Orien stepped cautiously into the swirling mist, each footfall muffled by the thick carpet of moss and fallen leaves that covered the forest floor. The ancient trees swallowed him without a sound, their gnarled branches arching overhead like the ribs of a great, slumbering beast, blotting out most of the sky. Pale, ethereal light filtered weakly through the dense canopy, cold and distant, casting an eerie glow over the landscape. There was no wind to stir the leaves, no birds to break the silence, no rustling of small animals in the undergrowth. No movement at all—save for the gentle curl of the mist that clung to his boots, obscuring the path ahead. The oppressive stillness was unsettling, a stark contrast to the vibrant life he had left behind in Elowen.
The smooth stone in his hand pulsed softly, its faint luminescence illuminating the path a few feet ahead, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to mock his every step. He gripped it tightly, his knuckles white, unsure if it offered true guidance, reliable protection, or neither. He didn't understand its purpose, its connection to the Trials, or why it had chosen him. The air was thick and heavy, laden with the scent of damp earth and decaying vegetation, overlaid with something older, something more unsettling—a musty, indefinable aroma that smelled of forgotten things, of secrets buried deep within the forest's heart. It was the smell of time itself.
The silence was wrong, unnatural. Too complete. The absence of sound was more unnerving than any noise could have been, creating a sense of isolation that pressed in on him from all sides. He felt like he was the only living being in a world of ghosts.
Then—
"Orien."
He froze, every muscle in his body tensing, his heart leaping into his throat. The voice had come from behind him, a mere whisper on the wind, barely audible above the pounding of his own heart. It was familiar, yet distorted, as if filtered through a veil of mist and memory.
"Lira?" he called out, his voice trembling slightly, spinning around to face the direction of the sound.
Nothing. Just trees and mist, their forms shifting and swirling in the ethereal light. There was no sign of Lira, no indication that anyone else was present. He scanned the surroundings, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow, searching for any sign of movement.
He waited, his breath held captive in his lungs, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The silence stretched on, broken only by the sound of his own ragged breathing.
"Orien... help me."
His breath caught in his throat, his blood turning to ice in his veins. That was undeniably Lira's voice—no question about it. Faint, desperate, and echoing as though called from the depths of a cave, or across a vast and desolate plain. He turned in a slow circle, trying to pinpoint the direction of the sound, his senses straining to pierce through the swirling mist.
"Where are you?!" he shouted, his voice cracking with fear and desperation. "Lira, answer me!"
Silence.
Then the whisper returned, this time seeming to emanate from his left, closer now, more insistent.
"Why did you leave me...?"
He ran, abandoning all caution, driven by a primal urge to find her, to rescue her from whatever torment she was enduring.
Branches clawed at his arms, tearing at his clothes, leaves tore past his cheeks, stinging his skin. He ducked low, weaving through the tangled undergrowth, following the sound of her voice, pushing deeper and deeper into the heart of the forest. The mist thickened, clinging to his skin like a clammy sweat, obscuring his vision and making it difficult to breathe.
He burst into a clearing and stopped short, his breath catching in his throat, his eyes widening in disbelief.
Lira stood in the center of the clearing, bathed in the ethereal light that filtered through the canopy, her arms hanging limply at her sides, her body unnaturally still. She stared blankly at him, her expression vacant, devoid of all emotion.
"Lira!" he cried, rushing forward, his heart overflowing with relief. "Lira, I'm here! What happened?"
She didn't move, didn't react to his presence. She remained frozen in place, like a statue carved from ice.
As he drew close, he saw something was terribly wrong, something far more disturbing than he could have imagined. Her eyes were empty—glassy and silver, like frozen moonlight, reflecting the pale light in an unsettling way. Her skin, pale and smooth, shimmered with an unnatural luminescence, like mist solidified. She smiled slowly, a chilling, unnatural expression that didn't reach her eyes.
"You left me," she said, her voice a hollow echo of the Lira he knew, devoid of warmth and affection.
"I didn't! I—" he stammered, his mind reeling, struggling to comprehend what he was seeing.
Her form flickered, shimmering like a mirage. For an instant, her face became something else entirely—twisted, hollow, and grotesque, a fleeting glimpse of something monstrous lurking beneath the surface. Then, just as quickly, it reverted back to its familiar form, the face of his friend.
Orien stumbled backward, his hand flying to his mouth in horror.
Another Lira stepped from the trees, emerging silently from the swirling mist.
Then another, and another, until a fourth Lira stood beside the others, forming a silent, menacing circle around him.
They circled him slowly, identical copies of his friend, their movements synchronized, their expressions vacant, each murmuring in her voice, their words laced with accusation and despair.
"You let me die."
"You chose the stone over me."
