Night fell over the Kael'Zyth desert like a thick, silent cloak. The heat dissipated, but the air didn't become lighter. Arien followed the stone formations pointed out by Khron, now visible beneath the faint glow of small lights that appeared and vanished among the reddish rock blocks. The black sand, once fine and loose, was denser there, as if each step weighed not only on his body but also on his memory.
The silence was absolute. No creature moved. No natural sound accompanied him. Only he and the invisible echoes of the desert.
Crossing a narrow passage between two broken stone columns, Arien found himself before a circular clearing, surrounded by pillars worn by time. In the center, there was a six-sided stone block embedded in the ground, marked with a spiral carved in low relief. The spiral seemed to move slowly, as if waiting to be touched.
He knelt beside the block. His hand hesitated for a moment. Then, he steadied his fingers on the stone and placed his palm on the spiral. In the next instant, the ground trembled beneath his feet.
The surrounding dunes gave way as if pulled into the earth. Beneath the sand, an ancient spiral staircase was revealed, descending into the darkness.
Arien did not hesitate. He went down.
The tunnel walls were made of living stone, pulsing with muffled heat, as if something below still breathed. The air grew denser with every meter. Each step was accompanied by a faint whisper, confused words that vanished before he could understand them.
The path was not just physical. It was like crossing a line between worlds—between what he remembered and what he feared to forget.
At the end of the staircase, he found a narrow corridor, oddly carved. The walls resembled the ribs of a sleeping creature, the ceiling was uneven, dripping with moisture that did not match the heat. The sound that guided him came from all directions: it was not music, nor voice, nor wind. It was only an echo.
An ancient echo.
The crystal in his pouch vibrated more strongly. Arien took it out and saw it now pulsed with a silvery, cold light. At the end of the corridor, a stone door opened by itself.
Inside was a circular chamber. The walls were covered in carvings depicting stories he didn't recognize: cities burning, suspended in the air; men with empty eyes kneeling before fires that gave no light; faceless gods pointing into the void. In the center, a stone basin held a mirror of dark, still water.
Arien approached. The silence of the place weighed on his shoulders.
As he looked at the water's surface, it shifted. Images appeared.
Mahran. The village intact. His sister running through the house's halls. His mother, back turned, singing as she baked bread. A frozen instant of happiness. Then, the image warped.
The village in ruins. No flames, but destroyed. The houses collapsing as if eaten from within. People running in panic, making no sound. His sister lying on the ground, eyes open and dull. The small bell she wore on her wrist rolling in the dust.
The mirror darkened again.
Arien fell to his knees, hands clutching the ground. The crystal in his hand emitted a sharp, constant note, like a string stretched past its limit.
A voice filled the chamber. It didn't come from any single point. It was everywhere at once.
Unknown voice:
— "This is what you lost."
He turned quickly.
A tall figure stood by one of the columns. Wrapped in dark robes, faceless, colorless. Its presence distorted the light around it. It seemed made of the same material as the walls. As if it had grown out of them.
Unknown voice:
— "And what do you seek?"
Arien took a deep breath. His body still trembled, but his voice was steady:
Arien:
— "I want to know who did this. Why they did it. I want to stop it from happening again."
The figure tilted its head slightly.
Unknown voice:
— "Each piece carries a truth. But it also carries a price."
It raised its hand. A second mirror appeared in the air, made of frozen smoke. Within it, Arien saw a different version of himself: older, his body covered in scars, his eyes burning with a strange light. At his side stood the same hooded figure.
Unknown voice:
— "This may be your path. But not every future wishes to be reached."
The image vanished. The smoke mirror dissolved into dust.
Arien:
— "I don't want the easy path. Nor a delivered fate. I want the truth, even if it destroys me."
The whole room seemed to sigh. The walls vibrated with a low pulse, as if the desert whispered something meant only for him.
The figure took a step back and disappeared into the carvings.
The water mirror bubbled. From the basin's center, a small stone blade rose, marked with the spiral symbol. Arien pulled it free. The crystal in his hand fused instantly with the blade, creating a surge of heat and sound.
The new object pulsed with the same frequency as his previous fragment. But there was something more: he felt… direction. Will. Purpose.
The spiral on the chamber floor began to turn slowly. Then, with a deep rumble, the floor opened in three directions, revealing tunnels descending deeper into the darkness.
Arien stood up with the blade in hand. His breath was heavy, sweat dripping, but there was a new firmness in his gaze.
He stared at the three paths for a moment.
Arien:
— "If I am to discover what I have become… then I begin with the center."
And he took his first step into the labyrinth.
There, the echoes would gain voice.
And the voices would no longer be mere memories. They would be choices. They would be trials. They would be raw truths waiting to bleed.
And Arien was ready to hear them all.