Chapter 4: Fragments of the Past  

The forest blurred around them as Liora dragged Eryndor deeper into the shadows, her grip firm and unyielding. Every step sent vibrations rippling through the ground, each tremor more pronounced than the last. The glowing runes they passed flickered wildly, their light pulsing in sync with the ominous rumbling that seemed to emanate from the very earth itself. Behind them, the guttural roar grew louder, closer, reverberating through the trees like a storm about to break.

"Faster!" Liora hissed, glancing over her shoulder. Her face was taut with urgency, but there was no trace of panic—only grim determination. She knew this place better than he did, and whatever was chasing them clearly wasn't something she wanted to face head-on.

Eryndor stumbled once, his legs burning from the exertion, but Liora yanked him upright without missing a beat. "Keep moving," she snapped, her voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "If we stop, we're dead."

"But what *is* that thing?" Eryndor demanded, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He risked a glance behind them, though he instantly regretted it. Emerging from the darkness was a massive, hulking figure—its form distorted and shifting, as if it couldn't decide whether it wanted to be man or beast. Its eyes burned like molten gold, piercing through the gloom with an intensity that made Eryndor's skin crawl. Worse still, the creature seemed to grow larger with every passing second, its limbs stretching unnaturally as it lumbered forward.

"It's not something you want to meet," Liora replied tersely. "Just run!"

They darted between towering trees, weaving through thickets and leaping over roots that threatened to trip them at every turn. The air grew colder, carrying with it the acrid stench of decay. Somewhere above, branches groaned under the strain of unseen forces, snapping and crashing to the ground in their wake. The forest itself seemed alive, twisting and contorting as if trying to trap them within its grasp.

Eryndor's lungs burned, his muscles screaming for relief, but he forced himself to keep going. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though gravity itself had turned against him. Still, he clung to one thought: dying wouldn't kill him. Not permanently, anyway. But Liora didn't have that luxury. If they were caught, she'd die—and judging by her reaction, she wasn't eager to test how permanent *her* death might be.

Suddenly, Liora skidded to a halt, nearly causing Eryndor to collide with her. Ahead of them loomed a sheer cliff face, rising impossibly high into the canopy. There was no way around it, no visible path forward. They were trapped.

"We're out of options," Eryndor panted, his chest heaving. "What now?"

Liora didn't answer immediately. Instead, she scanned the area, her sharp eyes darting back and forth. Then, spotting something near the base of the cliff, she grabbed Eryndor's arm again and pulled him toward it—a narrow fissure in the rock, barely wide enough for a person to squeeze through.

"In here," she commanded, shoving him ahead of her. "Hurry!"

Eryndor obeyed, squeezing into the crevice just as the creature roared again, closer this time. The sound was deafening, shaking loose pebbles and dirt that rained down on them as they scrambled deeper into the tunnel. The passage twisted sharply, plunging them into near-total darkness. Only faint slivers of light filtered through cracks in the rock, casting eerie patterns on the walls.

For several minutes, they moved in silence, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone. The oppressive weight of the forest faded slightly, replaced by the damp chill of the underground. Finally, the tunnel opened up into a small cavern, its ceiling low and uneven. A single beam of sunlight pierced through a crack above, illuminating a pool of water at the center of the space.

Liora dropped to one knee beside the pool, dipping her fingers into the water before splashing some onto her face. She exhaled deeply, her shoulders sagging with relief. "We lost it—for now."

Eryndor leaned against the wall, catching his breath. His heart was still racing, adrenaline coursing through his veins despite the temporary reprieve. "That… was close," he managed, his voice hoarse.

"You can say that again," Liora muttered, standing up and wiping her hands on her armor. She glanced at him, her expression softening slightly. "You handled yourself well back there. Most people would've frozen."

"I didn't exactly have much choice," Eryndor replied wryly. "Besides, I figured dying wouldn't stick."

Liora raised an eyebrow. "Still confident about that, are you? That thing wasn't just any predator—it was something else entirely. Something tied to this place. And trust me, not everything here plays by your rules."

Her words sent a chill down Eryndor's spine. He hadn't considered that possibility—that the loop might not protect him from everything. What if there were exceptions? What if certain deaths were final?

Before he could dwell on it further, Liora knelt beside the pool again, this time studying the water intently. "Look," she said, pointing at the surface. At first, Eryndor saw nothing unusual—just the gentle ripple of water reflecting the beam of sunlight. But then the ripples began to change, forming shapes and patterns that seemed almost deliberate.

"What is that?" Eryndor asked, stepping closer.

"A reflection," Liora murmured, her voice tinged with awe. "But not ours."

As they watched, the water shimmered, revealing fragmented images—scenes that shifted and flickered too quickly to fully comprehend. Eryndor caught glimpses of towering spires wreathed in mist, shadowy figures cloaked in black, and a glowing shard suspended in midair, radiating waves of energy. The visions were disjointed, dreamlike, yet undeniably real.

"These are memories," Liora said softly. "Yours, maybe. Or someone else's. Either way, they're connected to why you're here."

Eryndor frowned, leaning closer. One image lingered longer than the others—a young boy standing alone in a field of ash, clutching a broken sword. The boy's face was obscured, but something about him felt achingly familiar, as if Eryndor had known him once, long ago.

"Do you recognize him?" Liora asked, her tone probing.

Eryndor shook his head slowly. "No… but I feel like I should."

"That's the Veil working on you," Liora explained. "It pulls pieces of your past, your present, even your future, and throws them at you until you can't tell which is which. It's testing you, pushing you to confront whatever it is you're running from."

"And if I don't?" Eryndor asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Then you'll stay here," Liora replied bluntly. "Forever."

The weight of her words settled over him like a leaden blanket. For all his bravado, Eryndor couldn't deny the fear gnawing at the edges of his mind. This place wasn't just dangerous—it was cruel, relentless, designed to break him piece by piece until nothing remained.

But as he stared into the pool, watching the images shift and dissolve, something inside him stirred. Anger, perhaps, or defiance. Whatever it was, it refused to let him give up—not yet.

"We need to find that shard," Eryndor said suddenly, straightening up. "Whatever it is, it's important. Maybe it's the key to getting out of here."

Liora regarded him carefully, her expression unreadable. "You're sure about that?"

"No," Eryndor admitted. "But it's the only lead we've got."

Liora hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. But finding it won't be easy. The Chronos Shard—if that's what it is—isn't just lying around waiting to be picked up. It's protected by traps, illusions, and worse. People have died trying to reach it."

"Good thing dying doesn't stick," Eryndor quipped, forcing a grin.

Liora didn't smile. Instead, she fixed him with a hard look. "Don't get cocky. Even if your little trick works, it won't save you from everything. Trust me—I've seen enough to know when someone's playing with fire."

Eryndor met her gaze evenly. "Then help me avoid getting burned."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Liora sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Fine. But if we're doing this, we do it my way. No reckless moves, no shortcuts. Understood?"

"Understood," Eryndor agreed, though he couldn't suppress a smirk. "Lead the way."

With that, Liora turned and headed back toward the tunnel, her movements purposeful and resolute. Eryndor followed, his mind buzzing with questions—but also with a newfound sense of direction. The forest might be a labyrinth, but for the first time since waking up beneath that cursed tree, he felt like he had a map.

Even if it was written in fragments of memory and shadow.