As Melania left the radiant tower behind, she found herself at the threshold of a new realm. It was a vast, misty hall, as if the world had not yet decided what shape it wanted to take. Beneath her feet stretched a smooth surface, like frozen water, reflecting her face and the countless threads of light weaving through the darkness.
The space was filled with whispers—soft yet insistent. The sounds flowed like a stream, yet they were impossible to decipher. They seemed to be voices, memories, and stories blending and crossing paths without forming any clear meaning.
— “This is where your final trial begins,” a voice echoed from somewhere ahead.
Melania turned, trying to locate the source, but she saw only darkness parting before her. Her heart raced, but fear no longer gripped her—only a burning curiosity remained.
— “What is this place?” she asked, stepping forward.
— “This is the Sea of Memories. Here, you will see everything that has left a mark on your soul. Echoes of who you were, who you might have been, and who you could yet become. But be careful: it is easy to lose yourself here.”
With each step, scenes unfolded before her. At first, they were indistinct silhouettes, but soon they grew sharper. There she was, a child playing by the riverbank, her laughter ringing so clearly it made her chest tighten. There was her mother, stroking her hair and singing an old melody.
But the images shifted. The laughter faded, replaced by sobbing. Her mother disappeared, leaving a void. Before her stretched a battlefield—gray, endless, soaked in blood. She saw herself, older now: cold, resolute, a sword in hand.
Her chest tightened as if someone had seized her heart.
— “This isn’t what I want to become,” she whispered, trying to tear her gaze away from the scene.
— “But it is part of you,” the voice replied. “Everything you see here is not just the past but also possible futures. Whatever you choose, it will stay with you.”
Melania halted. Ahead, the space began to change. From the darkness emerged another figure—her reflection, but older, with eyes full of weariness. The figure held a bowl emitting a pale light.
— “Who are you?” Melania asked, clenching her fists.
— “I am you, as you will become if you choose to uphold Eternity,” the figure replied, her voice muffled as though she spoke from behind thick glass. — “It is a heavy fate, but one necessary for those who depend on you.”
— “And if I decide to destroy everything?”
The older Melania shook her head.
— “Then you will lose yourself. Destruction always brings chaos. But perhaps in chaos, another path might be found. The only problem is that you will never know for certain if that choice was right.”
The world around her shifted again. Threads of light began wrapping around her arms, pulling her back. They carried memories: joyous, tragic, enlightening. Their sheer number overwhelmed her, making her head spin.
— “The choice is yours,” the voice returned. “But remember: the choice you make here will determine the fate not just of yourself but of everything that exists.”
Melania closed her eyes, trying to shut out the chaos around her. But instead of darkness, she saw a fire within. It burned steadily, brightly, and in its flames, she saw all the faces connected to her. Their pain. Their hopes. Their faith.
She took a deep breath and then opened her eyes.
— “I have made my decision,” she said firmly, taking a step forward.
Light exploded around her, and the space dissolved. She was no longer just a part of this place—she had become its heart, and every thread of the world now belonged to her.