The air above the stone amphitheater was different—heavier than in any place the caravan had passed before. With each step, it felt as though they had entered the belly of the earth itself, where time no longer held its shape and the heart could not remain the same.
Frank stood at the edge, sword raised, while the mist coiled around them like rings of smoke. The whispers that had haunted their minds the night before had not ceased. They had grown clearer, until they became distinct words:
— "Enter… to know which half you are."
They exchanged glances, each of them sensing that the choice was no longer theirs. The road did not ask to be followed—it chose who walked it.
Helena clutched her child tightly, whispering with a shiver:
— "It's as if we're trapped between two worlds… no return behind us, no safety ahead."
Ivan gave a short, nervous laugh, but it died quickly when his eyes caught the largest symbol carved into the amphitheater's wall: a broken sword, its right half glowing with white light, its left half sinking into a suffocating blackness.
---
The Stone Gate
At the center of the amphitheater, a circular fissure yawned open—like a gate—revealing a stone stairway spiraling downward into unfathomable depth. The air rising from it was cold, as though it came from the lungs of an endless grave.
Jorn muttered, voice trembling:
— "This is madness… we're walking straight into the beast's mouth."
But Frank did not falter. He stepped onto the stair, the echo of his boots striking the void: thud… thud… thud.
He turned to the others and said:
— "Stay here, and the shadows will devour you. Follow me, and maybe we'll find the meaning we've been dragged toward."
It was no real choice. One by one, they followed, until the stair swallowed them all.
---
The Passages Below
The stone passages seemed endless. The walls were cracked, etched with twisted carvings—some like screaming faces, others like hands outstretched in supplication. Each time they passed a mark, they felt stone eyes watching.
Ivan muttered, trying to mask his unease:
— "If this was meant as decoration, the sculptor was a sick man indeed."
No one answered. Even mockery no longer eased the weight pressing down on them.
After a long descent, the corridor widened into a vast hall. Rusted chains dangled from the ceiling, some ending in hooks, others in broken stone masks. In the center stood a flat altar-like stone, upon which rested an ancient book, covered in ash.
---
The Book of Shadows
Frank approached cautiously, brushing the ash away from the cover. The script was unlike any letters he had ever seen, yet he read them as though they were his own tongue:
"The Prophecy of the Broken Sword — Part II."
He opened it, and a stench like ancient smoke wafted out. The words on the page seemed alive, shifting as if written anew before his eyes:
"The sword shall not rise again unless its halves are made one. Yet whoever unites them shall be stripped of his heart, become the sword itself, and be broken as it was broken before."
Frank froze, a sharp pain splitting his skull. He recalled the shadow he had glimpsed in the mist—his own likeness, with blackened eyes and a shattered sword. Was that the reflection of the other half?
Jorn grabbed his arm, voice hoarse with fear:
— "Leave the book! It's consuming you!"
But Frank closed it slowly, his gaze still bound to the letters that continued to dance inside his mind.
The First Trial: The Wall of Mirrors
Before them stood a massive stone door, which opened with a mournful creak like a wailing cry. Beyond it stretched a narrow corridor lined with dark mirrors on both sides. The reflections were not their own—they showed different faces: Frank as an old man with a shattered visage, and in another, smiling as he drove his blade into Jorn.
Helena saw in one mirror her child, grown in an instant, only to collapse as a lifeless corpse. She gasped, covering his eyes as if she could shield him from a vision that did not exist.
Ivan struck a mirror with his fist, but it did not shatter. Instead, it laughed—a deep, grotesque version of his own voice.
— "These are not mirrors…" Jorn muttered, stepping back.
— "They are fates," Frank answered as he walked forward with steady steps.
Each pace down the corridor was a trial of the heart more than of the body. At last, the path opened into another chamber.
---
The Circular Hall
Here, everything was dark save for a circle of light in the center. When they entered, voices rose from the unseen shadows:
— "Travelers, half of you will leave, and half of you will perish here. Decide now, or we shall decide for you."
All froze, terror gnawing at them, but Frank raised his voice:
— "We will not choose. We will not let you sow betrayal among us."
A booming laugh shook the chamber, dust raining down from the ceiling. From the shadows emerged four black figures, bodies made of smoke, faces blank except for burning red eyes.
— "The trial begins."
---
The Battle of Shadows
The creatures lunged with speed. Frank's sword pierced one, splitting the smoke—but it reformed instantly. Jorn raised his spear, his hands trembling so badly he nearly dropped it. Ivan grabbed a stone and hurled it at a figure; it passed through its chest, met only with a mocking laugh.
Helena, unarmed, screamed:
— "Stay away from us!"
To their shock, the nearest shadow recoiled for an instant, as if stunned by the force of her voice.
Frank shouted:
— "They do not fear steel… they fear our will!"
And it was true. The more they stood together, the more the shadows faltered. The fight was not of flesh, but of spirit—the creatures sought to break their faith.
At last, the figures shrank and dissolved into smoke. Yet exhaustion clung to them, and the seed of doubt had grown stronger between their eyes.
---
The Unknown Testament
In the center of the hall, a stone slab rose from the ground, etched in letters of blood:
"If you wish to pass, blood must be offered. Not the blood of a child, nor the blood of the innocent… but the blood of one who carries betrayal in their heart, still unspoken."
A deadly silence fell. Their eyes met, each searching the other for signs.
Ivan laughed nervously:
— "Perfect! Now they want us to butcher each other."
Helena cried:
— "No one will touch anyone! It's a trap!"
But Frank remained silent, staring at the slab, then at his companions. He knew the path would not open without blood. The question was not if—but who.
They sat by the stone wall, phantom flames casting a crimson glow across the hall. None spoke, but all thought burned within them. Each one wondered:
Who is the traitor? And who will pay the price?
Frank tightened his grip on his sword, remembering the shadow he had seen in the mirror—his own likeness, smiling as it stabbed Jorn.
He lifted his eyes to the dark ceiling and whispered inwardly:
"If I am half the betrayal… then am I the sacrifice?"
The shadows around them thickened once more, waiting for the decision… and for the blood that must spill to grant them passage to the next trial.