The blue light did not explode. It solidified, becoming a cold, hard halo that imprisoned everything in the heart chamber. The sound of voices, the crackle of energy, even Kael and Lyra's breathing—everything was sucked into an absolute, heavy silence.
The artifact, freed from the Masked Figure's grasp, did not fall. It remained suspended between them, slowly rotating on its axis. The runes on its surface no longer shone with an aggressive light, but pulsed with an inner glow, like a beating heart made of metal and mystery.
The Masked Figure itself seemed to have been paused. Its floating silhouette was perfectly still, its impassive silver mask turned towards the artifact. The echo of its last words—"the tower knows your deepest fear"—seemed to still vibrate in the motionless air.
Kael (in a low voice, muscles tense): "Lyra? Are you okay?"
He turned to her. She wasn't looking at him. Her eyes, wide, were fixed on the wall of mist behind him. Her face had lost all color, and a pure terror, far deeper than any faced with the shadow monsters, was etched upon it.
Lyra (in a broken voice, almost a whisper): "Kael... I... I'm sorry."
Kael followed her gaze. The mist was solidifying, forming a scene of cruel clarity. He saw himself, but different. His eyes were no longer his own; they shone with the same impersonal blue light as the artifact. He held the object in his hand, but he wasn't controlling it—he was its slave. And in this vision, he stood before Lyra, not as a protector, but as a judge. His hand, charged with blue energy, rose towards her, his face twisted by a cold indifference.
This wasn't an external threat. It was Lyra's most intimate fear, the one she had never dared to voice: losing Kael. Not to death, but to this curse. Seeing him become a stranger, an instrument of the artifact, and worse still... becoming a threat to her.
Kael (voice choked with emotion): "Lyra, no! It's not real! It's an illusion!"
He took a step towards her, but she recoiled, a stifled moan escaping her lips. The vision paralyzed her more effectively than any monster.
Lyra: "It showed me... you had chosen. You had chosen power. You had forgotten me."
Meanwhile, the artifact pulsed softly. Kael felt a tingling at the back of his mind, a familiar and threatening pressure. He stiffened, knowing what was coming.
Kael (to himself): "No... not now. Not her. Show me instead."
As if in response, the mist around him began to boil. Lyra's vision faded, replaced by a new scene, just as unbearable. He saw no monsters, no destruction. He saw himself, older, sitting in a shabby, small apartment. He was... ordinary. His gaze empty, worn down by a life without highlights, without importance. He watched the city lights twinkle outside the window, indifferent to his existence. He was a ghost, transparent, forgotten by all. And deep in his eyes, one could read the worst kind of remorse: that of not having dared when he still had the chance.
Kael's fear was not death. It was insignificance. Being forgotten. Mediocrity. The artifact, by showing him these visions of grandeur and destiny, had awakened this visceral angst. And now, it was using it as poison.
A voice, no longer that of the Masked Figure, but a cold, metallic whisper that seemed to emanate from the artifact itself, slid into his mind.
The Artifact (inner voice): "Without me, you are nothing. You will return to the shadows. You are like all the others. Weak. Forgettable."
Kael staggered, breathless. The weight of this truth was heavier than the entire distorted city. The temptation was there, insidious: to seize the artifact, and never again be that broken man from the vision.
Lyra (in a weak voice, fighting her own fear): "Kael... Don't listen to it."
The sound of her voice, very real, pierced the fog of his despair. He looked up at her. She was trembling, clearly terrified by the vision of him as a tyrant, but she was staring at him, refusing to look away.
Kael (panting): "It's showing me... it's showing me that I am nobody."
Lyra: "That's not true!" Her voice gained strength, tinged with a sudden anger. "You have always been somebody! Long before this cursed object! You're stubborn, you're curious, and you're my best friend. Fear doesn't define you! The choice, right here, right now, that's what defines you!"
Her words had the effect of a whip crack. Kael clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. The pain was real, anchoring. He looked at the vision of his mediocre life, then he looked at Lyra, real, vulnerable, and brave.
Kael (with renewed determination): "I choose us."
He took a deliberate step, not towards the artifact, but towards Lyra. He ignored the hysterical whispering in his skull, the images of power trying to seduce him. He reached out his hand to her.
Kael: "You're right. I see you. I'm here."
The moment their fingers brushed, the artifact emitted a shrill sound, like cracking crystal. The visions vanished instantly. The blue light flickered, wavered. The chamber returned to what it was: a place of stone and mist, but the oppressive silence was broken.
The Masked Figure, which had observed the scene without moving, slowly tilted its head. Its body seemed to lose substance, beginning to dissolve into black smoke.
The Masked Figure (its voice was no longer a mental echo, but a real sound, filled with infinite weariness): "The first trial is passed. You resisted its siren song. You chose connection over fear."
The figure completely dissipated, leaving behind only one last phrase hanging in the air.
The Masked Figure: "Few manage it. But the bridge still collapses. The tower awaits you... below."
The artifact, now dull and inert, finally fell from its ascent and landed with a dull thud on the stone floor. The halo of light had disappeared. The path to the top of the tower, ahead of them, was now blocked by a wall of smooth stone. But behind them, where there was nothing before, a wide spiral staircase plunged down into the darkness, deep beneath the tower's foundations.
The true objective was not the summit. It was the guts.
Cliffhanger: As Kael bent down to pick up the now inert artifact, a searing pain shot through his temple. A vision, brief and ultimate, struck him: not of the future, but of the past. He saw the Masked Figure, its mask removed, and recognized with horror a familiar face—that of his own brother, who had disappeared years before. And in his eyes, not cruelty, but a deep despair. The vision vanished, leaving Kael trembling, a name on his lips.
Kael (murmuring, stunned): "...Elias?"