"You never cared about me at all."
Orien shouted, his voice cracking with desperation, "You're not real! You're not Lira!"
The stone in his hand blazed suddenly, erupting with a brilliant white light that illuminated the clearing with an almost blinding intensity. The figures hissed, recoiling from the light, staggering back as wisps of smoke curled from their limbs, their perfect forms beginning to unravel. One screamed, its voice warping into a monstrous wail, a sound that echoed through the forest, chilling him to the bone, and the illusions vanished into the mist, dissolving into nothingness as quickly as they had appeared.
Orien collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath, his body trembling uncontrollably, his mind reeling from the terrifying encounter.
The stone cooled in his hand, its light fading back to a faint, steady glow.
A new voice spoke, soft, deep, and resonant, not his own, filling the clearing with its presence.
"You have passed the Gate of Memory. Few do."
Orien looked up, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. A tall figure stood just beyond the edge of the clearing, partially obscured by the mist. He was cloaked in grey, the fabric shimmering with an almost imperceptible light, his face hidden beneath the deep shadow of a hood stitched with intricate patterns of golden thread. He held a staff made of twisted roots, its top burning with a steady blue fire, casting an eerie glow over his features.
"Who are you?" Orien asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I am the Keeper," the figure replied, his voice echoing through the trees. "I watch over the Forest of Echoes, and I guide those who are worthy."
"Is this… the Trial?" Orien asked, his voice trembling.
"One of many," the Keeper replied, his tone enigmatic. "The forest tests your past, your guilt, your attachments. It preys on your fears and your regrets. If you believe the lies it whispers, if you succumb to its illusions, you remain here forever—another echo, lost to time."
"I saw my friend…" Orien began, his voice trailing off, his mind still reeling from the experience.
"You saw your fear," the Keeper corrected, his voice firm but gentle. "You saw the person you were most afraid of losing. But you did not fall for the illusion. You recognized the truth, even when it was disguised as something familiar."
The Keeper stepped closer, and the mist parted before him, revealing the path forward.
"You seek truth," he said, his eyes, though hidden beneath the hood, seemed to pierce through him, seeing into the depths of his soul. "Then walk with me, and I will guide you on your journey."
---
They traveled in silence for a time, their footsteps muffled by the moss and leaves. The path shifted beneath their feet, curving when it should have been straight, splitting into forks that mended themselves as they passed, leading them deeper into the heart of the forest. The forest was alive—not in the way of trees and animals, but with memory, with the echoes of countless lives that had passed through its depths. Faces flickered between the branches, their expressions fleeting and indistinct, whispers curled through the air, fragments of forgotten conversations. But with the Keeper beside him, the forest did not touch Orien again, its illusions unable to penetrate the protective barrier of his presence.
"You are marked," the Keeper said after a while, breaking the silence.
Orien looked down at the stone in his hand, its glow pulsing gently. "By this?" he asked.
"Not the stone itself," the Keeper replied. "Though it is a part of it. You are marked by fate, by destiny. It clings to you like smoke, following you wherever you go."
"Then what is the stone?" Orien asked, his curiosity piqued.
"A guide," the Keeper replied, his voice enigmatic. "A key to unlock hidden truths. And a burden, to weigh you down and test your resolve."
"That's not much of an answer," Orien said, his frustration growing.
The Keeper chuckled softly, a sound that echoed through the trees. "Few answers are, young Vale. The truth is rarely simple, and it is often hidden beneath layers of illusion."
They reached a glade where the trees bent inward, their branches intertwining to form a perfect circle of arching limbs, creating a natural cathedral. In the center of the glade stood a monolith of black stone, its surface smooth and polished, etched with glowing runes that pulsed with an inner light.
"This," the Keeper said, gesturing towards the monolith, "is where you face the Echo."
Orien frowned, his confusion growing. "Wasn't that the trial? The Lira illusions?"
"No," the Keeper said, shaking his head slowly. "That was merely the gate, a test to see if you were worthy to proceed. The Trial is now, and it will test you in ways you cannot yet imagine."
The runes on the stone shimmered, their light intensifying, and the glade darkened, the shadows deepening, creating an atmosphere of foreboding. The mist coiled in, thick and cold, swirling around them like a living thing. Orien hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, then stepped forward towards the monolith, drawn by an irresistible force.
He reached out and touched it, his fingers brushing against the smooth, cold surface of the stone.
---
In an instant, the world shattered, dissolving into a million fragments, and he was transported to another place, another time.
He stood in the village again—but not as it had been before, not as he remembered it. The buildings were ruined, their roofs collapsed, their walls blackened by smoke and fire. Flames licked at their bones, consuming what remained. The sky bled orange and red, reflecting the inferno below, and the air was thick with the acrid stench of burning wood and flesh. The silence was gone, replaced by a cacophony of screams and cries, the sounds of terror and despair.
