The void that had once stretched endlessly before her was changing.
With each step Floren took, the "ground" beneath her feet shifted—no longer simply not there, but now something wrong. What was happening? Floren wondered, but still, she walked.
The light of the lone star dimmed behind her, swallowed by the thickening dark, yet her path grew clearer. Not because there was light ahead, but because something called her forward.
The air—if it could be called that—grew heavy with a soundless hum. And then she saw it.
A door.
It stood in the middle of nothing, tall and narrow, carved from dark wood veined with gold. No hinges. No knob. Symbols shifted across its surface like fish beneath water, never settling, never repeating. And at its center—
Floren squinted. Amirror? No, not quite. It reflected...? It's my reflection, but I look strange... The image it gave back was distorted. A version of herself, maybe, but not one she remembered being. Her eyes were too dark. Her smile too wide.
She stepped closer. The reflection mimicked her—but in that strange delay that hinted at independent thought. This is so...weird...
"Seeker..." came a voice—not the Warden's, but something colder, feminine, almost amused.
Floren didn't flinch this time.
"What is this place?" she asked, her voice firmer than before.
The reflection tilted its head.
"The edge of your soul. The shore of the Sea of The Void. The first threshold. Beyond lies the beginning... or the undoing."
A pause. The mirror rippled.
"Most fall here."
Floren narrowed her eyes. "Then I won't." BecauseI have something to live for.
The reflection smiled wider—too wide—and then crumbled like ash in the wind. The door before her shuddered. A faint click echoed across the void, like the turning of an ancient lock.
Then silence.
And then—
It opened.
Not outward or inward. It opened like a thought unfolding.
Light poured forth—black and gold and violet, colors she knew weren't real but still felt. A wind roared out from the beyond, carrying scents she couldn't name—old parchment, storm-soaked stone, rusted chains and fresh-cut fruit.
And in the distance, behind that veil of strange light, Floren saw something vast—a city of impossible geometry, rising from a sea that boiled with stars. A city? Floren thought.
She stepped through.
The door sealed shut behind her, vanishing with the whisper of turning pages.
The city was alive.
Not in the way cities breathe with the bustle of commerce or the chatter of crowds—but with something deeper, older. The buildings pulsed faintly, like organs dreaming. Spires curved inwards toward unseen centers, and alleyways twisted in on themselves like Möbius strips. Every corner hummed with latent divinity—or madness.
Floren stepped onto a cobbled street. The stones beneath her boots were etched with the same shifting glyphs as the door. She could feel them trying to read her.
She kept walking.
Overhead, constellations swirled in loops impossible under any sane sky. Each star pulsed in a pattern, and as she passed under them, words pressed themselves against her mind—fragments of ancient truths she could not yet hold.
Then the bells rang.
They came from nowhere and everywhere—a sonorous chime, deep and resonant, that rattled her bones. With it, the city stirred. Windows opened in towers that hadn't been there a moment before. From one such window, something leapt.
It landed before her: a creature wrapped in black silk, mask-like face carved from bleached bone, wearing a tattered cloak stitched with blinking eyes. In its hand was a lantern filled with writhing mist. Floren flinched, but did not back away from it.
"First Trial," it rasped.
Floren met its gaze—or where its gaze should have been.
"What trial?"
It raised the lantern. The mist inside swirled faster, then surged outward, wrapping around them both. The world bent.
And they were somewhere else.
A temple. Or maybe a library. Columns rose around her, stretching into a ceiling lost in fog. Tomes floated in the air like slow-moving fish. Candles burned with violet flames, casting no shadows.
Before her stood a pedestal, upon which lay a single book. Holy! But, at this point, I'm not even that surprised anymore. Thought Floren and she let out a small sigh.
The Trial spoke again. "One truth must be read. One lie must be endured. Fail, and be Unwritten."
Floren stepped forward. She could feel the weight of it already—that subtle pressure behind her eyes, like she was being watched not by one thing, but many.
She reached for the book and it opened for her.
Inside, there were only two pages.
On the left, a vision: a scene from her childhood, impossibly clear. Her mother, weeping in a room of broken glass. Words above it read: "This was your fault."
On the right, another vision: herself, older, draped in robes of ink and fire, standing at the head of a congregation of faceless beings. The words read: "This is your destiny."
She realized she had to choose.
Left or right.
One truth. One lie.
But which?
Floren's gaze lingered on the right page.
This... The image bled power: herself, older—eyes ink-black, arms outstretched—robed in swirling sigils and crowned in fire. Below her, a congregation knelt. Their faces were voids, yet they looked upon her with worship. The inscription above pulsed faintly:
This is your destiny.
That... should be the lie. It was impossible!Floren screamed in her mind, but something deep within her—beneath fear, beneath doubt—stirred. Here goes nothing... Floren took a deep breath, reached her hand out, and touched the page.
The book snapped shut with a sound like a gavel striking bone.
Reality distorted. The candles flared, violet tongues writhing upward like serpents. The columns surrounding her bent inward as if listening. The floor cracked—not from damage, but from transformation. Glyphs unfurled beneath her feet, glowing lines forming a spiraled seal.
She remained still. Breathing. Watching. What's... happening?
The Trial creature did not move. But the lantern it held cracked down the middle, spilling its mist into the air—and then into her.
The fog, as dark as the night, pierced her like a spear of smoke. It was coiling into her lungs, her veins, her thoughts. She gasped—but did not scream. Her vision blurred with colors that did not exist.
And then—clarity.
Her shadow twitched.
It writhed independently for a moment, then stretched across the floor, rising against the violet light like ink in water. From it, something reached out—a slender, many-jointed hand made of darkness—and touched her sternum.
Cold burned through her. That hurts! But Floren couldn't speak. She could only endure and watch.
When it withdrew, the shadow stilled. But left behind was a sigil—not carved or inked, but branded into absence. A mark not of color or light, but of void. Anyone looking would see a patch of missing world, shaped like a circle devouring itself.What the...
And she could feel it watching.
"You have chosen the Lie," the Trial rasped, quieter now. "And made it real."
It bowed low.
The air shifted again.
"To walk further, you must be unseen."
It raised both hands, and removed the mask from its face—revealing no face beneath. Only darkness. A suggestion of eyes that watched from behind the veil.
It offered the mask to her.
"A gift. Or a burden. Wear this, and the City will not look too closely."
It waited.