Chapter 18: The threshold of Forever
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The last realm loomed ahead like a whispered legend—**Nihrelion**, the Realm of Eternity. No maps could capture its boundaries, and no song could describe its silence. Only those with purpose deeper than fear could ever hope to step into it and return.
Aria stood on the edge of a narrow precipice, her cloak fluttering against the cold winds that flowed from the veil of twilight ahead. A shimmer rippled across the air—a curtain of translucent energy marking the entrance to Nihrelion. Six fragments now pulsed within her, resonating with the mark on her palm. It glowed softly, like an ember longing to ignite into something more.
Lyrien stood beside her, his jaw clenched, his hand never too far from his sword. His eyes flicked from the veil to Aria, as if searching for signs of hesitation in her. Arinthal, behind them, had her staff pressed against her shoulder, her brows furrowed deep in thought.
"This realm... it's different," she finally said. "It doesn't just test your strength. It tests your essence. Your identity. Your *truth*."
"And if we fail?" Aria asked quietly.
Arinthal didn't answer. She simply looked at her, gaze heavy with the kind of fear only someone who had lived long and lost much could carry.
Without a word, Aria stepped through the veil.
The world dissolved.
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They landed in a place without horizon. The ground was made of glimmering crystal threads, shifting and responding to their thoughts. Trees bloomed from thin air—thoughts turned to life. Lyrien blinked in awe as a small bird, born from his stray memory, chirped once and vanished into mist.
"This place is alive with... us," he whispered.
"Be careful what you think," Arinthal said grimly. "This realm is memory, emotion, and time. Let your mind slip, and you might be trapped in it."
The sky above pulsed with shifting constellations, some unfamiliar, some frighteningly intimate. Aria walked forward, her steps uncertain. She could feel something calling her—not a voice, not a whisper, but a yearning. Like a door she needed to open.
The mark on her palm flared.
Suddenly, the landscape twisted.
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They were in **a city**, bustling and bright. Lanterns floated in the air. Laughter echoed in the streets. Aria gasped—**Tenria.** But this wasn't the broken home she remembered. This was Tenria *before* the fall. Before the fire. Before her life had been stolen.
She stumbled forward, heart racing, as her younger self—only a child—ran past her, giggling, a toy in hand. The vision was too vivid, too alive.
"Aria!" Lyrien called behind her, but she couldn't stop. Her parents were ahead—**her real parents.** They turned and smiled at her, as if they recognized her even now.
Her mother opened her arms.
Tears filled Aria's eyes. She stepped closer. Everything in her *ached* to be held again, to return to a moment when the world hadn't broken.
"Come to me, little star," her mother whispered.
But then—**the sky cracked.**
Lord Xandros' voice—soft, soothing, poisonous—filled the air.
"Why fight what you lost? You could stay here. You could have them again. This realm listens. You deserve peace, Aria. After everything… wouldn't that be enough?"
Aria froze. Her hand trembled.
Lyrien ran to her, grabbing her wrist. "It's not real. Aria, this isn't *real*."
"But it feels real!" she snapped, pain twisting her voice. "Don't you see them?"
"I see *you*," he said firmly, stepping in front of her. "And I know who you are. You don't run from pain—you fight through it."
Arinthal appeared, her eyes blazing. She lifted her staff, slamming it to the ground. The illusion shattered like glass, and the city dissolved, leaving only the crystal ground and starlit sky.
Aria dropped to her knees, tears streaming down her face.
"That's how he gets to you," Arinthal whispered, kneeling beside her. "He offers what you ache for. He doesn't need to kill you. He only needs to make you stop believing in your path."
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They walked in silence for hours.
The terrain shifted constantly, becoming a reflection of their fears, dreams, regrets. At one point, Lyrien found himself in a battlefield, reliving a war he had fought in before meeting Aria. At another, Arinthal stood before a younger version of herself, hands soaked in blood from a battle lost long ago.
Each time, they pulled one another back.
And slowly, something in them solidified. Not just friendship—but something deeper. A bond forged through shared pain, not unlike family.
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At the heart of Nihrelion, they found the **final pedestal**. Floating above it, wrapped in swirling light, was the **Seventh Echo Fragment**.
But the moment Aria reached out, a wall of black fire erupted around it. The sky turned red. And from the fire stepped **a version of herself**—twisted, corrupted, older.
The dark Aria smiled.
"You think you can stop him? He's already inside you. Every doubt you've ever felt—he planted them. Every time you hesitated? That was him."
Aria recoiled. "You're not me."
"Oh, I'm exactly you. I'm the part of you that *knows* you'll fail. That wonders what happens after it all ends. That *fears* you're just a tool. A weapon."
Lyrien stepped forward. "You don't speak for her."
"But she listens to me, doesn't she?" the shade said, eyes locking with Aria's. "Late at night. When she doubts if anyone would still care about her if she couldn't save the world. If she didn't have that scar."
The mark on Aria's palm burned.
But then—Lyrien took her hand.
"You are *not* just a scar," he whispered. "And you're not alone in this."
Arinthal joined them, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You're the key, yes. But even keys need doors. And we're your door, Aria. You don't carry this alone."
Something broke in Aria. The fear. The doubt. All of it shattered under the weight of their faith in her.
She raised her hand, the mark blazing bright, and the shade screamed—melting into ash.
The black fire vanished.
And the final fragment fell into her grasp.
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The ground rumbled.
The Realm of Eternity began to collapse.
But Aria stood tall, holding the seventh fragment close to her heart. The mark on her palm now shone like a star.
They had done it.
But as they prepared to leave, a shadow stepped through the thinning veil of the realm.
**Lord Xandros.**
Tall. Cloaked in writhing shadows. His face a mask of calm.
"I am impressed," he said softly. "Truly. Few have ever made it this far."
The trio raised their weapons, ready to fight.
But he held up a hand.
"Not today. No blood in Nihrelion. This realm deserves better."
"Then why show yourself?" Aria demanded.
"To remind you," Xandros said with a slow smile, "that I've already won. The mark on your palm—it may lead you to me. But it also connects us. The more you use it, the more I *know* you."
Aria's breath caught.
"I'll be waiting, little key," Xandros said, and with that, he vanished into mist.
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The trio returned to the physical realm, changed forever. The sky above them was clear, but the storm within had only just begun.
They now held all seven Echo Fragments.
The final battle was drawing near.
And Aria knew: the true test wasn't just surviving Lord Xandros.
It was surviving herself…..
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