The sanctuary had grown quiet. The battle with the Wraith of the Void was over, but its echoes still rang in the minds of Cornelius and his companions. Though victorious, their bodies ached, and their spirits trembled beneath the weight of what they'd seen—and what they still didn't understand.
Cornelius stood at the edge of the crystalline balcony, the vast light of the Luminari's sky glowing over his dark silhouette. His thoughts wandered back to the image he'd seen in the Wraith's final moments—Lucas, dressed in obsidian armor, his crimson eyes filled with hatred. But why? Why did he hate Cornelius so much?
Elara approached quietly. "You've been staring into the light for hours," she said softly.
"I saw him again," Cornelius replied. "Lucas."
She stiffened. "The one who's been leaving destruction in your wake?"
He nodded. "But this time, it felt… personal."
Before she could respond, Aelyra, the luminous guardian of the sanctuary, approached with purpose in her stride. "Cornelius, your journey is far from over. There's a place you must go next—the Veiled Expanse."
He turned to face her. "What's there?"
"The Well of Whispers," she said, her voice almost reverent. "It holds the memories of this world. Its waters can show you the truth—about Lucas, about the rift, about everything."
Tristan and Adrian joined them as she continued. "But be warned. The Expanse is treacherous. The mists will test you, bring your greatest regrets to life. Many enter… few return unchanged."
Cornelius exhaled, his gaze steel. "Then we have no choice. We need answers."
---
The journey took days. The once-vibrant skies dulled to a grey haze as they approached the Veiled Expanse. The terrain was twisted—barren, cracked ground beneath their feet, and tendrils of mist swirling ominously.
The moment they crossed into the expanse, the world grew unnaturally quiet. It wasn't silence—it was suffocating stillness, like the calm before an explosion. Whispers filled the air, and strange illusions began to form.
Cornelius heard his stepmother's voice. "You'll never be good enough. You should've died with your mother."
He shook his head violently. "It's not real."
But then he saw them—his stepbrothers, alive again, laughing at him, throwing stones at a young version of himself, who only curled up tighter, bloodied and crying.
Elara, too, staggered, haunted by images of a village she failed to save. Tristan whispered his late sister's name, and Adrian swung wildly at figments of old battles he'd lost.
The mist fed off memories.
Then came the laughter—deep, mocking, unmistakably human. Cornelius spun around. A shadow formed, solidifying into the unmistakable figure of Lucas. But this wasn't real, just a vision.
Still, the image was sharp. Lucas stood tall, clad in his obsidian armor, a red cloak fluttering behind him. His eyes glowed like embers. The illusion walked slowly toward Cornelius.
"You never understood, did you?" Lucas sneered. "You were always the chosen one. The favorite. Even when you were abandoned, the world bent to protect you. I was the shadow behind your light."
Cornelius clenched his fists. "Why do you hate me so much?"
The vision of Lucas leaned in. "Because you survived… and I was forgotten."
Then the illusion vanished.
They stumbled into the clearing soon after, where the Well of Whispers shimmered under a pale light. The water looked still, like glass. Cornelius dropped to his knees, cupped the water in his hands, and drank.
Immediately, images stormed into his mind.
He saw a younger version of Lucas—kind, noble, full of laughter. They were friends once. Brothers in training. Together, they had fought in the borderlands to protect villages from the spreading corruption.
But then came the day Cornelius was marked by fate. An elder chose Cornelius to inherit a forbidden power tied to the realm's destiny. Lucas had been overlooked, and something inside him had broken. Jealousy turned into resentment. Resentment into obsession. Obsession into rage.
In a climactic vision, Cornelius saw Lucas standing before a blood-stained shrine. An ancient entity—faceless and cloaked in stars—whispered into his mind, promising the power to surpass Cornelius and "correct the world's mistake."
Lucas accepted the deal.
Cornelius gasped as he pulled away from the Well. Elara knelt beside him. "What did you see?"
"Lucas… he wasn't always like this," Cornelius whispered. "We were friends. But I was chosen, and he wasn't. He believes the world turned its back on him—and that I'm the reason why."
Tristan cursed. "And now he wants revenge?"
"No," Cornelius said darkly. "He wants to rewrite fate."
Aelyra approached, her expression unreadable. "Then your final path lies before you. The Well has shown you truth. But it cannot show you what comes next. That part… you must write yourself."
---
That night, as the group rested beneath twisted trees and an ashen sky, Cornelius sat apart. The weight of the past, the burden of the future—it all pressed against him. He stared into the fading embers of their campfire.
"I won't run anymore," he said to himself. "Lucas may have turned into a villain… but I'm no longer the scared outcast he remembers. I'll face him. I'll stop him."
In the darkness, a pair of red eyes watched him from the trees…
Lucas was already closer than they knew.