As the trio stumbled out of the corridor of mirrors, the oppressive atmosphere seemed to shift once again, growing colder and more sinister. The passageway ahead was dimly lit, the walls narrowing as they progressed, making the air feel heavy and suffocating. The low hum they had heard earlier was now a persistent drone, burrowing into their skulls and making it difficult to think clearly.
The next chamber they entered was vast, the ceiling stretching high above them into darkness. The walls were lined with ancient tapestries, the fabric faded and tattered, depicting scenes of despair and sorrow. In the center of the chamber stood a large stone altar, surrounded by a circle of flickering candles that cast long, eerie shadows across the room.
Jorel's breath caught in his throat as he saw the altar. His instincts screamed at him to turn back, to leave this place before it was too late, but there was no escape. The only way out was forward.
The moment they stepped into the chamber, the temperature dropped even further, the air chilling them to the bone. A heavy fog began to roll in from the edges of the room, swirling around their feet, its cold tendrils creeping up their legs and settling over them like a shroud.
Suddenly, ghostly apparitions began to materialize around the altar, their forms hazy and indistinct. Jorel's heart raced as he recognized the figures—they were his parents, their faces pale and drawn, their eyes filled with sorrow. They reached out to him, their voices faint and echoing in the cold air.
"Jorel… why didn't you save us?" his mother's voice whispered, the words laced with pain and accusation. "We needed you… but you were too weak… too afraid…"
Jorel's knees buckled, the weight of their words crashing down on him like a physical blow. The guilt he had buried deep within him surged to the surface, threatening to drown him in a sea of despair.
Beside him, Ryen and Jain were also confronting their own ghosts. Ryen's childhood friend appeared before him, his face twisted in anguish, accusing Ryen of abandoning him in his time of need. Jain's younger sister stood before her, tears streaming down her face as she asked why Jain had left her behind to attend E&R.
The apparitions' voices grew louder, more insistent, their words cutting deep into the trio's hearts. The pain was unbearable, a raw, searing agony that tore at their very souls. The room seemed to close in around them, the darkness pressing down on them from all sides.
Jorel struggled to breathe, his chest tightening as the guilt and sorrow threatened to crush him. The images of his parents blurred before his eyes, their faces twisted in anguish, their voices growing more desperate with each passing moment.
"Jorel… please… save us…"
The words echoed in his mind, driving him to the brink of madness. But even in the midst of his torment, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered that something was wrong. This wasn't real—it couldn't be. His parents were gone, lost to him forever. This was just another illusion, another trick of the maze designed to break them.
Jorel forced himself to focus, to push through the pain and see the truth. The apparitions were feeding off their emotional pain, growing stronger with every moment they spent wallowing in guilt and sorrow. The more they gave in to the illusions, the more power they gave the maze.
With a supreme effort, Jorel tore his gaze away from the ghostly figures of his parents and focused on the reality of the situation. He could feel the pain, but he didn't have to let it control him. He could use it, channel it, just as Serik had taught him.
"This isn't real!" Jorel shouted, his voice cutting through the suffocating fog. "They're not real! It's just another illusion—don't give in!"
Ryen and Jain, still caught in the grips of their own torment, looked at Jorel with wide, terrified eyes. But his words seemed to reach them, breaking through the haze of pain and despair that had clouded their minds.
Ryen blinked, his vision clearing as he looked at the ghostly figure of his friend. The accusations, the anger—it was all a lie, a twisted reflection of his own guilt. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to acknowledge the pain but not let it control him. Slowly, the apparition began to fade, its form dissolving into the mist.
Jain, too, began to fight back against the illusion. Her sister's voice still echoed in her mind, but she knew the words weren't real. Her sister was safe, far away from this nightmare. This was just another trial, another test of their resolve. She focused on the pain in her heart, the ache of leaving her family behind, and channeled it into a protective barrier around her mind.
The apparitions grew more desperate, their voices rising to a fever pitch as they realized they were losing their hold on the trio. The room trembled as the illusions began to crack and splinter, the oppressive fog thinning as the trio regained control of their emotions.
With a final, defiant shout, Jorel, Ryen, and Jain broke free from the illusions, dispelling the ghostly figures that had tormented them. The room fell silent, the fog dissipating as quickly as it had appeared. The oppressive weight lifted from their shoulders, leaving them shaken but victorious.
They stood in the center of the chamber, their breaths coming in ragged gasps, their bodies trembling with exhaustion. The emotional toll of the trial was evident in their haunted expressions, but they had survived. They had faced their deepest fears and come out the other side, though the scars of the experience would linger.
As they gathered themselves, preparing to move on, the room suddenly plunged into darkness. The flickering candles around the altar snuffed out, leaving them in total blackness. A deep, resonant hum filled the air, vibrating through the floor and up into their bones.
The darkness was absolute, and the silence that followed was suffocating. The trio felt a sense of dread wash over them, knowing that the worst was yet to come.