As Melania continued through the Labyrinth of Echoes, the walls around her seemed to grow denser. The runes on them dimmed, and the air became heavier with every step. The light of her sword was barely visible now, and she could feel her strength waning. Yet deep within her soul, an inexplicable premonition grew—something was waiting for her ahead.
Her path led her to a hall that was vastly different from the previous sections of the labyrinth. The walls were made of black stone, embedded with tiny, silver-like points that shimmered like frozen stars. In the center of the hall stood a throne carved from the same stone, and upon it sat a figure emanating both power and sorrow.
This was the Keeper of Loss.
He raised his head, revealing a face that resembled that of an ordinary man, yet his eyes glowed with an empty, hollow light. In his hands, he held an ancient staff adorned with a crystal that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.
“You have finally arrived,” said the Keeper. His voice was deep and resonant, like a bell ringing in the vastness of the stone hall.
“Who are you?” Melania asked, raising her sword, though she could feel her strength draining by the moment.
“I am the one who holds the memories of all that has been lost,” he replied, rising from the throne. His figure was tall and majestic, yet it seemed weighed down, as though he bore the burden of the world upon his shoulders. “I am the one who reminds you of the cost of choice.”
“Why am I here?” she demanded, her voice steady, though unease churned within her.
“Because you must decide what you are willing to leave behind. Without loss, there is no progress, no victory. Every step forward demands a sacrifice.”
The Keeper moved his staff, and an illusion appeared before her. She saw the moments of her life: her childhood with her father, her first lessons in guarding time, and those she had lost along the way to this moment. Each image pierced her heart with pain, but the last one—a memory of her father smiling at her in the garden—stole her breath.
“You must choose,” the Keeper continued. “What are you willing to lose to preserve the rest? The decision must be yours.”
“I don’t want to lose anything,” she whispered, but her words sounded weak even to herself.
“Then you will never find the answer,” said the Keeper, his eyes glowing brighter.
Melania gripped her sword tightly, staring at the illusions before her. Each one was a piece of her—her essence, her story. Yet she knew the Keeper was right: everything in this world demanded a price, even the truth.
“I choose…” Her voice faltered, but she gathered her resolve. “I choose to remember who I was but let go of the fear of loss. I will keep them in my heart, but I will not let it hold me back.”
The Keeper nodded, and the illusions began to dissolve like smoke. “You have made a choice that many cannot. But remember, loss cannot be avoided. It can only be accepted.”
The hall began to shift, the walls receding to reveal a new path. The Keeper turned back to his throne, his figure becoming still, like a statue.
Melania took a step forward, feeling the light of her sword grow brighter once more. The path stretched ahead, but now she understood that each step would demand strength not just of her body, but of her soul.