He ran through the wreckage, his heart pounding in his chest, searching frantically for familiar faces, his voice hoarse from shouting their names.
He found Lira, collapsed by the riverbank, her body twisted at an unnatural angle, her eyes staring blankly at the sky, unmoving.
"No…" he whispered, his voice breaking, tears streaming down his face. He knelt beside her, cradling her in his arms, his body shaking with grief.
Footsteps approached, slow and deliberate, echoing through the ruins. A figure in black robes emerged from the shadows, its face hidden beneath a hood, its eyes glowing like burning coals.
"You let them die, Orien Vale," the figure said, its voice cold and accusing, devoid of all emotion. "All of them. Because you accepted the stone, because you chose this path."
Orien looked up, his eyes filled with tears, his face contorted with pain.
"I didn't want this," he sobbed, his voice barely audible above the sounds of the fire.
"Then why take it?" the figure demanded, its voice relentless.
"I didn't choose!" he shouted, his anger flaring, momentarily eclipsing his grief. "It chose me! I didn't have a choice!"
The figure leaned down, its face inches from his, its eyes burning into his soul. "But you did," it whispered, its voice insidious. "You always have a choice, and you always will. You chose this, even if you don't realize it. You chose to leave them behind, to pursue your own destiny."
Orien stood, his grief transforming into defiance, his eyes blazing with anger. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice trembling but firm.
The figure reached up and pulled back its hood, revealing its face.
It was him.
An older Orien, his face lined with sorrow, his eyes hollow and haunted, a jagged scar running across his left brow.
"You are me," he said, his voice trembling with emotion.
The Echo-Orien nodded, his expression somber. "If you fail," he said, his voice a mere whisper. "If you give in to despair, if you succumb to the darkness, if you forget who you are and what you are fighting for."
"I won't," Orien declared, his voice filled with determination.
The Echo drew a blade, its surface gleaming with an unholy light. "Prove it," he challenged, his voice laced with a hint of desperation.
They fought, their blades clashing against each other, sparks flying, the sound echoing through the ruins. Orien summoned his own weapon, a shimmering blade of pure energy, drawn from the light of the stone, and met the Echo's attack.
They fought not with skill, but with heart, driven by their emotions, their hopes, and their fears. Every time he faltered, every time he doubted himself, he remembered Lira's smile, the smell of his home, the quiet mornings spent by the river. He remembered what he was fighting for, and he found the strength to continue.
Finally, after a grueling battle, he disarmed the Echo, knocking the blade from its grasp, and stood over him, his weapon poised to strike.
"Do it," the Echo said, his voice filled with resignation. "End it."
"No," Orien said, lowering his weapon.
"Why?" the Echo asked, his voice barely audible. "Why won't you finish it?"
"Because I won't become you," Orien said, his voice filled with conviction. "I won't let the darkness consume me. I won't give in to despair. I will find a way to stop this, to save everyone."
Light exploded from the monolith, engulfing the ruins in a blinding flash. The Echo vanished, dissolving into nothingness.
Orien opened his eyes, his body trembling, his mind exhausted.
---
He lay in the glade, his chest heaving, his face covered in sweat. The Keeper stood nearby, watching him, his expression unreadable.
"You have passed the First Trial," he said, his voice echoing through the trees.
Orien sat up slowly, his muscles aching, his head pounding.
"That was only one?" he asked, his voice filled with disbelief.
"There are ninety-nine more to come," the Keeper replied, his tone neutral.
Orien groaned, his face falling. "Wonderful," he muttered sarcastically.
The Keeper extended a hand, his palm open, revealing a crystal shard, shaped like a feather, its surface glowing faintly with an inner light.
"Each trial gives a token," he said, his voice solemn. "Collect them all, and the path to the Hundredth will open, leading you to your final destination."
Orien took the shard, his fingers brushing against the Keeper's. It pulsed in rhythm with the stone in his pouch, as if resonating with its energy.
"Where do I go now?" he asked, his voice filled with uncertainty.
"Follow the river," the Keeper replied, gesturing towards the sound of rushing water. "When the water sings, listen closely to its melody. When it weeps, run for your life."
The forest began to dissolve, the trees fading into mist, the path stretching outward like a ribbon of silver, beckoning him forward.
"Go, Orien Vale," the Keeper said, his voice echoing through the dissolving landscape. "The trials have only just begun, and the journey ahead will be long and arduous. But remember what you have learned here, and never lose sight of your goal."
And Orien walked forward, into the unknown, embracing whatever challenges lay ahead, determined to face them with courage,