The doorway led Talon and his guide into a vast, surreal expanse, unlike anything Talon had ever seen. The ground beneath his feet wasn't solid—it shifted and rippled like liquid, yet it held his weight. Colors danced and swirled in the air, forming shapes that flickered between tangible and ephemeral. Above them, the sky stretched endlessly, an ever-changing tapestry of hues that defied logic.
"This is the space between," the figure said, their voice reverberating strangely in the open expanse. "The Rift's true heart."
Talon's steps faltered as he tried to take in his surroundings. Every movement sent ripples through the ground, distorting the shimmering landscape. The sensation of walking on something both stable and fluid was unnerving, and his head spun as he adjusted to the strange physics of this place.
"What is this place?" Talon asked, his voice barely audible.
The figure paused, tilting their head slightly as if listening to something Talon couldn't hear. "This is where time and memory converge. Every choice made, every road not taken—this is where it all intersects." They turned to face him, their expression unreadable beneath the hood. "Here, you will understand the weight of your decisions."
Talon wanted to respond, but his words caught in his throat as he felt a sudden, invisible pull at the back of his mind. It wasn't physical, but a deep, internal sensation, as though something was reaching into him, probing.
"What… what's happening?" he stammered, stepping back instinctively.
The figure raised a hand, a gesture meant to calm him. "Do not resist. The Rift requires an offering. It must take before it can give."
Talon's heart raced. "Take what?"
"A memory," the figure said simply. "The Rift takes only what it deems unnecessary. But to gain the knowledge you seek, you must be willing to part with a piece of yourself."
Talon's mouth went dry. Memories were precious—fragments of who he was. The thought of losing even one was terrifying. But he had come this far. He had chosen this path.
"I don't—"
Before he could finish, the pull intensified. The air around him grew heavy, pressing against his chest. Images began to flicker before his eyes—scenes from his past. Some were vivid, others faded like distant echoes. They swirled around him, circling like vultures.
Talon gasped as one of the images grew clearer, sharper. It was a memory of his childhood, one he hadn't revisited in years: a sunny afternoon by the river, his mother laughing as she helped him catch fish. He could hear the sound of the water, feel the warmth of the sun on his skin, smell the fresh earth beneath his bare feet.
"No," Talon whispered, panic rising in his chest. "Not that one. Please, not that one."
But the Rift didn't listen. The memory hovered for a moment before it began to fade, its edges blurring. Talon reached out instinctively, trying to grab hold of it, but his hands passed through it like smoke.
The pain came suddenly, sharp and overwhelming. It wasn't physical, but a searing ache deep within his mind. He fell to his knees, clutching his head as the memory was torn away, leaving a hollow void in its place.
"Stop!" he cried, his voice breaking. "Please!"
But it was done. The memory was gone.
Talon's breathing was ragged as he looked up at the figure. "What… what did it take?" he asked, his voice trembling.
The figure's expression was inscrutable. "A piece of your past. One that the Rift deemed unnecessary for the path ahead."
Talon shook his head, anger and despair churning inside him. "That's not for the Rift to decide!"
The figure knelt beside him, their tone calm but firm. "You sought the truth, Talon. This is the cost. The Rift does not take lightly, but neither does it take unfairly. The memory is gone, but what remains will guide you forward."
Talon wanted to scream, to argue, but the weight of the loss pressed down on him, silencing him. The warmth of the memory, the laughter of his mother—it was gone, leaving only a faint echo that he couldn't quite grasp.
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He had chosen this path. He couldn't turn back now.
"Come," the figure said, standing and extending a hand to him. "The Rift has accepted your offering. The path forward awaits."
Talon hesitated before taking the offered hand. As he stood, he glanced back at the swirling expanse of light and shadow behind him. A part of him wanted to run back, to search for the memory he had lost, but he knew it was futile. The Rift didn't give back what it took.
With a deep, steadying breath, Talon followed the figure. The landscape shifted around them, the swirling colors and shapes giving way to something new—a towering structure in the distance, its surface gleaming with a strange, otherworldly light.
"What is that?" Talon asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"The next step," the figure replied. "The Rift's trials are not yet over. But each one brings you closer to the truth you seek."
Talon nodded, though his heart was heavy. The memory he had lost lingered in the back of his mind like a phantom pain, a reminder of what the Rift had taken. But he couldn't dwell on it. Not now.
As they approached the structure, Talon felt a new sense of determination rising within him. The Rift had taken from him, but it hadn't broken him. Whatever lay ahead, he would face it head-on.
And he would not let the Rift take anything more than it already had.