Memories

Soren's breath echoed in the suffocating stillness, his eyes darting from side to side as the ground beneath him rumbled. A low hum vibrated through his feet, crawling up his spine like a thousand whispers in the dark. The air shifted, thickening, closing in, as though the very tower was observing him.

And then, without warning, the first crystal emerged.

A jagged shard of glass-like material rose from the stone, cutting through the air with unnatural speed. It wasn't just a crystal—it felt... alive. Soren took a step back, his heart beating. He instinctively drew his sword, the cold steel in his grip grounding him. The light from the crystal flickered, casting strange, distorted reflections across the walls.

Before he could react, more crystals appeared—silent, sharp-edged shapes that materialized from thin air, hovering around him like silent observers. The air shimmered as if reality itself was distorting.

A flicker of movement caught his eye. In the surface of the nearest crystal, something was happening. His own reflection, but not quite his reflection—no, it was something... wrong.

"Who are you?" a voice whispered. It wasn't his own. The voice slithered into his mind, deep and unsettling, like a specter from his past. "You claim to be Soren, but are you really? What is it that makes you who you are?"

Soren stiffened, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. His eyes searched the crystal, but he saw nothing but his own reflection—yet something felt off, like it was staring back at him through a veil, something more... something that didn't belong.

The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

"What is your purpose? What defines you?"

His mind spun. The memory of his father's cruel words resurfaced, sharper than ever, and for a fleeting moment, he felt like the boy he used to be—the boy who doubted his worth. His chest tightened, the weight of that doubt creeping back in.

But no. He wasn't that boy anymore. He had pushed past those fears, hadn't he?

Suddenly, the world around him seemed to shift. The floor beneath his feet cracked, revealing dark fissures that seemed to pulse with an eerie energy. As if the tower itself were alive, breathing with him.

The crystals began to move, spinning slowly, reflecting not just his image but something more—fragments of memories he hadn't wanted to face.

One of the crystals shimmered, and suddenly, his mother's face appeared. But this was no moment of pride. No, this was the moment she had fallen—the battlefield strewn with bodies, the ground soaked with blood. Her eyes, wide with shock, filled the crystal, and he could see the fleeting moment of realization in them: "You couldn't protect me, could you?"

The question struck him like a blade to the chest. His breath caught in his throat, and he staggered back. The crystal shifted, revealing the image of his younger self, crying alone in the dark, his father's harsh words ringing in his ears: "You'll never be enough."

He saw himself, small and powerless, his heart shattered by that constant rejection. The reflection in the crystal seemed to leer at him. "What are you running from, Soren? You failure. You will always be a failure."

Soren's heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel the weight of every failure, every regret, pushing him down. It was suffocating. The walls of the labyrinth were closing in, the crystals reflecting his deepest fears and insecurities. "Who are you, really?"

The voice in his mind was becoming louder now, no longer just a whisper, but a commanding force, demanding answers. The reflection shifted again, showing him older—standing in a blood-soaked battlefield, the faces of those he had killed haunting his every step. He could smell the blood, the iron tang in the air.

"You took their lives. You took everything. And for what? What did it all mean? What does your life mean?"

The reflection smirked at him. "You think you've moved past your past. But you haven't. You're still running. Running from the truth."

Soren's breath was ragged, his sword trembling in his grip. His mind reeled, trying to process the barrage of questions, the reflections of things he had long buried. His legs felt weak, as though the weight of his memories and doubts were pulling him under.

"What is your purpose, Soren?"

The crystals spun faster now, reflecting every part of him, twisting his memories into a tangled mess of doubt and regret. The world seemed to spin with them. He could hear the echoes of his mother's final words, his father's rejection, and the faces of the people he had failed—people who had once trusted him.

The labyrinth wasn't just a trial. It was his mind—his very identity—unraveling before him.

No. This isn't who I am.

Soren's hands shook, but his resolve hardened. He refused to be consumed by these reflections. The labyrinth was trying to break him, to force him to question everything. But he knew better. He wasn't defined by his failures. He was more than the sum of his past mistakes.

With a growl, Soren swung his sword, cleaving through one of the crystals. It shattered into a thousand shards, the sound deafening in the silence that followed. The reflections vanished in a blur of light, and for a moment, he felt free—like he had broken through something suffocating.

But the voice didn't stop. "You can't escape it. You can't escape yourself."

But Soren wasn't listening anymore. The labyrinth had tried to break him, to tear down the walls of his mind. And it had almost succeeded.

But not this time. Not anymore.

He raised his sword high, eyes narrowed in determination. "I am Threadless. I am not a failure." The words felt like fire in his chest. He wasn't done yet.

With a sweeping motion, he cut through the air, and the crystal with the voice shattered, vanishing into nothingness.

The oppressive weight lifted from his chest, and the labyrinth began to fade. The echoes of doubt and fear were silenced, leaving him alone in the silence of the tower.

But Soren knew something had changed.

He had faced his demons—and he wasn't afraid anymore.