Darkness stretched before Melania like the wings of a predator lying in wait. Her footsteps echoed hollowly through an infinite space where time seemed frozen and reality blurred. The weight of her choice still lingered, like a scar etched into her being, yet the future remained veiled in uncertainty.
“Do you feel it?” Archon’s voice emerged once more, clearer this time, though it seemed to come from everywhere at once. His presence was invisible, yet it wove itself into the air like the essence of this place.
Melania halted. Her gaze fixed on the distance, where it seemed nothing could exist. Yet she felt movement—a barely perceptible rhythm, like the breathing of an ancient giant.
“What is this?” she asked, her voice steady but laced with curiosity.
“What remains of your choice. The labyrinth doesn’t disappear; it changes its shape,” Archon replied, his tone almost philosophical. “But now, you are not alone.”
At his words, a figure stepped out of the shadows. A young girl—Avella. Her eyes glimmered with a green spark, their light filled with a mystery deeper than time itself. In her hands, she held a crystal that emitted a warm, pulsing glow.
“You… you are the one who changed everything,” the girl said, her voice both certain and weary.
Melania looked at her in surprise. They had never met, yet in Avella’s gaze, she saw something familiar, something that resonated with her own struggles.
“Who are you?”
“A shadow in the labyrinth, a fragment of a story that should have ended but didn’t,” the girl replied, carefully raising the crystal. “And it seems that we are now bound together.”
The crystal in her hands suddenly flared brighter, and the space around them began to shift. Shadows receded as if fleeing the light, revealing a new, more intricate path. It resembled a vast web, each thread glowing with golden light.
“These are the paths of possibility,” Archon’s voice came again, closer this time. The figure of the old master of time appeared beside them, his face thoughtful, though his eyes burned with inevitability. “Your choices are beginning to intertwine with others. But remember: every new choice adds more knots to the web. And these knots are not yours alone.”
Avella stepped forward, brushing her fingers against one of the threads. Instantly, a cascade of visions appeared: ruined cities, flashes of light, shadows stretching endlessly from the horizon.
“What you’ve changed is the beginning,” she said, not looking at Melania. “But now we must figure out how to end it.”
“Or whether to end it at all,” Archon added.
Melania felt something stir within her—a faint yet persistent voice, uncovering fears and doubts she had tried to escape.
“Are you saying that all of this is just another illusion?”
“Not an illusion,” Archon corrected. “But a truth that has yet to become reality.”
Avella turned to Melania. Her voice softened but grew more resolute.
“To change this world, you must let it become part of you. Destruction or restoration—these are only words. True power lies in the ability to transform yourself, not the circumstances.”
Melania remained silent. Her thoughts intertwined like the threads of this web. Yet she knew one thing: this path was no longer hers alone.
They moved forward, deeper into the realm of possibilities. Each step created ripples, and each ripple wove itself into a new song of time.