The road to the east didn't appear on any map. Not even on the stolen elven scrolls, nor in the drunkenly scribbled notes of dwarves. It was as if the world had forgotten it existed — or perhaps had decided to erase it on purpose.
We'd been walking for three days without seeing a living soul. No bandits, no lost travelers, not even an unsuspecting rabbit. Only twisted trees, gray moss, and the heavy silence of something that knows something is coming.
"This place is quieter than Torin's bank account after we pass by," Vespera said, adjusting the bow on her back.
"At least there are no mirrors commenting on my posture," Elara replied, with a half-tired smile.
Liriel floated a few inches above the ground, her eyes fixed on the spider medallion now resting around her neck. "It's calmer. Almost… asleep."
"Think Malrik gave up?" I asked, not believing it for a second.
"No," she whispered. "He's waiting for us."
We stopped at dusk before a narrow stream whose waters flowed so slowly they seemed frozen in time. Elara knelt at the edge and dipped her hands in. The water shimmered for an instant — not with magic, but with something older. Memory.
"This place used to be sacred," she murmured. "Someone prayed here. A long time ago."
Vespera sat on a lichen-covered stone. "Then why does it feel so… empty?"
"Because truth was forgotten," Liriel answered, landing softly beside her. "And when truth fades, a place loses its meaning."
We went quiet. Even the fire we lit seemed to burn lower, as if afraid to disturb the past.
Then we heard it.
Not a sound. A space where sound should have been.
As if the world had held its breath.
"Someone's watching us," Vespera whispered, an arrow already in her hand.
I looked around. Nothing moved. No shadow, no whisper. Just the stream, the trees, and the void.
"It's not a person," Liriel said, narrowing her eyes. "It's an absence."
Before I could ask what that meant, the ground trembled.
Not violently. Sadly.
The trees around us began to wither — not as if drying, but as if giving up. Leaves fell without wind. The trunks groaned as though crying.
"What's happening?" I asked, sword in hand.
"Malrik didn't come himself," Elara said, rising. "He sent a shadow… of himself."
From the middle of the stream, a figure emerged.
It had no face. No defined shape. It was as if someone had cut a piece out of the world and left a hole in its place. And yet, you could feel it — a presence. A will. A question:
Do you still believe?
"Well, that's new," murmured Vespera.
"The worst part of Malrik's lies," explained Liriel, "isn't that he lies. It's that he makes you doubt what you already know is true."
The figure moved. It didn't walk. It shifted, as if space itself bent to welcome it.
"Don't look directly at it," warned Elara. "It's a cognitive trap. If you try to understand what you see, you lose focus."
"Then we don't look," said Vespera, closing her eyes. "We just feel."
And, surprisingly, that's exactly what she did.
She fired three arrows — not guided by sight, but by instinct. By the sound of silence. By the weight of absence.
The arrows passed through the figure… and dissolved into silvery smoke.
The creature didn't retreat. It only tilted its head, as if… disappointed.
You don't understand, echoed a voice from nowhere. Truth hurts. Lies heal. Why choose pain?
"Because pain fades," I answered without thinking. "Lies stay."
The figure stopped.
For an instant, it almost looked human.
Then, with a slow gesture, it extended its hand — not to attack, but to offer.
In its palm was a small mirror. The same one the child from the village had given me. But now, instead of the flower, the symbol of the spider was engraved on the glass.
"Don't take it," said Liriel.
But I had already stepped forward.
"Takumi—," Elara called.
"I know what I'm doing."
I knelt before the figure and carefully touched the mirror.
Nothing happened.
No vision. No scream. No portal opening.
Only the cold of the glass against my skin… and a strange sensation, as if something inside me had been recognized.
The figure retreated. Slowly. And as it moved away, it began to dissolve — not into smoke, but into dry leaves, drops of water, and the faint light of dusk.
When it vanished, the stream began to flow strongly again. The trees stopped withering. The world breathed once more.
"What was that?" I asked, holding the mirror.
"A test," Liriel answered. "He wants to know if we still have the courage to choose the truth… even when it gives no rewards."
"Did we pass?" Vespera asked, putting her bow away.
"I don't know," Elara admitted. "But he didn't attack us. Maybe that's something."
That night, we camped by the stream. The fire crackled with more life, as if it too had been freed.
While Vespera prepared a stew with roots she swore were edible ("If I die, bury my bow with me, but don't eat the roots"), Elara examined the mirror.
"There's something different about it," she said, turning it toward the light. "Now it reflects… more than images."
"Like what?"
"Feelings. Memories. Things that aren't on the surface."
Liriel came closer, curious. "Let me see."
She took the mirror, and for a moment, her eyes widened.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Nothing," she replied, returning it too quickly. "Just… an old reflection."
I didn't press. Sometimes, even goddesses have things they'd rather not share.
Later, when the others were asleep, I stayed awake, staring at the stars. Liriel's pendant pulsed softly against my chest. Malrik's medallion, now in my pack, was silent.
Then I heard a whisper — not from the mirror, but from the stream itself.
The next step has no return.
"We've been through that before," I replied softly.
But this time, you'll choose. Not out of duty. Not out of debt. Out of will.
I didn't answer. Because, for the first time, I knew it was true.
The next morning, we set out early. The sun rose behind the trees, painting the path in gold. The road continued, but now it seemed less forgotten. More… hopeful.
"You know," Vespera said, walking beside me, "if we survive this, I promise I won't laugh when you fall in the mud anymore."
"Is that a miracle or a threat?" I asked.
"A bit of both."
Elara laughed. Liriel rolled her eyes, but smiled.
We walked in silence for a while. Until, as we rounded a bend, we saw it.
A bridge.
It wasn't large. Nor old. It was made of simple wood, with thick ropes as rails. But on the other side, the road vanished into a silver mist that seemed alive.
"This bridge wasn't here yesterday," Elara said.
"Of course not," replied Liriel. "It only appears when you decide to cross."
"And if we don't?" I asked.
"Then Malrik wins without having to fight."
We went silent.
"Then let's go," said Vespera, taking a step forward.
"Wait," I interrupted. "Before… I need to say something."
The three of them stopped.
"I don't know what's waiting ahead. Maybe we'll get lost. Maybe we'll doubt. Maybe we'll want to give up." I looked at each of them. "But no matter what the mirror shows, no matter what Malrik says… I'll choose you. Always."
Elara took my hand. Vespera squeezed my shoulder. Liriel just nodded — but her eyes shone brighter than the pendant.
"Then let's go," she said.
We crossed the bridge together.
The mist wrapped around our steps, but didn't separate us. On the contrary — it seemed to bind us, as if it knew we were stronger together.
On the other side, the road went on.
And for the first time since it all began, it didn't feel like a nightmare.
It felt like a path.
Our path.