The boy stepped onto the shard, his boots landing with a faint hum that reverberated through the oppressive void. The air around him was heavy, not with weight, but with unseen pressure—a suffocating force that seemed to crawl beneath his skin. The golden veins on his arms pulsed faintly, their erratic glow a forewarning of the trial ahead.
Behind him, Sylra stood silently, her silver eyes flickering with unease. The master observed from a distance, his staff resting lightly on the ground. His voice broke the tension like a blade cutting through fog.
"This shard will test more than strength, boy," he said, his tone calm yet sharp. "It will test your sight—what you see, what you believe, and what you deny."
The boy glanced back, his golden eyes narrowing. "What lies ahead?"
The master's lips curved into a faint smirk. "Not what lies ahead—what lies within."
The boy turned back toward the shard. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, the moment his foot touched the center, the void dissolved into a blinding flash of light.
---
The Hall of Mirrors
As the light faded, the boy found himself standing in an endless hall of mirrors. Each surface gleamed unnaturally, reflecting his every move with perfect precision. The air was still, yet the hum of his chains grew louder, their vibration resonating within his chest like an unseen alarm.
He moved cautiously, his golden eyes scanning the reflections. At first, they mirrored him exactly, but as he walked deeper into the hall, the reflections began to shift. Each mirror showed a different version of himself.
In one, he was older, his face lined with scars and his eyes burning with anger. In another, he was completely bound by golden chains, his body hunched under their crushing weight. In yet another, he knelt before a celestial figure, bathed in radiant light as if in submission.
"What is this?" he muttered, his fists tightening at his sides.
The mirrors rippled, their surfaces distorting like water disturbed by a stone. Slowly, the reflections stepped out of the mirrors, their forms solidifying into figures that surrounded him.
---
The Reflections Take Form
The boy's breath hitched as he faced himself—three versions of himself, each radiating an aura as heavy and oppressive as the chains he carried.
The first reflection was older, his face hardened with regret and fury. The golden veins on his arms were jagged and cracked, as though his power had burned him from the inside out. His voice was low and gravelly. "This is what you will become," he said, his tone dripping with bitterness. "A man consumed by his desire to be free, leaving only ruin in his wake."
The second was bound completely in golden chains, his eyes hollow and lifeless. His voice echoed like a distant whisper. "This is what the chains desire," it said. "To bind you, body and soul, for eternity."
The third knelt, his body bathed in radiant light. His voice was soft, almost pleading. "And this is what the gods demand of you," he said. "Submit, and they will grant you peace."
The boy's golden veins flared brightly, his fists trembling. "You're not me," he growled, his voice cutting through the silence. "You're nothing but lies."
The older version sneered. "Are we? You think you can defy the heavens without becoming what they fear most? Look at what you've done—look at the blood you've spilled. This is your path."
---
The Trial of Choice
The mirrors behind the reflections shimmered, each one displaying scenes from his journey. One showed him standing over the bodies of his enemies, their blood pooling at his feet. Another showed him bound by golden chains, his screams echoing into the void. The last displayed him kneeling in submission, the chains dissolving into light as the gods towered above him.
The reflections stepped closer, their voices blending into a cacophony.
"This is your fate."
"You cannot escape."
"Choose your path."
The boy's knees buckled under the weight of their words, his mind swirling with doubt. The hum of his chains became deafening, their vibration threatening to tear him apart. His breath grew ragged, and for a moment, the oppressive darkness of the trial seemed insurmountable.
But then, a single thought pierced through the noise: I am more than their chains. I am more than their choices.
---
Shattering the Illusion
The boy clenched his fists, golden light erupting from his veins in a brilliant, blinding wave. The reflections staggered, their forms flickering like fragile flames.
"I don't care what you show me," the boy growled, his voice rising with each word. "I'm not bound by the heavens' chains, and I won't be bound by my own fears. I make my own path."
The older version howled, its form disintegrating into ash. The bound version collapsed, its chains clattering to the ground before vanishing. The kneeling version dissolved into light, its pleading voice fading into silence.
The mirrors surrounding him shattered, their shards falling into the void. The oppressive weight lifted, and the shard beneath his feet pulsed with a steady, golden glow. The path ahead illuminated once more.
---
Aftermath
The boy stumbled slightly as the void returned, the familiar hum of the Hollow Cradle surrounding him. Sylra rushed forward, her silver eyes wide with concern.
"What did you see?" she asked, her voice soft yet urgent.
The boy straightened, his golden eyes burning with quiet determination. "It doesn't matter," he said, his tone steady. "They were just shadows. Let's keep moving."
The master stepped closer, his staff tapping lightly against the ground. His expression was as inscrutable as ever, but his words carried weight. "You've shattered the illusions, boy, but the Hollow Cradle's truths are not so easily broken. The next shard will demand more. Steel yourself."
The boy nodded, his gaze fixed on the next glowing shard. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, his resolve unshaken as the path pulled him deeper into the Hollow Cradle.
---
The Shadow Lingers
As he moved on, the boy glanced back for a fleeting moment. In the distance, within the cracks of the shattered mirrors, he thought he saw a flicker of light—a pair of glowing eyes watching him from the void. They vanished as quickly as they appeared, but the unease lingered.
The Hollow Cradle was far from done with him.