The mist thickened as Dhruve and Mira moved forward, transforming the world around them into a shifting maze of whispers and shadows. Every few steps, Dhruve could feel the atmosphere change—heavier… colder… as if the Mist Corridor was peeling back layers of reality.
"This place," Dhruve muttered, "feels like it's watching us."
"It is," Mira replied calmly. "The corridor listens. It reacts to your heartbeat, your thoughts, your fears. Every traveler faces their own Echoes here."
"Echoes?" Dhruve asked.
"Yes." She looked ahead, her face steady but her eyes tinted with caution. "Shadows of your memories. Sometimes of the future. Sometimes of things you don't want to admit."
Dhruve felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold.
As they walked further, the silence around them changed. It wasn't silence anymore—there were faint voices, soft and distant, drifting in like echoes from deep underwater.
At first, Dhruve thought he imagined it.
But then he recognized the voices.
His parents arguing.
His wife crying.
His own voice yelling back.
Mira stopped instantly. "Don't answer them. They're not real."
Dhruve swallowed. "But… I know these voices."
"You're not here to relive them. You're here to outgrow them."
The whispers intensified, wrapping around him like invisible vines. His mother's voice—tired, disappointed. His father's—furious. His wife's—cold. Accusing.
"You should have been enough."
"You failed everyone."
"You were never loved."
Dhruve froze in his tracks.
The memories felt too sharp, too real. His chest tightened as if invisible hands were crushing his lungs.
"Dhruve." Mira placed her palm gently over his hand. "Look at me, not the echoes."
He forced his gaze toward her. Her presence was warm, steady—like a candle in a storm. Slowly, the voices faded, dissolving back into the mist.
Mira continued, "The corridor feeds on the cracks in your heart. If you let the echoes control you, they will become stronger."
Dhruve nodded, trying to steady his breath. "I thought I buried these feelings."
"No one truly buries their pain," Mira said softly. "But you can learn to rise above it."
They resumed walking.
But they didn't make it far.
The mist suddenly split open, revealing a long dark path—one that felt colder than everything before. Dhruve's steps slowed automatically, a knot forming in his stomach.
"What's this place?" he asked.
"The final echo," Mira whispered. "The one that defines who you truly are."
As they stepped onto the path, Dhruve saw shadows forming on the sides—people, places, moments from his life flickering like broken lanterns. Each one showed a version of him he didn't want to see—angry, jealous, defeated, abandoned.
And at the far end of the path…
A door appeared.
Tall.
Black.
And pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.
Mira's breath hitched. "The Door of Truth."
Dhruve narrowed his eyes. "What's behind it?"
"Not fear," she said. "Not memories."
She looked at him with a seriousness she hadn't shown before.
"It shows you the part of yourself you've been running from your whole life."
Dhruve's fingers curled.
He took one step forward.
Then another.
And another.
Until he stood before the door.
The mist around it swirled violently, reacting to his presence.
Dhruve raised his hand.
"What you see," Mira warned softly, "may change everything."
Dhruve exhaled slowly.
"Good," he murmured. "I'm tired of running."
He pushed the door open.
The world behind it burst into blinding light.