The boy stepped onto the glowing shard, its light barely cutting through the suffocating void. The golden veins on his arms pulsed weakly, their rhythm uneven, as though the chains within him hesitated. A faint hum resonated in his chest, growing louder with each passing moment, carrying an unspoken warning. The air around him was heavy, thick with the weight of something unseen.
Behind him, Sylra's voice carried across the chasm, calm but tinged with concern. "The Cradle knows your mind now. Be careful. It twists the truths you fear most."
The master stood silently, his staff grounded like a sentinel. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, sharp, and unrelenting. "This trial isn't about strength or resolve. It will test your trust—trust in others, and trust in yourself. Be wary of what you see."
The boy turned his gaze forward. "I'll face it. I always do."
The shard beneath him pulsed, and the world around him rippled like a disturbed reflection. Shadows consumed the light, and the void shattered into fragments of a new reality.
---
The Twisted Forest
When the distortion settled, the boy found himself standing in a forest cloaked in mist. The air was damp and cold, carrying the metallic tang of decay. The gnarled trees stood like twisted sentinels, their branches clawing at the thick canopy above. Faint whispers filled the air, too faint to discern but too loud to ignore.
The golden veins on his arms flickered faintly, and he clenched his fists. "Another illusion," he muttered, taking cautious steps forward.
The forest seemed alive, the mist curling like fingers around his feet. A faint laugh echoed in the distance—soft, familiar, and cold. He stopped abruptly, his breath catching as the voice spoke again.
"You shouldn't have come here."
The boy turned sharply, his golden eyes narrowing. From the shadows emerged a figure cloaked in silver, her steps deliberate. Her face became clear as she stepped closer—Sylra. Yet, her eyes, usually sharp and resolute, were cold and empty, her silver hair shimmering unnaturally in the dim light.
"Sylra?" he asked, his voice steady but edged with disbelief.
The doppelgänger's lips curled into a mocking smile. "Why do you keep going?" she asked, her tone laced with disdain. "Do you truly think you'll make it through this? Do you think you're strong enough to break the chains?"
---
The Chains of Doubt
The boy's golden veins flared brighter, the hum of his chains sharpening. "You're not real," he said firmly, though the weight of her gaze felt far too real. "The Cradle is trying to deceive me."
The false Sylra tilted her head, her smile widening. "Are you so sure? Haven't you felt it—the way she hesitates, the doubt in her voice? She's waiting for you to fail. They both are."
Before he could respond, another figure stepped out from the shadows—a man with a staff, his face lined with years of wisdom. The master's sharp gaze pierced through the mist, but this time, it carried a scornful edge.
"Do you truly believe I guide you out of kindness?" the doppelgänger master asked, his voice cold and biting. "You're nothing but a pawn. A tool. The moment you break the chains, you'll be discarded like the rest."
The boy's steps faltered as their words pressed into his mind. The forest seemed to grow darker, the trees twisting further, their branches reaching for him like skeletal hands. The whispers in the air grew louder, overlapping into an incomprehensible chorus.
"They don't trust you."
"They're waiting for you to fail."
"You'll never be enough."
The chains within him roared, their hum chaotic and discordant. He fell to one knee, his breath ragged as the weight of their words bore down on him.
---
Confronting the Shadows
The false Sylra stepped closer, her voice soft but cutting. "How can you fight the heavens when you can't even trust the people beside you? You're alone, boy. Always have been, always will be."
The false master loomed over him, his staff glowing faintly. "The chains you fight aren't just around you—they're inside you. You carry doubt like a disease, and it will be your undoing."
The boy closed his eyes, their voices pressing against his mind like iron bands. Memories flickered—betrayals, failures, moments of weakness—but beneath it all, a spark of defiance remained.
"They don't decide what I am," he whispered, his voice trembling but firm.
The chains within him flared suddenly, their golden light growing steadier, pushing back against the suffocating weight. Slowly, the boy rose to his feet, his golden eyes blazing as he met their gazes.
"I don't need their trust," he said, his voice rising with each word. "And I don't need yours. I don't walk this path for you. I walk it for myself."
---
Breaking the Illusion
The doppelgängers recoiled, their forms flickering like candle flames caught in a storm. The boy's golden veins surged with light, and his chains erupted with energy. A wave of golden radiance exploded outward, shattering the forest into fragments of light.
The false Sylra and master disintegrated, their scornful gazes fading into the void. The oppressive whispers ceased, leaving only silence. The shard beneath him glowed brighter, its hum steady and resolute.
---
Emerging from the Trial
The boy stepped off the shard, his breathing heavy but controlled. Sylra hurried to his side, her silver eyes scanning him intently.
"What happened?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry.
He met her gaze, his golden eyes calm but resolute. "It was nothing. Just shadows trying to twist my mind."
The master approached, his staff tapping lightly on the ground. His expression was unreadable, but his words carried weight. "The Hollow Cradle doesn't create illusions from nothing, boy. What you saw came from within. It is your choice to accept or reject those truths. The next shard will demand more. Be ready."
The boy nodded, his resolve unshaken. Without another word, he turned toward the next shard, its glow lighting the path deeper into the Hollow Cradle.
---
The Shadow's Watching Eyes
As he moved forward, the boy glanced back once. For a fleeting moment, he saw the edges of the void ripple, and within the cracks, a faint pair of eyes glowed, watching him. They disappeared as quickly as they had come, leaving only the silence of the void.
The boy turned away, his steps steady. The Cradle wasn't done with him, but neither was he done with it.