Elysara stepped forward, the heavy stone door grinding shut behind her with a finality that made her stomach drop. The chamber was barren, a vast emptiness stretching in all directions, the floor and walls indistinguishable from the dense fog swirling around her ankles. The silence was absolute, pressing in on her like a living thing, suffocating and oppressive.
Then came the voice. It echoed in her mind, not from the room, but from within her, intimate and cold. "The third trial will show you what it means to feel your world closing in."
Before she could respond, the ground beneath her disappeared. She screamed as she plummeted into darkness, the air rushing past her like icy hands clawing at her skin. When she landed, it was with an impact that rattled her bones. She groaned, pushing herself up to find herself surrounded by total blackness.
"Where am I?" she whispered, her voice trembling, though she doubted anyone would hear.
No answer came.
She called out again, louder this time. "Is anyone there? Please!"
The darkness swallowed her words.
Elysara began walking, her footsteps echoing in the void. There was no light, no sound, no sensation other than the cold seeping into her skin. Hours seemed to pass, or perhaps only minutes—it was impossible to tell. She tried to focus, tried to ground herself in the steady rhythm of her breathing, but the isolation gnawed at her mind.
Suddenly, she saw a door in the distance, its outline glowing faintly against the darkness. Her breath hitched as a flicker of hope surged through her. Without hesitation, she broke into a run, her feet pounding against the unyielding ground as she raced toward it.
The door seemed impossibly far, each step stretching the distance instead of closing it. But Elysara pushed on, her lungs burning, determination fueling her every movement. At last, she reached it—a towering structure of iron engraved with intricate vines and runes that pulsed faintly as though alive.
She reached out, pressing her trembling hands against the cold surface. The moment her palms touched the metal, the carvings ignited with a soft, eerie glow. Slowly, the door groaned open, revealing a chamber bathed in shadow. Gathering her courage, Elysara stepped inside.
Elysara stood frozen as the door slammed shut behind her, sealing her in a circular chamber that reeked of stone and damp. Her heart thudded in her chest as she took in her surroundings. A single torch mounted on the far wall cast wavering shadows across the room, its flickering light barely illuminating the space.
At the center of the chamber stood a pedestal, a scroll bound with a crimson ribbon resting on its smooth surface. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with an assortment of objects: tarnished trinkets, rusted tools, shattered vials, and faded books. The air was thick, oppressive, weighing down on her shoulders like a warning.
Then, a deep, disembodied voice echoed through the chamber.
"Elysara, this is your third trial. It will test your resolve, your wit, and your endurance. A riddle holds your salvation. But the answer cannot merely be spoken—it must be found and placed in the wall before time runs out. The walls will not wait, and failure will bring only darkness."
The pedestal began to hum with a faint glow. Elysara's breath caught as she reached out and unfastened the ribbon, the scroll unfurling in her trembling hands. She read the elegant script:
"I have hands but no fingers,
A face but no eyes.
I measure, yet I do not count,
And though I am silent, I speak the truth.
What am I?"
Her lips moved silently as she read it again and again, the meaning twisting in her mind like smoke she couldn't grasp.
Before she could think further, the walls trembled around her, and the walls began to move inward with a grinding screech. Her stomach clenched. The room was shrinking.
Her pulse raced. "No, no, no!" she muttered, the riddle blaring in her mind. She glanced around, her gaze darting to the shelves packed with debris. The voice's warning echoed in her ears: Place the answer in the wall before time runs out.
"Hands but no fingers… face but no eyes…" Her voice trembled as she spoke aloud, trying to make sense of it. "Measures but doesn't count… speaks without sound…"
The grinding grew louder as the walls crept closer, shelves rattling with the vibration. Objects began tumbling to the floor—books, glass, tools, and unrecognizable fragments piling up in chaotic heaps. She stared at the growing mess, panic clawing at her chest.
"Think, Elysara!" she told herself, her voice echoing in the tightening chamber. She repeated the riddle under her breath, pacing in frantic circles.
"Hands… hands that aren't hands… face but no eyes…"
Her thoughts raced. She ran through possibilities: a statue? No, it doesn't measure. A map? No, it doesn't have hands… She tore her gaze from the scroll to the walls, which now loomed closer, the grooves on their surface glowing faintly as though urging her to hurry.
The objects from the shelves were cascading to the floor, an avalanche of debris that made it impossible to concentrate. Books thudded against the stone, vials shattered, metal clinked. Elysara's breathing grew ragged.
"What has hands and a face but isn't alive?" she muttered, panic clawing at her. She sank to her knees, clutching her head. The room seemed to press in on her, the grinding of the walls growing louder, more menacing.
"I don't have time for this!" she cried, dropping to her knees to sift through the pile. Her hands darted over broken vials and tarnished metal, desperate to find something. She grabbed a rounded object—a rusted compass.
"Could this be it?" she breathed, clutching it tightly. The walls groaned closer, and the air seemed to squeeze her lungs. Elysara ran to the wall, pressing the compass against the grooves, searching for a slot or recess. Nothing happened.
"No, no, no!" she screamed, throwing the compass aside.
The room grew smaller still, the walls now less than an arm's length away. The oppressive sound of grinding stone filled her ears. Her mind raced as she scanned the shelves and the floor again. What has hands and a face but isn't alive?
Tears blurred her vision as she clawed through the debris. "It's a clock," she whispered. "It has to be a clock."
But where was it?
She scrambled to another section of the shelves, her fingers brushing against jagged glass and splintered wood. She threw objects aside, her heart pounding wildly. A brass object caught her eye, half-buried beneath a pile of broken tools. She lunged for it, pulling out a battered clock face with rusted hands frozen in place.
The walls were now so close she could feel their vibration in her bones. There was barely enough room to move. "This has to be it," she gasped, clutching the clock.
She staggered to the wall, her hands frantically searching for a recess, but the grooves seemed to shift and writhe, mocking her.
"Come on!" she screamed, her voice breaking. Her fingers brushed over an indentation near the center of the wall—small, almost imperceptible. With a cry of desperation, she pressed the clock into the slot.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, a brilliant light erupted from the grooves, and the grinding of the walls stopped. The chamber shuddered violently, the walls freezing before groaning as they began to retract. The crushing pressure lifted, and Elysara collapsed to the floor, gasping for air.
The disembodied voice returned, calm yet unyielding. "You have solved the riddle and faced your fear. Though the weight of despair and isolation sought to break you, you endured. The third trial is complete."
The door ahead of her creaked open, light spilling into the chamber. Elysara lay still for a moment, trembling, the faint hum of her heartbeat in her ears. Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, clutching her mother's necklace for comfort.
She took a shaky step toward the door, her chest heaving with every breath. "I survived," she whispered, her voice raw. "I'm still here."
And with her resolve hardened, Elysara stepped into the light, ready for whatever awaited her next.