Chapter 7: Fractured Reflections  

Eryndor's hands trembled as he followed Liora through the dimly lit corridors of the temple, his mind still reeling from the vision on the platform. The boy's accusing words echoed in his thoughts, a haunting refrain that refused to fade. *"You abandoned me… You ran away and never came back."* Who was he? A fragment of Eryndor's forgotten past? Or something else entirely—a fabrication conjured by the Veil to torment him?

Liora glanced over her shoulder, her sharp eyes catching the unease etched across his face. "You're quiet," she observed, her tone softer than usual. "What did you see back there?"

Eryndor hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. He didn't want to appear weak, but the weight of the vision pressed down on him like a stone. Finally, he settled for a partial truth. "I saw… myself. Or someone who looked like me. He accused me of abandoning him."

Liora's expression darkened, her steps slowing slightly. "The trials always show you what you fear most—or what you've tried hardest to forget. Whatever you saw, it wasn't random."

"That's comforting," Eryndor muttered dryly, though his voice lacked its usual sarcasm. 

"It's not supposed to be," Liora replied bluntly. "This place doesn't coddle anyone. If it showed you something, it's because you needed to see it."

Eryndor clenched his fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Needed to see it? For what? To remind me of things I don't even remember doing?"

"To make you face them," Liora countered sharply, stopping abruptly to turn and face him. Her gaze was piercing, unyielding. "You think this is just about surviving? It's not. The Veil doesn't care about your strength or your cleverness. It cares about whether you're willing to confront the parts of yourself you'd rather leave buried."

Her words struck a nerve, cutting deeper than any blade could. Eryndor opened his mouth to argue, but no sound came out. Instead, he stared at the ground, his jaw tightening as the boy's anguished face flashed in his mind again. Was Liora right? Had he really done something so terrible that his own mind had locked it away?

Before he could dwell on it further, a low rumble shook the corridor, sending dust cascading from the ceiling. The carvings along the walls flared brightly, their light pulsing erratically as if reacting to some unseen force.

"We need to keep moving," Liora said urgently, breaking the tension. "Whatever's coming, it won't wait for us."

Eryndor nodded, pushing aside his doubts for now. They continued down the passageway, the air growing colder with each step. The corridor eventually opened into a vast chamber dominated by a massive spiral staircase that ascended into darkness. At the base of the stairs stood another pedestal, this one adorned with a second crystal fragment identical to the one they'd seen earlier.

"This must be part of the shard too," Eryndor said, stepping toward it cautiously. 

"Wait," Liora warned, grabbing his arm before he could touch it. "Look closer."

Eryndor froze, his gaze scanning the pedestal. Around its base were faint etchings—symbols that shifted and rearranged themselves as he watched. Some resembled the glowing runes outside, while others were completely unfamiliar. In the center of the design was a single word written in an ancient script: **"Sacrifice."**

"What does it mean?" Eryndor asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It means exactly what it says," Liora replied grimly. "Nothing here comes without cost."

As if on cue, the symbols flared brightly, bathing the chamber in harsh, blinding light. When the glare subsided, the staircase had transformed. Each step now shimmered faintly, inscribed with shifting patterns that seemed to pulse in rhythm with Eryndor's heartbeat. At the top, barely visible through the haze, stood a shadowy figure cloaked in black.

"The next trial," Liora murmured, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "Are you ready?"

Eryndor swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. "Do I have a choice?"

She smirked faintly, though her expression remained tense. "Not really."

With that, she started up the staircase, her movements deliberate and cautious. Eryndor followed, his senses on high alert. The air grew heavier with each step, pressing down on him like a physical weight. The symbols beneath his feet shifted constantly, forming images that flickered too quickly to fully comprehend—faces screaming in agony, cities crumbling into ruin, skies splitting apart like torn fabric.

When they reached the top, the figure awaited them, its features obscured by shadow. It raised a skeletal hand, pointing toward a narrow bridge spanning a bottomless chasm. Beyond the bridge lay another chamber, its entrance framed by glowing runes that pulsed with an inner light.

