Elliot's breath caught in his throat as the world around him shifted. The dark figure—his shadow self—stood motionless before him, a twisted reflection of who he could become. Every part of him screamed to run, to escape the suffocating pull of this strange, eerie trial.
But the figure only smiled, its eyes glowing bright red, like twin embers burning in the night. "You're not going to run, are you?" it said, its voice a chilling echo of his own.
Elliot could feel the weight of those words pressing down on him, as though the entire field was closing in, the very air thick with tension. The ground beneath his feet felt unsteady, as if everything around him was about to crumble.
"I—I don't understand," Elliot said, his voice shaky. "What do you want from me?"
The dark figure took a step forward, its eyes never leaving him. It moved with an unnatural fluidity, like smoke billowing in the wind. "I am you," it said, its voice soft and almost purring. "The part of you that you refuse to acknowledge, the darkness you keep buried deep inside. I am the truth you don't want to face."
Elliot's stomach twisted. He took a step back, trying to put distance between himself and the figure, but it was like he couldn't escape its pull. The shadows seemed to grow thicker, more oppressive, suffocating him.
"You're wrong," Elliot muttered, clenching his fists. "I'm nothing like you."
The figure tilted its head, its smile widening. "Are you sure about that? You may not want to admit it, but deep down you know it's true. You know there's darkness in you, something that lurks beneath the surface, waiting to be set free."
"No," Elliot said, shaking his head furiously. "I'm not like you. I won't become you."
The dark figure's smile faltered, then twisted into something more sinister. "Then prove it."
With a snap of its fingers, the world around Elliot shifted again. The field was gone, replaced by a mirror—a giant, gleaming surface that stretched up into the sky. The reflection staring back at him was a pale imitation of himself, but with eyes full of rage and bitterness, a twisted expression that sent a shiver down his spine.
Elliot took a hesitant step forward, his hand reaching out toward the glassy surface. As his fingers brushed against it, the reflection seemed to come to life, its lips curling into a mocking smile.
"You see?" the figure said, its voice a taunting whisper. "You can't escape what's inside of you. You are me, and I am you."
Elliot felt his heartbeat race. The reflection seemed to taunt him, beckoning him to step closer, to embrace the darkness that it promised. He wanted to run, to tear himself away, but something in the pit of his stomach told him that if he didn't face this trial—if he didn't accept the darkness—he would never leave.
But then, as if the darkness sensed his hesitation, the reflection twisted, turning violent. The figure in the mirror reached out, its hands pressing against the surface, trying to break free.
"You think you can resist?" the figure growled, its voice now a guttural snarl. "You're weak. You always have been."
Elliot stepped back, his mind spinning. The words echoed in his mind, rattling him to his core. Weak. Was he weak? Was he truly incapable of facing the trials ahead? Was the darkness within him so great that he couldn't escape it?
His fingers curled into fists, his knuckles white from the pressure.
He felt a surge of anger, of determination. He refused to let this twisted version of himself take over. He had to fight back. He had to prove he was more than this reflection, more than the darkness.
"You don't control me," Elliot said, his voice steady now, the doubt clearing from his mind. "I control my own fate."
And with that, he pushed forward. His hand slammed against the mirror, the glass cracking under his touch. The reflection in front of him shattered, breaking into millions of shards that dissolved into the wind. The dark figure, too, screamed, its form crumbling into nothingness.
For a long moment, the air was silent. The oppressive weight that had pressed on him for what felt like an eternity began to lift.
Elliot stood there, panting, as the darkness faded. His body trembled, but the fear in his chest had begun to fade. He wasn't just standing up to the trial—he was standing up to himself.
The girl's voice broke the silence. "Elliot?"
He turned to see her walking toward him, her eyes filled with concern. She stopped in front of him, her gaze searching his face for any sign of injury.
"I'm fine," Elliot said, his voice hoarse but clear. He wiped his forehead, feeling the sweat cling to his skin. "It's over."
The shadow figure was gone. The field, too, had disappeared. They were back in the labyrinth, the air now calm and still.
The figure that had led him through the trials appeared once more, its hood still hiding its face. It spoke, its voice calm and unyielding.
"You have faced your darkest self, Keeper. You have made your choice. The trial of the heart is complete. Now, the path ahead is clearer."
Elliot's heart pounded in his chest, but he didn't feel as though he was sinking anymore. He had proven something to himself. The next trial might be even harder, but he was ready.
