The cold, damp darkness of the tunnel swept away, at least a little, the burning memory of the Heart of Fire. In the air was a sharp mineral smell, mingling with the scent of earth and rotten roots; the herald of water. Moaito walked ahead, his fingertips tracing the ancient scripts carved into the stones. These inscriptions were older, more primal than those in the temple; simple and profound, as if telling the beginning of a story.
"What does it say?" asked Sere, her voice echoing softly in the tunnel's gloom.
Moaito hesitated for a moment. "It speaks of the world's first breath," he whispered, as if raising his voice would make the words lose their meaning. "A time when light and shadow had not yet separated, when everything was one and whole. These inscriptions... those who wrote them may have witnessed the birth of Ma'at."
Sere sighed at the weight of this ancient knowledge. Her own existence felt so ordinary and short beside this immense history.
As they advanced, a pale, whitish light seeping from the tunnel's mouth grew larger. But this was not the warm brightness of the sun. It was more like a cold, sorrowful luminescence, reminiscent of moonlight. Finally, they reached the tunnel's exit.
And their breath caught.
Before them stretched a body of water that seemed boundless. The Lake of Destiny. But it resembled no water they knew. The water was jet black and flat as glass. Not a single ripple, not a single wave marred its surface. It reflected the heavy clouds in the sky perfectly, yet darker, showing the world not as it was, but as it was in its essence. The silence was so deep that the noise of their own heartbeats rang in their ears.
The most startling thing was the sound. No, the lack of it. The forest's whispers, the wind's moan, everything... ended here. It was as if the lake was not just a body of water, but a void that swallowed sound and time itself.
Sere took a step closer. Looking at the lake, she shuddered inwardly. This was far more frightening than the chaotic, violent trial in the Heart of Fire. The threat here came not from without, but from within.
Unable to resist, she bent down and touched her fingertips to that still, black surface. The water wasn't cold as she expected; it had a neutral, lifeless warmth. The surface, almost undisturbed, enveloped her finger, almost like thick olive oil.
And then, she looked into the water.
Her reflection in the water looked back at her, but it had her mother's eyes. The same sorrow, the same deep and inscrutable gaze. Her heart racing, she pulled back.
"Moaito..."
Moaito grabbed her arm and pulled her back further. His face was tense. "The reflection in this water is not like a mirror," he said, his voice low and serious. "It shows your essence, everything that makes you and everything that consumes you. Your past, every memory that has become a part of you, comes to life in that water. You are not yet ready to face it."
"And you?" Sere asked, her voice trembling. "Are you ready?"
A flicker of fear, an ancient pain, flashed in Moaito's eyes. He didn't answer. Instead, he pointed towards the half-submerged cabin in the distance. "That is our goal. But crossing this water is no ordinary journey."
He threw a stone into the water. Instead of creating a ripple, the stone skipped lightly as if on a solid surface, then sank slowly, with resistance.
"The lake tests intent," Moaito added. "An impure heart cannot stand upon this water. It sinks into the depths."
The shadows of evening were beginning to lengthen. The reflection of the cabin in the water stretched towards them like a massive, elongated silhouette.
And in that moment, they understood that burning to ash in the Heart of Fire was easier than being lost in this still water; for fire only destroyed, whereas this silence could preserve everything within it forever.