The staircase stretched endlessly before Zami, the stone steps weathered by time and countless trials. Each rise felt like an eternity, but the pain in his limbs, the exhaustion in his bones—none of it mattered. He had faced horrors that would have broken most, yet here he stood, resolute and unwavering.
Zami reached the top. The air felt different here—heavier, filled with an oppressive silence that weighed down on him like a tangible presence. The torches lining the walls flared up with white flame, casting long, jagged shadows across the vast, empty hall.
Ahead of him, a massive gate loomed. It was wrought with intricate patterns of unknown runes, its surface smooth, as if the gate itself had no origin, no time. The symbols pulsed with a faint light, as though alive.
Zami's gaze swept the room. There was nothing here, no creature, no vessel, no challenge to be faced. Just the gate.
He took a step forward.
The moment his foot hit the ground, the air seemed to crackle. The silence was shattered as the ground beneath him shifted, the stone floor rumbling like a distant earthquake. The gate before him slid open slowly, revealing a realm of pure, blinding light that seemed to extend into infinity.
Zami didn't hesitate. He walked forward, his pace unhurried, each step deliberate and calm. He had faced death too many times to fear anything that might come now. The door to this new world—this next trial—was open. And he would walk through it.
As he stepped into the light, the world around him seemed to warp and distort, the air growing thick and suffocating. He felt a weight in his chest, as though an invisible force was trying to crush him from all sides. Yet, with every step, he grew steadier, more resolute.
The vast light swallowed him whole.
He found himself standing on a platform, no longer in the hall of the Withering Spire, but in a strange, ethereal place—an endless expanse of pure white. There were no walls, no floor, just a never-ending void of light. No visible sky, no horizon. The air was thick with a strange hum, a resonance that vibrated deep within his bones.
A figure appeared before him—shifting into existence, materializing from the light itself.
It was tall, imposing, with a slender, almost skeletal frame, wrapped in a flowing robe of glimmering white threads. Its face was hidden beneath a mask of luminous light, a smooth surface that reflected no features, no expression.
For a moment, Zami felt his pulse quicken, but he quickly quelled it. His hand instinctively tightened around the hilt of his katana.
The figure didn't move or speak. It just stood there, radiating an aura of omnipotence, a presence that seemed to reach into his very soul.
"Are you ready?" a voice echoed in his mind, not spoken but felt—a deep, resonant voice, timeless and infinite.
Zami didn't answer immediately. His mind was already whirling with questions. Was this the final test? What was this place? And who was this being?
But then he remembered what Shattered Dominion had told him—he had proven his worth, not only by surviving the trials but by confronting the entities and their twisted reflections.
He had no choice but to move forward.
"I am ready," he said, his voice steady, but his words filled with a quiet resolve.
The figure before him tilted its head, as though studying him, as if deciding whether he was truly worthy.
The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity. Finally, the figure spoke again, this time with clarity and authority.
"Then face your truth."
The light around him began to swirl, distorting like liquid, as the figure faded into the air. For a moment, Zami stood alone in the endless white. But then, from the swirling light, shapes began to form.
Twisted, broken forms—shadows of his past, echoes of his long-forgotten memories.
Zami tensed, but he didn't falter. He knew what was coming. Whatever challenge awaited, he would face it head-on.