No matter what came next, he knew he wouldn't be alone.
Elliot stood in the now-still labyrinth, the echoes of his inner battle fading as the oppressive atmosphere seemed to lift. The dark figure, the reflection of his deepest fears, was gone—but its presence lingered in the back of his mind. The test had been won, but the shadows of doubt still clung to him, like a phantom refusing to leave.
The girl beside him gave him a look of cautious relief, her eyes studying him. "You did it," she said, though her voice lacked conviction, as though unsure if she was speaking to the man who had been there before.
Elliot only nodded, his chest still heavy with the weight of the trial. "Yeah... but at what cost?"
He wasn't asking her. The question was for himself.
The figure ahead of them—the one who had guided them so far—spoke again, its voice cutting through the tension. "The trials are far from over. You have passed the trial of the heart. Now, the final test awaits."
Elliot barely reacted, his mind still grappling with the remnants of the darkness he had faced. "What's next?"
"The trial of the mind," the figure said. "You will need every ounce of your intellect and resolve. This will be the greatest challenge yet."
The air around them seemed to tighten, as though the labyrinth itself was holding its breath, waiting for what came next.
Elliot could feel his stomach churn. The first two trials had been nothing short of grueling, pushing him to the brink of his strength and sanity. Now, it seemed as if the trials would demand more than he was prepared for. Intellect, not strength, would be the key.
"How do we prepare?" the girl asked, her voice firm but with a flicker of uncertainty.
The figure's response was cryptic, as it always was. "There is no preparation. The trial will come when you are ready."
Elliot's thoughts raced. Ready? How could they ever be ready for something that came without warning? The trials had no pattern, no consistency. Each challenge seemed designed to strike at their weakest point, pushing them past their limits in ways that didn't always make sense.
"Ready or not," Elliot muttered to himself, "I guess we'll have to face it."
The labyrinth shifted again. This time, the ground beneath them didn't just change; it twisted. The walls seemed to close in, the air growing heavy and dense. Elliot felt his breath catch. He was no longer standing in a maze—he was trapped in an endless void.
The ground trembled beneath him, and in the distance, Elliot heard a voice—a voice that was familiar, yet alien. It called to him, beckoning him forward.
The girl beside him stiffened. "Do you hear that?"
Elliot nodded, though his mind raced. The voice seemed to pull at him, like a thread weaving its way through his thoughts, drawing him toward it. "Yeah," he replied, though his voice was uncertain. "It's... familiar. But I don't think we're supposed to trust it."
The voice called again, louder this time, and Elliot could hear the hint of urgency in its tone. It wasn't threatening—it was almost… pleading.
Elliot took a step forward, though something in his gut told him this wasn't a path they should follow. "Should we check it out?"
The girl hesitated. "You heard it too, right? It doesn't feel right."
Before Elliot could respond, the voice seemed to shift—its tone darker, more insistent. The ground beneath them cracked, revealing a deep, yawning abyss. The void stretched endlessly, pulling at their senses, as though the very fabric of reality was beginning to unravel.
Elliot's instincts screamed at him to run, but the voice had already begun to twist his thoughts. He had to know—he had to understand.
What was this trial really about?
As he moved closer to the abyss, he saw it—a shape in the darkness, a silhouette that seemed almost human, yet not quite. A figure standing alone in the dark, just out of reach. The voice seemed to come from it, and it was there, waiting for him.
Elliot's heartbeat thudded in his chest. "What is this? Who are you?"
The figure didn't answer immediately. Instead, it took a step forward, and with it, the ground beneath Elliot seemed to shift, distorting, as though time itself was warping. His head spun, and he could feel the tug of something deep within him—something both comforting and terrifying.
The figure's voice broke the silence. "Elliot, do you know what this place is? Do you understand the trials you've faced?"
Elliot opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead, his thoughts seemed to flood into him, memories he didn't know he had, fragments of a life that felt distant. He tried to reach for them, but they slipped away like sand through his fingers.
He took another step, his hand reaching toward the figure, feeling as though something deep inside him was pulling him toward the truth—but what truth?
The voice continued, now almost a whisper. "You cannot escape it. You cannot escape yourself."
Elliot felt the world around him collapse, and in the instant before everything went black, the last thought that raced through his mind was a question—one that he didn't have the answer to:
Who am I really?