Kael found himself in a place that both was and was not the Hall of Breath. The walls were still circular, but they extended infinitely upwards, dissolving into a greyish haze. The air, previously vibrant with energy, was now a dense silence, broken only by distant echoes, fragments of sounds he couldn't identify.
It was The Veil of Distraction.
The assault came in the form of a chorus of whispers, subtle and insidious. Initially, they were like background white noise, then they became clearer, more personalized, directed right at him.
"You need to wake up, Kael... Borin needs you at the shop..." "Elara... it was your fault you didn't protect her..." "You're not strong enough... you'll never make it against the Ash..." "Why did Anya have to sacrifice herself for you? Are you worthy of so much?"
Every whisper was a hook, a painful lure trying to grasp his mind. He saw images floating in the haze: Borin's tired face, a shadow of Elara slipping away from him, Anya's trembling hand. These were thoughts that flashed through his mind while awake, fears and guilt he had tried to suppress. Here, in the Veil, they were amplified, made almost tangible.
Kael tried to block them, to create a mental wall, but the whispers intensified, turning into a deafening chorus. The infinite hall seemed to shrink around him, the grey of the haze growing darker. His concentration wavered, his mind divided between fighting and succumbing to the temptation to give in to those familiar voices.
He remembered the words of Master Elian: "It's not about blocking... but recognizing, accepting, and then letting them go." Letting them go.
Kael closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to find the center of his being. But the Veil of Distraction was more subtle than he had imagined.
As soon as Kael tried to concentrate, one of the "distractions" changed, presenting itself as a solution. A voice, similar to Anya's but clearer and more reassuring, whispered to him:
"Why don't you face each whisper one at a time, Kael? Answer each one. Prove to them that they have no power."
Kael took the bait. "Borin is not alone; he has other helpers," he said aloud, trying to reject the whisper. But as soon as he replied, another whisper, this time about the image of Elara, grew stronger, demanding explanations, details. By trying to "solve" a distraction, his mind clung to it, unintentionally feeding it. Every attempt to clarify or argue with the whispers only bound him more tightly to the distraction itself.
It was a trap for his logical mind: the attempt to solve the distraction was, in itself, the ultimate distraction.
The haze thickened, and the voices returned to a disharmonious chorus. Kael felt like a spider caught in its own web; every movement to free himself entangled him further. His breathing became labored.
He began to see other details appearing and disappearing at the edges of his vision: a pile of tools he had promised to fix, a forgotten note for a client, even the memory of an unwashed dish. They were not threats, but small, insignificant daily details that, in the context of the Veil, were suffocating him with their irrelevance.
They were small mental burdens, magnified out of proportion.
There was no clear path to follow, only a labyrinth of thoughts that twisted and resurfaced. Every time he felt he had pushed a thought away, another, or the same one, returned with a different, more pressing, more convincing nuance.
Frustration grew, an emotion he knew was itself a distraction, but from which he could not break free.
The Veil was not a test of brute force, but of mental control, a trial of resistance to the chaos his own mind could generate. Kael was stuck, trapped in a cycle of attempts and failures, and the Veil, without a word, was draining his life energy.
In a flash of despair, Kael had an insight. What if the solution was to do nothing? Not fight the whispers, not answer, not even actively try to let them go.
Simply, to be.
He stopped fighting the current. He let go, not to the vortex, but to a forced stillness. He closed his eyes again and focused on his breath, actively ignoring every stimulus.
The whispers grew weaker, the haze thinned slightly, and the oppression eased.
Kael felt a glimmer of hope, an ephemeral breath of relief. He thought he had found the key: absolute indifference. It was a temporary solution, a truce, but it allowed him to catch his breath. The infinite Hall even seemed to brighten a little, welcoming his moment of peace. Kael believed he had understood the Veil, that he had found a way out.
A new series of voices emerged from the deep, no longer individual whispers, but a single, harmonious melody, strangely captivating. The voices did not speak of guilt or fear, but of possibility.
They showed him visions of an ideal future: Aris completely purified, Elara alive and smiling next to him, he himself a powerful and admired Keeper, acclaimed by everyone. The images were so vivid, so desirable, that his mind clung to them greedily.
The relief turned into bliss.
This was not an attack, but a caress. There was no pain, only pleasure. And this was the danger. Every detail of these visions was an invitation to stay, to lose himself in that perfection.
His mind, starved for peace, was sinking deeper and deeper into this idyllic scenario, forgetting the Veil, his mission, even his training. It was the greatest distraction of all: the distraction of desire, a dream within a dream, a solution that was, in reality, a prison, an even deeper trap.
Kael was lost. There were no chaotic whispers, no pressing fears; only a suffocating bliss.
He floated in a dream within a dream, an illusion so vivid and fulfilling that it rendered the reality of his dream training a distant echo, a negligible annoyance. He saw Elara laughing, her small hand clasped in his, without a shadow of regret.
Aris was a prosperous village, its inhabitants vigorous and smiling, the houses new and robust, with no trace of the Ash sickness. He himself was there, strong, celebrated, a beacon of hope who had saved everyone.
Every repressed desire, every regret, had been transformed into a sweet, intoxicating dream reality. The deeper he sank, the more solid the illusion became, trapping him.
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