrous, unrecognizable.

His gaze lingered on one reflection—a version of himself clad in armor blackened with soot, his spear cracked, his expression devoid of warmth. He forced himself to look away.

As they walked, Jack’s curiosity grew. “You said the Psychic Plane is divided into subrealms. How many are there?”

Elyra’s voice carried an almost reverent tone.

“There are five known subrealms, each governing a different aspect of the mind. Ego, where we began, is the realm of self-perception. It molds itself around the identities of those who pass through it, confronting them with their truths and illusions.”

Jack scoffed, glancing at another fractured version of himself reflected in a shifting mirror shard. “Yeah, I noticed.”

She continued, unbothered by his skepticism. “Memory, the place we seek, holds the echoes of all who have lived and all they have experienced. Those who dwell there have the ability to retrieve and interpret the past, but it is a dangerous place for those who do not belong.”

Jack frowned. “Dangerous how?”

“The past is not always kind. Memories, if left unchecked, can consume the mind. Become trapped there for too long, and you risk forgetting who you are.”

A chill crept down his spine, but he gestured for her to go on. “And the others?”

“The third is the Realm of Thought, where ideas and knowledge take form. Scholars, visionaries, and those seeking enlightenment often find themselves drawn to it, though its labyrinthine nature makes it perilous to navigate.”

Jack nodded, filing the information away. “And the fourth?”

“Dream,” Elyra said softly. “A realm of boundless imagination. It is where the subconscious roams free, where possibilities exist without limits. For some, it is a place of wonder; for others, it is a prison of endless delusions. Nightmares dwell there, and they are some of the most dangerous entities on this Plane.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. “And the last?”

A shadow flickered across her expression. “The Abyss. Few venture there willingly, and fewer still return.”

Something in her tone made him decide not to press further. Instead, he focused on the path ahead.

The mirrored walkway began to narrow, the reflections growing distorted. Faces stretched and blurred, eyes multiplying, mouths moving without sound. The air grew thick, charged with unseen energy. Every step forward felt heavier, as though the very space around them resisted their passage.

A few moments later, Elyra came to an abrupt halt.

“We are at the boundary.”

Before them stood a vast archway carved from an ever-shifting substance—neither stone nor metal, but something that seemed to be in a constant state of becoming. Symbols etched across its surface pulsed with dim light, shifting between languages Jack recognized and others that defied comprehension.

Beyond the archway, the air shimmered like the surface of a disturbed lake, obscuring what lay ahead.

Jack exhaled. “No turning back now.”

Elyra gave him a measured look. “Once we step through, we are at the mercy of Memory.”

He squared his shoulders. “Then let’s get this over with.”

Together, they stepped through the archway.

The moment they crossed the threshold, reality fractured.

A flood of sensations crashed into Jack’s mind—sights, sounds, emotions not his own. He staggered under the weight of them, struggling to separate himself from the onslaught of foreign recollections. Voices whispered, some urgent, some sorrowful, others mere echoes of forgotten lives. Images flickered in and out of focus—an elven child laughing, a warrior falling in battle, a mother weeping over an empty cradle.

He felt a measure of relief when Elyra steady him, her presence anchoring him against the storm. “Do not fight it,” she instructed. “Let Memory guide you.”

He grit his teeth but forced himself to breathe, to let the flood pass over him rather than resist it. Slowly, the torrent eased, resolving into something more manageable. The world around them settled into focus.

They stood within a vast library, though it bore little resemblance to any library Jack had ever seen. The shelves stretched endlessly into the distance, spiraling in impossible directions. Some hovered midair, their books suspended in the void. Others curled like the inside of a shell, their corridors twisting upon themselves. The books themselves were not mere paper and ink—some were crystalline, glowing softly, while others pulsed as though alive.

Elyra swept her gaze across the expanse. “We have arrived.”

Jack let out a slow breath. “And this is the Realm of Memory.”

She nodded. “This is where the past is kept.”

A new voice interrupted them—one smooth as silk, laced with knowing amusement. “And where those who seek the past must pay its price.”

Jack turned toward the source, his hand instinctively tightening around his spear. A figure emerged from the shifting corridors of shelves, their presence exuding an aura of undeniable authority.

A woman draped in robes woven from strands of silver and deep blue approached. Symbols like those on the archway traced along her skin, shifting with each movement as though alive. The truly odd thing about her, the thing that made Jack reflexively take a step back, was the fact that she had no eyes, just smooth skin where her eye sockets should be. It was quite possibly the creepiest thing he had ever seen.

Elyra inclined her head slightly, a gesture of respect. “We are here for answers, Vishura.”

The woman gave a cold smile. “Then you have come to the right place, old friend.”