The mist curled around them like a living veil, soft yet strangely watchful. Dhruve slowed his steps, feeling the air thicken, as if the world itself wanted him to move with caution. Beside him, the girl—Mira—kept her gaze forward, calm but alert, her long hair drifting behind her like a ribbon of shadow.
"Is this… normal?" Dhruve asked, rubbing his arms as the temperature dropped.
Mira nodded slowly. "The Mist Corridor always behaves like this. It tests travelers. Sometimes with illusions… sometimes with silence."
"Silence?" Dhruve echoed.
"And sometimes," she continued, "by showing you the things you fear most."
Dhruve stopped walking.
The mist around them stirred—slowly, deliberately, like it had been waiting for that moment.
A faint outline appeared ahead. Humanoid. Still. Watching.
Dhruve's heartbeat thumped in his ears. "Do you see that?"
"Yes," Mira whispered. "Don't react. Not yet."
The silhouette sharpened. Shoulders. A face. Eyes—two dim, glowing points—opened in the haze. Dhruve felt his breath catch. Something about that shape felt familiar in a way he did not want to admit.
Mira stepped slightly in front of him.
"Dhruve… whatever you see next, remember—it is not real."
But Dhruve swallowed hard.
Because the figure emerging from the mist…
…had his own face.
His past self. Broken. Angry. Helpless.
The version of him who had failed.
The version of him who had been betrayed.
The version of him who still screamed in his nightmares.
The other Dhruve stared at him with a hollow expression, then smiled—the kind of smile that cuts deeper than any blade.
"So," the illusion hissed, "you think you can become something new just because you were reborn?"
Dhruve's hands shook.
Behind him, Mira whispered urgently, "Don't listen. If the illusion gets inside your heart, it becomes stronger."
But the illusion—his old self—took a step closer, mist swirling like chains dragging behind him.
"You run from your past. But you forget… I am your past."
Dhruve clenched his fists.
For the first time since entering this world, he felt something old and buried returning—a storm he had tried to escape.
Pain.
Shame.
Rage.
Mira touched his arm gently. "Dhruve. Look at me."
He forced his eyes away from the illusion.
Her voice was soft but firm. "You're not who you were. You're who you choose to be."
The mist trembled, reacting to her confidence.
Dhruve took a slow breath.
And finally looked back at the illusion—not with fear, but with something steadier.
Acceptance.
"You're right," Dhruve said quietly. "You are my past."
He stepped forward.
"But I am not yours anymore."
The illusion cracked—literally—like glass struck by a hammer. Spiderweb fractures raced across its face, its body, its eyes. A silent scream rippled through the mist before the figure shattered entirely, dissolving into drifting white smoke.
Mira let out a relieved breath. "You did well."
Dhruve nodded, chest rising and falling. "Is the test over?"
"For now," she said. "The Mist Corridor rarely shows only one fear."
Dhruve grimaced. "Great. Can't wait."
Mira smiled faintly. "Stay close. We'll face the rest together."
And as they walked deeper into the shimmering fog, Dhruve felt something quiet and powerful rising within him—
A sense of strength he didn't know he had.
A future he was finally willing to fight for.