Each step they took upon the Lake of Destiny created faint circles on the water, like marks piercing the stillness. After a while, Sere had lost herself in the naturalness of her stride. Moaito, with each step, felt the water's resistance lessen slightly, marveling at the effect of Sere's presence beside him on this ancient trial.
When they reached the front of the tower, the water's cold breath gave way to the earthy, heavy scent of ancient stones. The entrance was a low, wide arch flanked by carvings of two intertwined trees. One carving was of light-colored stone, the other dark grey. Light and Shadow. But here, they were not opposed; they were intertwined, complementing each other.
"This place..." Sere whispered, her voice finding a miniature echo inside the tower.
"Yes," Moaito replied, his voice unusually resonant and deep. "The shadow of the place where Balance was born." He stepped inside. The air held the weight of a millennia-long wait. This place was not foreign to him; it was like returning to a home he had been forced to leave long ago, but constantly saw in his dreams. He was filled with an indescribable sorrow and an equally overwhelming sense of responsibility.
Their breath caught as they entered. In the center of a vast, circular hall, a gigantic, petrified tree trunk rose, piercing through the ceiling. Not just its branches, but its very trunk had turned to stone, yet it seemed to radiate a faint life, an energy. This was a reflection, an echo of the Sacred Tree.
In awe, Sere approached and touched her fingertips to the petrified bark. Instantly, the Threshold Stone on her chest responded with a warm, calm vibration. Not images, but sensations arose in her mind: serenity, peace, an unbroken feeling of balance. This was a refuge, a sanctuary for her.
Moaito felt differently. As he read the ancient inscriptions carved into the walls, his face grew grim, a storm brewing in his eyes. They told the story of his origin, the departure of Ma'at, and the records of the "Age of Waiting." Facing a document of his own existence left him uneasy and vulnerable. These inscriptions felt less like a testament to victory and more like proof of a burden.
What truly shook him was the small, plain room directly opposite the tree. He entered. It was a cell. A dusty stone bed, an empty niche, and on the wall, the distinct imprint of a pair of hands... This had once been his place. The witness to his millennia of waiting, of solitude.
Instinctively, he placed his hand into those ancient marks on the wall.
With his touch, not a memory, but a flood of emotion overwhelmed his mind. Not images, but pure, raw feelings:
· Loneliness: That gnawing, indescribable loneliness felt while sitting alone in this cell during the darkest hours of the night, watching the world sleep.
· Doubt: The endless moments of asking himself, "Will I fail? Like the one before me? Why does Balance never come?"
· Pain: Elian's face – whether brother or predecessor – the sharp, yet detail-less pain of loss. The pain of an obligation, a prohibition.
His breath caught. His chest tightened. The millennia-old wall was cracking. He jerked his hand away, as if the stone had burned him. He turned his back, his breathing rapid and uneven. He was not the usual strong, distant Guardian, but a wounded being.
Silently, Sere came to his side. She asked nothing. She simply stood there. Her presence, non-judgmental, simply being there, became a sort of refuge for Moaito.
After a long silence, Moaito spoke, his voice tense and uncharacteristically fragile: "These stones... are not just stones. Every memory, every whisper of my wait is trapped here. Sometimes..." he hesitated, "...sometimes remembering what we wish to forget is the heaviest burden."
Sere replied in a soft but firm voice: "But you are not alone anymore, Moaito. And you don't have to remember. Just... keep moving forward. Like we did on the water. Just keep taking steps."
These words were simple but powerful. At that very moment, a faint cracking sound was heard from the petrified tree trunk in the center of the hall. An invisible wave of energy passed through, and a section of the stone shifted, revealing a dark passageway leading downward that hadn't been there before. Narrow stone steps stretched into the depths.
The Threshold Stone on Sere's chest glowed with a determined, strong pulse. The call was coming from below.
Moaito looked at Sere. The word "thank you" did not leave his lips; it couldn't. But the ancient glacier in his eyes had melted, replaced by a simple gratitude and a renewed resolve. He nodded towards the passage.
And in that moment, Moaito understood that the weight of millennia of solitude could become a bearable burden when shared.
Together, they turned towards the steps descending into the unknown depths.