The path before Lyra and Alaric was no longer an empty void. It now stretched out as a long corridor woven from swirling fragments of memories, reflecting overlapping images of the past, present, and uncertain futures.
They walked in silence, each step echoing whispers—not from strangers, but from those who had walked this path before them.
"You may see the truth, but can you accept it?"
"Every choice has a price, and not all are strong enough to pay it."
"What will you become once you know what is hidden?"
Lyra clenched her fists. These voices were not mere illusions but echoes of those who had sought the truth here—those who had failed or had been erased from time itself.
Alaric glanced at her. "Are you alright?"
Lyra nodded. "We can't turn back. The only way is forward."
They moved deeper into the corridor of memories until the light ahead expanded, revealing a circular chamber where four statues stood tall.
These statues were not images of gods but of those who had once held the fate of the world in their hands.
A knight with a broken sword, his face filled with sorrow.
A sorceress with burning eyes, her gaze sharp enough to pierce through all lies.
An aged scholar, holding a decayed scroll in both hands.
A faceless figure, nothing more than a blurred silhouette, as if time itself had erased them.
Before each statue lay a glowing stone, seemingly awaiting their choice.
"What are we supposed to do?" Alaric asked.
Elunara appeared suddenly, her voice soft yet commanding. "Those who come here must choose a path. This is the legacy of the prophets—four roads leading to four different fates. Once chosen, there is no turning back."
Lyra and Alaric exchanged a look.
This was no longer just a journey to seek the truth.
This was the moment they would decide their destiny.