The Echoing Silence
The temple pulsed. It was alive—not in the way a creature breathed, but in the way an ancient thing remembers. The walls seemed to shift, whispering in a language lost to time. Zyra felt it pressing into her bones, winding around her ribs like unseen chains.
And Kieran—
Kieran was too quiet.
His usual sharpness was dulled, his presence heavy in a way that made the air feel wrong. The mirror's vision lingered between them like an unspoken curse, but neither dared to acknowledge it.
Not yet.
Not when the temple was still watching.
"We need to find the others." Zyra forced the words out, trying to anchor herself in something real.
Kieran's silver eyes flicked to her. They were unreadable again, distant—as if he was already somewhere else.
"They're not dead."
A statement. Not a reassurance.
Zyra frowned. "And you know that how?"
Kieran tilted his head slightly, listening. "Because the temple is still playing with us. If it wanted us dead, we'd be dead."
It wasn't a comforting thought.
She clenched her fists. "Then we find them. Now."
Kieran nodded once, and they moved.
But the temple had other plans.
---
Shattered Paths
As soon as they reached the next chamber, the walls shifted again.
The stone trembled, grinding against itself with a deafening roar.
Zyra cursed and lunged forward, but the floor cracked—splitting the ground between them.
She stumbled back, eyes wide.
Kieran was on the other side now, separated by a growing chasm of nothingness.
For a single breath, their gazes locked.
And then—
He was gone.
Zyra's heart slammed into her ribs.
"KIERAN!"
The only answer was the temple's laughter—a low, echoing rumble.
No. No, no, no.
She sprinted forward, but the gap had widened into a void.
He had vanished.
Zyra's breathing turned ragged. Not again.
The temple had stolen Marek. It had stolen Riven.
And now it had taken him.
She took a step closer to the edge—
And the air shifted.
Something moved behind her.
Zyra whirled, dagger raised—
And nearly lost her grip.
Because standing there, half-shrouded in shadows, was her.
Or at least—what the temple wanted her to see.
The woman from the mirror.
---
A Reflection of Fate
Zyra's throat tightened.
It wasn't just a vision this time.
The doppelgänger stood before her—real, solid, breathing.
And smiling.
A slow, knowing smile, filled with something ancient and cruel.
"You're not ready yet," the other Zyra said, voice softer than it should have been. "But you will be."
Zyra's grip on her dagger tightened. "What are you?"
The other her tilted her head. "A question with too many answers."
Zyra took a careful step back. "You're an illusion."
A sharp laugh. "Am I?"
She moved forward, too fast.
Zyra barely had time to react before the woman's fingertips brushed against her cheek.
And in that instant—
The temple vanished.
---
The Rift's Truth
Darkness swallowed her whole.
Then—
Flashes.
A burning sky.
A throne of black stone, twisted with veins of silver.
Kieran, standing before it—his silver eyes gone, replaced by a void of shifting shadows.
And beside him—
Herself.
Not as she was now.
But as something else.
Something terrible.
The vision ripped away before she could process it.
Zyra gasped, stumbling back into the real world—back into the temple.
Her reflection was gone.
But the words remained, whispered in her mind like a brand:
You will be.
---
The Search Begins Again
Zyra didn't hesitate.
She turned on her heel and ran.
She didn't care what the vision meant.
She didn't care if it was a warning or a prophecy or a curse.
Kieran was missing.
Marek and Riven were missing.
And she was going to find them.
Because the temple might have been playing its game, weaving illusions and nightmares—
But Zyra wasn't a pawn.
She was a storm.
And she was about to break the game apart.
---