The cavern's breath followed him.
A deep, slow exhalation of something unseen, something alive. It whispered against his skin, caressing his mind like fingers made of shadow, pressing into the cracks of his soul. Alaric did not look back. He could feel the crystal behind him, pulsing with a heartbeat that was not his own. A force, ancient and unrelenting, waiting for him to turn around, to succumb to the truth it had shown him.
But he would not.
His footsteps echoed through the hollow passage as he moved forward, though the weight in his chest made it feel as though he was wading through thick, invisible waters. The vision still burnt behind his eyes—the battlefield, the throne of bones, the blood staining his own hands. It had not been a dream. It had been a promise.
"You are the storm. You are the fire. You are the end."
The crystal's words had etched themselves into his bones, but Alaric clenched his fists, jaw tightening.
"No."
He would not be their puppet.
The tunnel walls narrowed as he walked, pressing in around him. The air thickened, choking his breath, but he pressed on, forcing himself not to falter. The deeper he went, the more the path twisted, warping as though the stone itself did not wish him to leave.
And then, without warning—
The ground collapsed beneath him.
The Fall
Alaric's scream was lost to the abyss as he plummeted. Darkness swallowed him whole, the weightless horror stretching on forever. The air rushed past his skin, cold and biting, and then—
Impact.
The world shattered.
Agony lanced through his body as he struck something solid, but not stone—something softer, like flesh. He gasped, struggling to lift himself, his hands pressing into something that shifted beneath his weight. It took a moment for the realisation to sink in.
Bodies.
A sea of them.
Alaric's breath hitched, horror seizing his chest. He scrambled to his feet, his boots sinking into the endless pit of corpses. Their faces were twisted in frozen agony, their mouths gaping in silent screams. Eyes, hollow and lifeless, stared up at him—some filled with sorrow, others with accusation.
And then—
One of them moved.
A hand shot up, fingers curling around his ankle with impossible strength.
Alaric barely had time to react before another grasped his wrist. Then another. And another.
They pulled.
Dragged him down into them.
He thrashed, panic clawing at his throat, but their grips were unyielding. Cold, dead hands pressed against his skin, grasping, clinging. Their voices whispered in unison, a sound that crawled beneath his flesh.
"You have seen. You have chosen. You cannot escape."
Alaric's struggles grew desperate, his muscles burning. He fought, kicked, and tore at the hands dragging him downward, but the more he resisted, the stronger they became.
And then, a voice.
Not a whisper.
A command.
"ENOUGH."
The bodies fell still. The whispers ceased.
Alaric gasped for air, his heart hammering against his ribs.
The hands that had held him went limp, their grips releasing all at once. He stumbled backward, his vision swimming, until he saw him.
A figure stood at the edge of the pit, draped in flowing black robes, his face obscured by shadow. But Alaric knew him.
It was the man from the vision.
The future that the crystal had shown him.
It was he himself.
But where Alaric still carried the fire in his soul, this version of him was devoid of light. His eyes were pits of endless darkness, his presence more than human—something vast, something wrong. He stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate.
"You fight what you are," the shadow-Alaric said. His voice was not an echo but a weight, pressing down on everything around him.
Alaric forced himself to stand tall. "I fight what you want me to become."
The shadow's lips curled into a smile—cold, knowing. "Foolish."
The pit of bodies trembled. Faces turned upward, their dead eyes fixated on Alaric, waiting, watching.
"They are your future. Every life you will take. Every soul you will steal. Do you deny them?"
Alaric's stomach twisted. "Yes."
"Then choose."
The shadow raised a hand.
And suddenly, two paths formed before him.
The Paths of Fate
One path was made of obsidian, its surface gleaming like liquid night. It pulsed with a sickening light, a trail of jagged, broken shards leading into an endless abyss. From its depths, whispers rose—promises of power, of dominion. The path of the crystal. The path of his foretold destiny.
The other path was barely visible. It was rough, uneven, and carved from stone, stretching upward into an unseen height. There was no light to guide it, no voices calling him forward—only silence. The path of defiance. The unknown.
Alaric's breath trembled.
The shadow watched him. "You know the truth. The crystal has shown you what you will become. Do not fight it. Embrace it."
The whispers of the dead stirred again.
"Take the power. End the struggle. Become what you were meant to be."
The obsidian path pulsed. The weight of its promise was suffocating.
But then—Alaric looked to the other road.
It was harsh. It was uncertain.
But it was his.
His jaw clenched.
"I will not be a pawn to fate."
The shadow's expression did not change, but something in its presence grew colder, sharper.
"Then you will suffer."
The cavern shook. The pit of bodies shrieked, their voices twisting into a wail that splintered the air. The obsidian path cracked, splitting apart, and the darkness surged forward like a living thing, lunging toward him—
Alaric ran.
His feet slammed against the stone path, each step sending pain shooting up his legs. The darkness roared behind him, tendrils of shadow reaching, clawing, shrieking for him to stop, to give in. The air burnt in his lungs; his vision blurred from the sheer force of his desperation.
And then—light.
A blinding, searing glow erupted ahead. It was not the cruel brilliance of the crystal but something pure, something real. The moment his foot crossed into its reach, the darkness screamed—
And the world collapsed.
The Aftermath
Alaric gasped, his body slamming onto solid ground. The suffocating weight lifted, and the whispers ceased. The air was clean, crisp, and free.
He pushed himself up, his hands trembling. He was no longer in the cavern. He was outside, beneath an open sky, the stars stretching above him like watchful sentinels.
The darkness was behind him.
The choice had been made.
He had defied the crystal.
Alaric exhaled, his heart steadying. The battle was not over. The shadow would not stop hunting him. But for the first time, he felt something stronger than fear.
Hope.
And as he rose to his feet, the path before him stretched forward, unknown
and waiting.
He had chosen his destiny.
And he would forge it with his own hands.