**"Cross if you dare,"** the figure intoned, its voice layered with countless overlapping whispers. **"But beware—the path demands more than courage."**

Without hesitation, Liora stepped onto the bridge, testing its stability before motioning for Eryndor to follow. The structure seemed solid enough, though the lack of railings made every step feel perilous. Below them stretched infinite darkness, swallowing even the faintest trace of light.

Halfway across, the bridge began to shift. The planks beneath their feet dissolved into translucent panels, revealing glimpses of alternate realities flashing beneath them. Eryndor caught fleeting images of different versions of himself—some triumphant, others broken, all living lives vastly different from his own. One version stood atop a battlefield, surrounded by allies cheering his name. Another knelt in despair, clutching the lifeless body of a loved one. Yet another laughed cruelly, wielding power that radiated destruction.

"What is this?" Eryndor gasped, his legs threatening to buckle under the weight of what he was seeing.

"The threads of fate," Liora replied, her voice strained. "Every choice you've made—or could have made—exists somewhere. The bridge shows you the paths you didn't take."

Eryndor's breath hitched as another image appeared—a younger version of himself standing beside the boy from the vision, both smiling as they held up a broken sword triumphantly. The memory felt achingly familiar, yet impossible to grasp fully. Before he could process it, the panel beneath his foot cracked, forcing him to stumble forward.

"Keep moving!" Liora shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Don't look down!"

Eryndor forced himself to focus, tearing his gaze away from the shifting panels below. Step by agonizing step, they crossed the bridge until finally, they reached the other side. The moment they stepped into the chamber beyond, the visions vanished, leaving behind only silence.

In the center of the room stood a third pedestal, this one bearing yet another crystal fragment. Surrounding it were mirrors—tall, ornate frames reflecting distorted versions of Eryndor and Liora. Some showed them as they were; others depicted twisted reflections, their faces contorted with rage or sorrow.

"One last test," Liora murmured, her grip tightening on her sword. "Choose wisely."

Eryndor approached the mirrors cautiously, studying each reflection. Most were unsettling but harmless—mere distortions meant to unsettle him. But one mirror stood out. Its surface rippled like liquid, and within it, he saw the boy again. This time, the boy wasn't crying or accusing him. He simply stared, his expression unreadable.

"You again," Eryndor whispered, stepping closer. "Who are you?"

The boy didn't respond. Instead, the mirror shattered, releasing a wave of energy that knocked Eryndor off his feet. When he opened his eyes, he found himself alone in a barren wasteland once more—the same desolate landscape from the earlier vision.

"Not this again," he muttered, scrambling to his feet. 

But something was different this time. The boy stood nearby, holding the broken sword. His face was calm, almost serene. "You've been running," he said softly, his voice devoid of accusation. "But running won't save you."

"I don't understand," Eryndor replied, his frustration boiling over. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to remember," the boy said simply. "Remember who you are—and why you're here."

Before Eryndor could respond, the ground beneath them began to crack, splitting apart with a deafening roar. Flames erupted once more, consuming everything around them. But instead of collapsing into ash, the boy extended a hand toward Eryndor.

"Take it," he urged. "Or lose yourself forever."

Eryndor hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to retreat. Yet something deep inside compelled him to reach out, to grasp the boy's hand. The moment their fingers touched, the flames surged, engulfing them both.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the vision dissolved, leaving Eryndor back in the chamber with Liora. The mirrors were gone, replaced by a single pedestal bearing all three crystal fragments fused together into a larger shard.

"What happened?" Liora asked, stepping closer. "You were gone longer this time."

"I…" Eryndor trailed off, his mind racing. The boy's words lingered in his thoughts, stirring emotions he couldn't quite name. "I think I'm starting to remember."

"Remember what?" Liora pressed, her tone probing.

"Everything," Eryndor replied quietly, meeting her gaze. "And nothing. But I know one thing for sure—we're closer to finding the Chronos Shard than ever before."

Liora studied him carefully, her expression unreadable. Finally, she nodded. "Then let's finish this."

Together, they turned their attention to the fused shard, its glow intensifying as they approached. Whatever secrets it held, Eryndor was determined to uncover them—even if it meant confronting the darkest corners of his soul.