The boy stepped onto the next shard, and the world seemed to pause for a moment. The glowing stone pulsed faintly beneath his feet, its light flickering like a heartbeat. Around him, the whispers of the void coiled like unseen serpents, their words fragmented and incomprehensible, but the weight they carried pressed heavily against his chest. The golden veins on his arms flared briefly, then dimmed, as if sensing what lay ahead.
Sylra stood back, her silver eyes locked on him, her expression unreadable but tense. The master, standing at a distance, tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharp and unrelenting.
"The Hollow Cradle doesn't just test strength," the master said, his voice calm yet cutting. "It unearths truths. It tears open wounds you thought were healed. Listen carefully, boy—the next step is more than a trial."
The boy inhaled deeply, his golden eyes narrowing. He stepped forward, and the moment his foot landed on the shard, the void shifted violently. The world around him dissolved, and a new one took shape.
---
The Illusion of Home
He blinked and found himself standing in a familiar place—a village bathed in golden light. The soft laughter of children filled the air, mingling with the rustling of leaves and the distant crackle of hearth fires. For a brief moment, he stood still, his breath catching in his throat.
The village was as he remembered it, but something was wrong. The figures of the villagers moved with eerie precision, their laughter hollow and unnatural. Then, as if frozen by an unseen force, they stopped. Every face turned toward him, and his stomach tightened.
Their expressions twisted into masks of hatred and fear, their mouths curling into silent accusations. He recognized them all—the people who had cast him out, rejected him, condemned him.
"No," he muttered, his fists clenching at his sides.
"You know this place," a voice whispered, soft and cold.
---
The Abyss' Echo
The boy turned sharply, the golden veins on his arms flaring as a figure emerged from the shadows. She was cloaked in shimmering silver, her presence both ethereal and commanding. Her eyes, reflective like mirrors, caught his gaze and held it with unrelenting force. Her voice was calm, yet every word felt like a blade cutting through the air.
"I am the Abyss' echo," she said. "The voice of truths you bury beneath your rage. The Cradle summoned me to remind you of what you carry."
She gestured to the frozen villagers, their hateful faces distorted in the stillness. "Do you see them? The ones who feared you, hated you, cast you aside. You wear their betrayal like armor. But is it truly armor, or is it a chain of your own making?"
---
The Weight of Hatred
The boy's fists trembled, the glow of his veins intensifying. "They abandoned me. They made me into this. I owe them nothing."
The woman stepped closer, her reflective gaze unyielding. "And yet, here they are. Their faces linger in your mind, their voices haunt your steps. They shaped you, yes, but they do not bind you. You carry their memory because you choose to."
The boy's breathing quickened as the memories surged—shouts, accusations, the sting of rejection. Flames consumed the edges of the village in his mind, and the echo of his own cries mixed with theirs. He had buried these moments deep, yet here they rose like ghosts, vivid and undeniable.
"I break chains," he growled, his voice low but fierce. "That's all I do."
The woman's voice softened, but her words struck like thunder. "You fight to destroy the chains of the heavens, but you forge chains of hatred with every step you take. How can you truly be free while you carry their weight?"
---
The Shard's Trial
The shard beneath him began to tremble, its light dimming as the void closed in. The whispers of the villagers grew louder, overlapping in a cacophony of accusations. His golden chains roared to life, their hum chaotic and frenzied. He fell to his knees, his mind warring against the storm of voices.
"Let go," the woman said, her voice cutting through the noise. "Release the hatred, or it will consume you. Break the chains you've forged for yourself, or you will never truly break theirs."
The boy gritted his teeth, his body trembling. The weight of the villagers' voices was crushing, but beneath it all, a memory flickered—a moment when he had stood alone, cast out but unbroken. That memory ignited something within him: a truth that no trial, no echo, could take from him.
He steadied himself, his golden veins flaring with renewed light. Slowly, he rose to his feet, his voice clear and unwavering. "I won't carry their hatred anymore. They may have shaped my path, but they don't define it. I'll break the chains of my past just as I'll break the heavens' chains. That is my truth."
The shard beneath him blazed with golden light, and the villagers dissolved into nothingness. The whispers faded, leaving only silence. The woman's form flickered as she stepped back, her mirrored gaze softening.
"You are learning," she said quietly. "But the Hollow Cradle is far from finished with you." With those words, she disappeared, leaving him standing alone on the shard.
---
A Heavy Step Forward
The boy stepped forward, the void returning with its familiar hum. Sylra hurried to his side, her silver eyes filled with worry.
"You're alright?" she asked, her voice cautious but soft.
He nodded, his gaze distant. "Let's keep moving."
The master approached, his staff tapping against the ground. His expression was as inscrutable as ever, but his words carried weight. "You've passed another trial, boy. But the Hollow Cradle will not grow kinder. Steel yourself for what comes next."
The boy met the master's gaze, his golden eyes blazing with quiet resolve. "I will."
---
The Shadow Lingers
As the boy turned to step onto the next shard, his gaze flickered back. For a moment, in the depths of the void, he thought he saw the faint glint of mirrored eyes watching him. They vanished as quickly as they appeared, but the unease lingered.
The Hollow Cradle was far from finished.