Cracks split through the fabric of this place, not like broken stone—but like fragmented thought. Inside each crack shimmered flashes of memory. Faces. Voices. Places that felt both alien and painfully familiar.
Sher stepped closer and saw versions of himself—some stronger, some shattered, others… barely formed.
A woman emerged from one of the cracks. Her skin pale, her eyes closed, her hair flowing like silent ink.
— "You're one of the Seven who reached this point," she whispered. "Only one ever made it to the end."
— "The end of what?"
She tilted her head.
"You seek truth. But sometimes what you seek isn't yours—it's someone else's desire.
And not every answer is meant to be understood."
— "Who are you?"
"I used to be you. Before you refused. What you refused… you'll find out later."
She faded like a dream. Sher stood in the silence, unsure whether he had gained knowledge or simply more questions.