The world trembled.
Shards of mirrors hung in the air, reflecting thousands of variations of the same moment. Each fragment showed possible futures: in one, Emiren stood alone among the ruins of a burned world; in another, he existed in endless radiance; in a third, he did not exist at all.
Flamen took a step back, clenching his fingers into a fist. His face was reflected in the mirror shards, and in each reflection, he was different—a warrior engulfed in flames, a shadow dissolving into the night, or simply an empty silhouette.
The Hollow One stared at the door, which no longer led anywhere. The inscription above it flickered, the words flaring up and vanishing, as if they had yet to decide what they meant.
And then everything collapsed.
Falling into the Abyss
The floor beneath their feet disappeared, and they began to fall.
There was no wind, no sensation of speed—only weightlessness and an endless expanse around them. Chaos swallowed them—whirlpools of time, torn threads of events, shadows of those they could have become but never did.
Emiren tried to grasp something, but his hands passed through everything, as if he himself had turned into a ghost.
— Is this a trap? — Flamen shouted, but his voice dissolved, as if even words had lost their meaning here.
The Hollow One extended a hand forward, as if searching for something. His eyes gleamed with cold silver.
— This is not the end. This is another choice.
The Birth of Reality
Suddenly, everything changed.
They were no longer falling—they hovered in space, and around them, the outlines of a new world began to take shape.
At first, there were lines—thin, almost invisible, stretching in all directions. They intertwined, forming something like a colossal web. Some threads glowed with gold, others faded, and some appeared as if they had been severed.
— The streams of time, — Emiren whispered.
A figure emerged before them.
Not human, not a shadow, but something in between. It had no defined form, its silhouette shifting as if several realities were creating it at once.
— You have stepped into the place where the foundation of all worlds is woven, — said a voice that did not sound in the air but directly in their minds.
Flamen frowned.
— And what is this place?
— This is the Crossing. Here, it is decided what becomes reality and what remains only an echo of possibility.
The figure extended a hand, and the web of time’s streams began to shift.
— You stand before the final trial.
— What must we do? — the Hollow One asked.
The figure did not answer immediately.
— You must create your path.
Creation or Oblivion
Before each of them, a space unfolded.
In front of Emiren, a blank plane appeared—an ideal white canvas, waiting for the brushstrokes of time.
— Choose, — the voice whispered. — If you are a creator, what world will you shape?
Before Flamen—fire. It was not hot, it did not burn—it waited.
— Choose. If you are fire, what will you consume?
Before the Hollow One, only one thing remained—his own reflection, staring at him from the void.
— Choose. If you are a shadow, can you find yourself?
The world stood still, waiting for an answer.
Emiren clenched his fists.
— I…
He reached forward—and the first brushstroke appeared on the canvas.
Flamen stepped into the fire—and it began to change.
The Hollow One touched his reflection—and the world shuddered.
And then everything began.