The deeper they went, the quieter everything became.
The sound of dripping molten stone faded into silence. The air thinned until it almost felt like the world had stopped breathing. Daniel's steps echoed softly, his hand brushing the Codex for balance. Behind him, Mira and David followed close, eyes sharp, movements tense.
But something was different. The light of the Codex — once golden — now pulsed faintly silver, like moonlight caught in glass.
"Why does it feel so cold all of a sudden?" David whispered.
Mira's gaze swept the fog rolling in around them. "It's not temperature. It's… memory."
Daniel frowned. "Memory?"
Before she could answer, a small crackling voice brushed his thoughts — hesitant, tired, but very much alive.
> "Master… something feels wrong."
He blinked. His eyes darted to his shoulder — where the Pyraquila had perched, curled into itself, its flames dim. "You're awake."
> "Mm. Kind of. Everything smells… sad."
A pause.
"Are we dreaming? I don't like it."
Daniel's steps slowed. "You can talk?"
> "Only to you, I think."
The creature's tone carried a shy uncertainty, like it was still figuring out what "talking" even was.
"Can you hear me?"
Daniel gave a faint nod. "Yeah. I hear you."
> "Good. Then don't stop walking. The air here feels like it's pretending."
---
The mist brightened — silver turning into the pale glow of dawn.
And then, out of nowhere, rooftops rose from the fog.
Wooden houses. Paper lanterns. A narrow bridge glistening with dew.
Daniel froze.
The Twin Moon Village.
He hadn't seen it since the day everything fell apart.
The smell of rain. The quiet hum of life. Even the faint laughter of children echoing from the stream below.
Mira's eyes widened. "Is this—?"
"My home," Daniel whispered. His voice cracked.
A figure appeared at the bridge's end — a woman, graceful and smiling, holding a child's hand. Her hair shimmered silver under the twin moons, her eyes soft and bright.
Daniel's throat went dry. "Mother…"
He took a step forward — then stopped.
> "Wait."
The Pyraquila's voice tightened, small flames flickering across its feathers.
"Don't go."
Daniel blinked. "What's wrong?"
> "She doesn't… smell real."
Its wings twitched nervously.
"She looks right, but everything around her feels empty. Like smoke pretending to be skin."
Mira's hand went to her weapon. "An illusion."
The woman turned — and her smile cracked.
Literally.
Her face twisted, splitting at the edges like porcelain under heat. The child's laughter turned shrill, echoing into whispers that circled them.
Daniel took a sharp breath. "Seal of Mind…"
The village began to melt — roofs sagging, walls bending, rivers turning black.
> "See? Told you! Creepy fake stuff."
The Pyraquila flared, small wings puffing up, trying to look braver than it felt.
"It's using what's inside your head. Don't let it!"
---
The moons bled red. The air vibrated with whispers.
And then, from the shifting darkness, someone stepped out.
Daniel stared at him — at himself.
Same face. Same lightning mark. But darker — colder. His eyes glowed violet, like storms trapped in glass.
The reflection smirked. "You think you've changed? You couldn't even save her."
Daniel froze. The words struck deeper than any blade could.
The Pyraquila's mental voice flared — hot, sharp, defiant.
> "Don't listen! He's nothing. He doesn't even have a heartbeat."
Daniel's reflection raised a hand. Lightning gathered.
> "See, Master? He copies your light — but he can't burn like you do."
A beat.
"Let's show him real fire."
Daniel smiled faintly — a grim, tired smile.
He drew a breath, raised the Codex, and moved.
Lightning and flame merged — a blinding burst that tore through the illusion. The false Daniel screamed, fracturing into shards of violet smoke that disintegrated with a hiss.
And just like that — the village was gone.
---
They stood once again in the crystal hall.
The mist had lifted. Only silence remained.
Daniel sank to one knee, exhaling hard. Sweat and ash streaked his face. The Pyraquila fluttered weakly from his shoulder to his arm, curling against him.
> "I told you this place was bad news…" it murmured sleepily.
"I don't like when the world lies."
Daniel chuckled faintly. "Neither do I."
> "Your heart hurts," it added softly, voice small, like a child whispering in the dark.
"When you saw her… it felt heavy."
Daniel didn't answer at first. He stared at the floor, then exhaled. "Yeah."
> "I don't like it when you hurt."
A faint flicker of warmth brushed his arm.
"Next time, I'll burn the bad memories too."
Daniel smiled — sad, but real. "Don't burn my memories, Ember."
> "Ember?"
"It suits you," he said quietly.
The Pyraquila made a small chirping sound, almost proud.
> "Then I'll keep it."
A pause.
"But I'm tired now… wake me if something tries to bite you."
Daniel chuckled as its warmth dimmed against his chest.
"Rest, Ember. You did well."
---
Mira approached carefully. "Whatever that was… it knew your weakness."
David frowned. "And it wanted him to break."
Daniel stood, eyes steady now. "Then it failed."
He looked at the path ahead — the corridor splitting into three, each glowing faintly with a different hue.
The Codex pulsed once, slow and deliberate.
In his arms, the sleeping Pyraquila flickered in time with it — small heartbeats syncing with his own.
He whispered under his breath, more to himself than anyone:
"Let's keep moving. There's still more to learn."
---
✅ Highlights of This Version
The Pyraquila (Ember) speaks only telepathically to Daniel.
Tone is emotional, expressive, loyal, slightly naive — not wise or ancient.
Strong emotional link shown during illusion scene.
The illusion of the Twin Moon Village is powerful but painful — focuses on Daniel's mother and guilt.
Ends with warmth, exhaustion, and deeper trust.
Ember names itself through Daniel naturally and goes to sleep, closing the emotional arc perfectly.