The chamber was quiet. After the searing torment of flesh and fire, this place felt like an echo—an emptiness that pressed against Eliakim's chest. The path before him wound into a low tunnel, smooth and cold. The flames of Varnash no longer lit the way. This time, there was no guide.
Skyling padded close, brushing against his side. Its wings drooped. Eliakim gave it a tired smile, his body still aching from the reshaping. His clothes pulled tight at his shoulders and chest, but it was more than the pain that weighed on him now. It was something deeper. Something waiting.
The tunnel opened into a circular room of polished obsidian. No altar. No treasure. Just a single stone bench and a mirror set into the far wall. The mirror shimmered faintly, not with magic—but with something more primal.
The voice that had accompanied every trial was gone.
Eliakim approached.
His reflection stared back—older, wearier, stronger. But it wasn't the body that struck him. It was the eyes. The reflection looked deeper than any surface. Into his regrets. Into his doubts.
Then the mirror rippled.
His surroundings melted away, and he stood in the rain.
He was younger. Smaller. In the dim-lit cottage where his mother whispered lullabies. The night his father vanished, he wasn't in the village square—he was in his crib, barely old enough to remember the scent of smoke as the door slammed shut and his mother screamed into the storm.
The memory played like a puppet theater. No one noticed him. No one answered his cries. The storm drowned out his voice.
He reached out, but his hand passed through the memory.
Another shift.
He watched his mother cry silently at the hearth. She never told him the truth. She only said: "He loved you very much."
Another shift.
He was holding Mareth's hand while she burned with fever, terrified he would lose her too.
Shift.
The Codex. The swamp. The blood. The fire.
Everything he had endured had led to this.
The mirror returned.
This time, his reflection spoke.
"You fear the truth. That you were the cause. That your father left because of you."
Eliakim's jaw clenched.
"You believe that if you become strong enough, wise enough, useful enough... maybe the world will forgive you. Maybe you will."
His fists shook.
"But strength without peace is poison. You cannot carry love if you chain your heart."
Then the mirror cracked.
Pain exploded through his chest.
Not fire. Not wounds.
Grief.
It swept through him like a flood, years of hidden sorrow and guilt unleashed. He collapsed to his knees, choking on breathless sobs he had buried for too long.
Skyling cried out, rushing to him. It tried to lift him, but he slumped against the floor.
"I didn't ask to be born like this... I didn't mean to take him away..."
The darkness trembled.
A hand touched his shoulder.
He looked up.
It was him.
A man with coal-black hair, golden eyes, and a face Eliakim had only seen in dreams.
"Dad...?"
The man smiled. Sad. Warm. Proud.
"You've grown, my son."
Eliakim reached out, but his hand passed through.
"You're not... real?"
"I am. For this moment. A memory held in the vault. A final gift."
Eliakim's eyes filled with tears. "Why did you leave? Where did you go?"
His father knelt in front of him, expression pained.
"A curse binds my tongue. I cannot tell you everything. Only this: it was never your fault."
Eliakim's breath hitched.
"Then why did it happen after I was born? Why did she never speak of it?"
His father placed a ghostly hand over Eliakim's heart.
"Because she loved too deeply. Because she feared you would carry pain that wasn't yours to bear. I vanished the night Seraphine gave birth to you—not by choice, but by fate. I left because I had to. Not because I wanted to."
Eliakim sobbed openly now. The final wall cracked.
"I missed you. Every day."
His father's voice trembled. "And I watched you. Every step. You are stronger than I ever was. Wiser. Kinder. And still growing."
The room shimmered. His father began to fade.
"No! Please! Don't go again!"
"I never truly left. You carry me. And her. Always."
One last whisper:
"Find the truth. Find me. And never stop being you."
And then he was gone.
Eliakim collapsed, weeping against the floor.
Skyling curled against him.
He didn't know how long he cried. But when he stood, the mirror was gone, and in its place—a crystal heart floated in the air.
The Heart of Thal'Adreth.
It pulsed with soft light. Not power, but peace.
He reached for it, and it dissolved into his chest.
Warmth filled him.
He was whole.
Not because he was strong. Not because he was wise.
Because he loved, and he endured.
The final sigil burned bright.
The vault rumbled.
And the way forward opened.