The darkness around them was no mere void; it was a living, breathing space. The sounds—soft, interrupted, like breaths—crossed the air, but they didn’t belong to them. These were voices, awakening from echoes of their own emotions, memories, and fears. They weren’t clear, but enough to tighten the chest with unease.
“We’re not alone,” Eili whispered, her eyes narrowing at the deepening shadows. “But we can’t see them. It’s… the past. Someone’s pain.”
Lumis slowed his steps, his gaze focused, yet lost.
“We’re moving forward, but it’s like our every step has already been written by someone else,” he murmured. “These aren’t just marks of time. They’re marks of us.”
The noise grew louder, clearer now, like whispers of old souls trapped here. They existed here, unable to escape the labyrinth of their own existence.
Eili bent closer to the shard in her hand. It was cold, yet something flickered within—like fragments of the past trying to break free.
“These aren’t just memories,” she said softly. “They’re pieces of us. Maybe… maybe these are the paths we would have chosen, if… if things had been different.”
Lumis took the shard in his hand. His gaze lingered on the cracks running along its surface.
“Can we change this? Can we undo everything we left unsaid?” he asked.
The sounds around them intensified, their voices growing louder, as if every movement they made echoed back into the abyss. They were part of the endless reverberation, and with each step, the echo strengthened.
As they continued forward, each sound felt less like an observation and more like the voices of those who had been here before them—who had lived or suffered just as they were now.