The chamber breathed.
Not air—but memory, pressure, intent.
Violet light from the unstable portal rippled across the stone walls, clashing violently with the emerald glow rising from the obsidian mirror embedded beneath the shattered floor. The two lights fought like rival truths, neither willing to yield, twisting shadows into jagged shapes that crawled along the ceiling.
Kaelan was on his knees.
Not in surrender—but in survival.
His hands trembled, fingers digging into fractured stone as something inside him screamed to be released. The fragment of the Devourer pulsed beneath his skin, not loud, not frantic—worse. It whispered.
You are already mine.
His breath hitched, chest tightening as foreign hunger bled into his thoughts. Power without limits. Fire that would burn worlds clean. No more doubt. No more restraint.
A hand gripped his shoulder.
Warm. Steady.
"Elara…" His voice cracked before he meant it to.
She knelt beside him, her silver-lined cloak pooling against the ruined floor. The Whispering Star amulet at her throat glowed faintly, its light soft but stubborn, like a candle refusing to die in a storm. One hand remained on Kaelan, grounding him. The other clenched his sword—its golden edge trembling as it pushed back the emerald reflection bleeding from the mirror.
Her eyes searched his face, panic carefully leashed behind resolve.
Don't you dare leave me, she thought, even as she said nothing.
Lord Gareth stood several steps away, staff braced against the ground. His gaze cut through the chaos with unsettling clarity, sharp as it was weary. He wasn't looking at the portal. He wasn't watching the mirror.
He was watching Kaelan.
"The choice isn't the portal," Gareth said at last, voice echoing through the chamber with sudden authority. "Not directly."
Kaelan sucked in a breath, sweat cooling against his spine.
"The figure you saw beyond the veil—the one calling from Aethel—it is a projection. A decoy shaped by the Devourer's influence. It offers salvation because it knows you want redemption."
Kaelan's jaw clenched.
"The true path," Gareth continued, stepping closer, "lies within you. The mirror does not show escape. It shows distortion. And buried inside that distortion is the only flame capable of cleansing what's taken root."
Elara's grip tightened on the sword.
"The Cleansing Flame," she whispered. "Then why does everything about this feel… wrong?"
"Because corruption always disguises itself as a shortcut," Gareth replied.
Kaelan swallowed hard. Images burned behind his eyes—visions forced into him moments ago.
"There was a path," he rasped. "Faster. The mirror showed it clearly. A chalice filled with shadow-fire. It said the Flame could be taken, not earned."
His hands curled into fists.
"It felt… easy."
Silence followed.
Elara looked at him then—not with fear, but something sharper. Pain edged with understanding.
"That wasn't the Flame," she said softly. "That was consumption."
The emerald glow flared as if in protest.
"The Devourer doesn't want you purified," Elara continued, lifting the sword slightly as its gold light surged. "It wants you hollowed. A vessel that burns everything it touches while believing it's saving the world."
Gareth inclined his head. "Exactly. The mirror is a conduit—but reflection is dangerous. Truth bends easily when viewed through desire."
He turned his gaze to Kaelan, unflinching.
"The chalice is an illusion of mercy. Power without sacrifice. Cleansing without consequence. And if you drink from it, you won't destroy the Devourer."
Kaelan's throat tightened.
"You'll become it."
The words landed heavy.
"So the portal to Aethel…" Kaelan started, eyes flicking to the shimmering violet gateway still humming behind them.
"…is bait," Gareth finished. "A spectacle designed to draw your focus outward instead of inward. Aethel exists, yes—but this version? This invitation?" He shook his head. "A lie meant to feed the fragment already clawing inside you."
Elara's amulet pulsed brighter.
Gareth noticed.
"The Whispering Star isn't responding to the portal," he said, eyes narrowing with something close to reverence. "It's responding to what lies beneath us."
The fractured floor groaned, cracks widening as if answering his words.
"The Crucible of Echoes," Gareth said. "Where Havenwood's past bleeds into the present. Where truth resists corruption."
Elara stared at the fissure opening below the mirror. Cold air breathed upward, carrying earth, metal, and something older.
"My family guarded this," she murmured. "Didn't they?"
"The Watchers always knew the Devourer wouldn't be defeated by force," Gareth replied. "Only by understanding."
Kaelan forced himself to stand, legs unsteady.
"So what," he said bitterly, "I ignore the portal and throw myself into the dark instead?"
"No," Gareth said. "You look."
Kaelan turned back to the obsidian mirror.
His reflection stared at him—emerald-eyed, hollow-cheeked, hand outstretched toward the floating chalice of darkness. It was him. And it wasn't.
That could be me, he realized.
Elara's fingers brushed his wrist.
You are not alone, her silence said.
Kaelan closed his eyes.
He focused on her warmth. On the soft pulse of the Whispering Star. On the golden burn of the Sunstone he once wielded—the power that had never demanded surrender, only balance.
When he opened his eyes again, the emerald glow had dimmed.
Not gone.
Muted.
He looked deeper.
Past the surface reflection.
And there—threaded through shadow—he saw it. Patterns. Echoes. Light and darkness braided together, not fighting, but coexisting.
"It's a riddle," Kaelan said slowly. "The Devourer doesn't create. It consumes… and mimics."
Gareth smiled faintly.
"The Serpent's Veil," Kaelan continued, voice steadier now. "It doesn't just hide—it recycles. It turns fragments into false wholes. The mirror shows what was taken… but also where it came from."
Elara's breath caught as the mirror shifted.
Images surfaced—not lies, not projections.
Memories.
A hooded Watcher standing against a storm-lit sky.
A ritual beneath twin moons, voices raised in harmony.
A battle fought with song instead of steel.
"These are real," Elara whispered. "They're echoes."
"The Mirror of Remembrance," Gareth confirmed. "It answers Watcher blood."
The largest image bloomed—a colossal tree crowned in starlight.
"The Tree of Whispers," Gareth said. "The heart of Havenwood. The origin of the Cleansing Flame."
The ground hummed.
The mirror began to sink.
The violet portal flickered—then vanished.
Only the Tree remained, etched into dark glass.
"The Crucible awaits," Gareth said. "But the descent will test more than strength."
The fissure yawned wide.
As they stepped closer, the mirror flashed once more.
Kaelan's corrupted reflection surged back—hand closing around the chalice.
Then—
Something else appeared.
An eye.
Golden.
Unblinking.
Not the Devourer's.
Older.
It stared directly at Elara.
Her amulet screamed.
The whispers rose, a chorus of warning and welcome intertwined.
Kaelan reached for her—
—and the darkness swallowed them whole.