Reflection

Momentarily out of danger Darius and Elara find themselves with more questions.

The wind howled as Darius and Elara stood at the edge of the shattered bridge inside the vault’s uppermost chamber. Below them, the glowing city of the Ancients pulsed beneath crystal floors, far too distant for comfort. The vault had transformed again; walls now alive with shifting reflections, flickering memories of a world long gone.

“Is it me,” Darius muttered, “or does this place keep trying to make us doubt everything?”

Elara didn’t answer. She was staring at one of the mirrored walls, face pale, eyes wide.

“Hey,” he said, stepping closer. “What do you see?”

In the reflection, a version of Elara stood tall and proud; dressed not in mud slick leathers, but in polished armor, crown on her brow. She was smiling. At peace. Powerful.

And beside her was Darius, cloaked in black, expression hard, holding a scroll dripping with red wax.

The mirror Elara turned to face the real one. Her lips moved, though her voice sounded inside Elara’s head.

“This is who you were meant to be. Not a runaway. Not a fugitive. A queen.”

Elara staggered back. “That’s not...That can’t be real.”

The image shifted, now showing her alone, Darius gone. A throne beneath her. Cities burning behind.

Then came the whispers; dozens of voices, echoing all around.

"He lies."
“Leave him. He used magic.”
“You could rule.”
“You could be free.”

"You can't trust him."

Elara clutched her head, shaking it. “No...stop...”

Darius grabbed her by the shoulders. His voice cut through the whispers like a blade.

“Don’t listen to them.”

Her eyes snapped to his.

“They’re not the truth,” he said. “Just reflections. Twisted pieces.”

Slowly, the mirror dimmed.

And the throne disappeared.

Elara exhaled shakily. “Let’s get out of here before this place shows me something I do believe.”