CHAPTER 17:  THE VOICE OF THE GLASS

Alaric's heart pounded with a sickening rhythm as he stood before the glass. It wasn't just any glass, not the kind that adorned windows or bottles. This glass was a living entity, something that had been formed through the suffering of time itself, shaped in the crucible of ancient pain and unfathomable secrets. Its edges pulsed with a strange, eerie light, as if it held the very essence of the universe within its shimmering surface.

The glass was waiting. It knew his name, his past, and every broken fragment of his soul. Alaric could feel its presence pressing against his chest, like an invisible weight threatening to crush him into oblivion. His breath was shallow, his palms slick with sweat. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to turn his back on this accursed relic and flee into the safety of the unknown.

But he couldn't. The voice—the voice from within the glass—was calling him.

"Alaric."

The name whispered through the air, not a sound but a sensation that seemed to crawl into his very bones. It was soft, almost tender, but it carried an undertone of menace that made his skin crawl. The glass seemed to ripple with the breath of something alive, as though the very essence of the universe was watching him, waiting for him to take the next step.

"You have come far," the voice continued, its tone deeper now, reverberating within the core of his being. "But the true test has yet to begin. The path you seek, the path that will lead you to the heart of all things, is not one for the weak. Do you still wish to continue, Alaric?"

His heart clenched. It had been a long and brutal journey—a journey filled with death, betrayal, and unimaginable horrors. Yet here he was, standing on the precipice of a greater unknown, a final trial that would demand everything he had and more. He had come too far to turn back. The voice—if it could even be called that—had awakened something in him, something that went beyond fear, beyond reason.

"I have come this far," Alaric whispered through clenched teeth, his voice rough. "I will not turn back now."

The glass shimmered, as though it recognised the resolve in his words. It seemed to breathe a slow sigh, its edges softening for a moment before darkening again. The whispers continued, swirling in the air like a tempest, and Alaric knew, deep down, that the glass held the key to his future—both the one he craved and the one that would destroy him.

"Then you must face what lies within."

A pulse of cold energy radiated from the glass, and Alaric staggered backward, his eyes widening in terror. The ground beneath his feet seemed to tremble, as though the world itself were responding to the ancient force he had awakened. The glass grew colder still, its surface turning a deep, unnerving black, like the abyss staring back at him.

"Look into the glass, Alaric," the voice urged, now laced with something darker, something insidious. "What you see will be the truth—your truth, the one hidden deep within you. Do you dare face it?"

Alaric felt a chill crawl up his spine as he stared into the abyss of the glass. It was as if his very soul was being stripped bare, his every sin, every regret, every dark thought laid out in front of him like an open wound. The glass flickered, revealing fleeting images—visions of past failures, broken promises, and the faces of those he had loved and lost. They twisted and writhed, their forms distorted by the glass, becoming something other than what they once were.

He wanted to look away. He wanted to escape the terror of seeing himself in such a raw, unfiltered state. But the glass held him, its pull unrelenting, its grip tightening around his mind.

"See the truth," the voice coaxed, its words like honey, sweet but poisonous. "See what you are."

Alaric's breath caught in his throat as the glass began to show him his own face, contorted by rage, fear, and pain. It was a face he barely recognised—a stranger's face, one that bore the marks of all the darkness he had embraced, all the hatred he had cultivated over the years. The face of a man who had long ago given up on redemption.

"You cannot hide from yourself forever," the voice whispered. "You are the sum of your choices, Alaric. And those choices have led you here—to this moment, to this reckoning. What will you do now?"

His heart raced as the glass seemed to grow darker, colder, its surface now a swirling vortex of shadows. The whispers escalated, growing louder, as if the glass itself were speaking with a thousand voices, each one a different manifestation of his own guilt, his own failure. His hands trembled at his sides as the reality of his situation hit him—there was no escape from this trial. No way to outrun the ghosts of his past.

"Face me," the voice hissed, its tone sharp, cutting through his thoughts like a blade. "Face yourself."

Alaric closed his eyes, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. The temptation to turn away, to flee, was overwhelming, but he could not. He had already come so far, endured so much, and there was no turning back now. With a deep, ragged breath, he opened his eyes once more, staring into the abyss of the glass.

The image before him shifted, distorting into something grotesque—his own reflection, but twisted beyond recognition, a monster born of his own fears and regrets. It was a vision of himself that he could no longer deny, one that had been lurking in the darkest corners of his soul, waiting for this moment to emerge.

"You are nothing but a shadow," the voice murmured, its tone almost affectionate. "A creature of darkness, lost in the echoes of your own mind. What will you do, Alaric? Will you let the darkness consume you, or will you fight it?"

The question echoed in his mind, reverberating through every fibre of his being. The glass had shown him the truth, the terrifying truth that he had spent so long running from. But now, in this moment, he understood—this was not just a test of his strength, his resolve, or his ability to endure. This was a test of his will to confront the very darkness within him and rise above it.

He stood tall, despite the terror that threatened to paralyse him. His hand reached out, trembling, toward the glass. The whispers intensified, clawing at his thoughts, urging him to stop, to pull back. But he could not. He had made a choice, and he would face the consequences of it, whatever they may be.

With a final, defiant breath, Alaric touched the glass.

The world seemed to shatter in that instant, and for a moment,

everything went black.