The ember of Thyrrion's flame burned softly in my palm, a reminder of the trial I had endured. Its warmth was steady, a heartbeat in the stillness of the fractured realm. But as I stepped forward, the fiery mountains of the first realm dissolved behind me, replaced by a silence so deep it pressed against my ears. The Shattered Sky whispered, urging me onward, its pulse now calmer yet insistent.
Before me stretched a vast ocean, black as obsidian yet shimmering with streaks of silver like liquid starlight. Waves rose without wind, curling and breaking into nothing, suspended midair as if time itself were uncertain. The air smelled of rain and salt, and a gentle mist rose from the water, carrying voices I could almost recognize.
I took a cautious step forward, then another, until the ground beneath me gave way to shallow water. Ripples spread from my feet, distorting the reflections of the fractured sky above. And then I saw her: Selmyra, goddess of water and memory.
She emerged from the ocean like a figure carved from liquid moonlight. Her hair flowed like rivers of silver, and her eyes were deep pools reflecting my own past. Her voice was soft, melodic, yet carried an authority I could not ignore.
"Eryndor, bearer of the Shattered Sky," she said, her words echoing in the mist. "You have survived fire. Now you will face reflection."
The water around me began to shimmer, and images surfaced—memories, some mine, some not. Faces of people I had known, choices I had made, moments of triumph and failure, all swirling in a hypnotic dance. I realized with a shock that these were not just memories—they were possibilities, echoes of what could have been or might yet be.
"This realm tests not strength of body, but strength of soul," Selmyra said, stepping closer. Her reflection in the water multiplied endlessly, showing me countless versions of myself—some brave, some cowardly, some cruel. "To endure me, you must confront yourself. You must see your failures and your truths. Only then can you claim the fragment I guard."
I swallowed hard, stepping deeper into the water. Each ripple brought a new memory, a new version of who I was—or could have been. I saw my father, his face twisted with worry as I left Thalir. My sister, crying, searching for me. Friends who had laughed with me now staring in shock at my absence. And then… darker things. Moments I could have acted differently, cruel words I had thought harmless, selfish desires I had ignored.
The crystal pulsed, but not with guidance this time. It hummed with warning, threatening to overwhelm me. My heart raced as the water rose higher, now lapping at my chest. A voice whispered inside my mind: "You can bend reality… but you cannot bend truth."
Selmyra's eyes pierced mine. "Many mortals fail here, lost in the tides of their own memory. Do you wish to fail, Eryndor? Or do you wish to see beyond your mortal self?"
I clenched my fists, focusing on the shard of fire Thyrrion had gifted me. It burned, steady and warm. I realized then that the path forward was not denial, nor resistance, but acceptance. I had to see everything—the fear, the shame, the regrets—and still choose to move forward.
I stepped fully into the water. The memories swirled violently, tugging at my mind, threatening to pull me under. Faces of loved ones, foes, and strangers merged, accusing, pleading, and warning. I felt despair clawing at me, but I held the crystal before me, letting its light radiate outward. Slowly, the images began to settle, reflecting not just what was, but what could be: choices I might still make, lives I could save, futures I could forge.
Selmyra smiled, a gesture of both pride and sorrow. "You endure, Eryndor. But endurance is not the same as understanding. Take the fragment, and see beyond what mortals are meant to see."
She raised a hand, and a fragment of water, glowing with the light of the starlit ocean, floated toward me. I reached out, feeling the liquid pulse against my skin. In that instant, memories of the past and visions of possible futures flooded me: triumph and tragedy, life and death, love and loss. I staggered but did not fall.
The moment I grasped the fragment, the water calmed, and the starlit ocean dissolved, replaced by a faint path of silver mist leading forward. Selmyra's voice lingered as I walked: "Remember this, bearer of the Shattered Sky: power without wisdom is destruction. Every choice you make echoes beyond your life, beyond your world. You are no longer merely mortal."
I held both fragments now—the flame of Thyrrion and the water of Selmyra. Two pieces of divinity, one of fire, one of reflection. Each burned and shimmered in my hands, reminding me of the gods' presence and the path I had chosen.
Ahead, the path twisted into darkness. Shadows lingered, whispering of the next realm, the next trial, the next god. I knew what was coming: Nyxion, the god of shadow and secrets, waited somewhere in the folds of the fractured sky. And I understood, with a weight in my chest, that the trials would only grow harsher.
Yet, for the first time, I felt a flicker of confidence—not arrogance, not certainty, but the courage born of survival and understanding. I was no longer the boy from Thalir, the one who had trembled before the Shattered Sky. I was Eryndor, bearer of fragments, bridge between realms.
And the Age of Gods was only beginning.