As Raen, Nira, and Talin descended the spiraling staircase, the world above faded like a forgotten dream. The walls here weren't made of stone—they were forged from something older, smoother, as if glass and memory had fused into translucent layers. Shadows moved beneath the surface, flickering like spirits trying to escape their prison.
"This place feels... heavier than before," Talin muttered. "It's like we're walking into the mind of something ancient."
Nira nodded, her eyes cautious. "Or something dead that refuses to be forgotten."
At the bottom of the stair, they stepped into a vast hollow chamber. No torches, no natural light—but the air shimmered with a silver-blue glow, sourced from ethereal orbs floating in midair. And in the center of the chamber, a lake of still water stretched across a black stone floor, its surface mirror-smooth.
Suspended above the lake was a sword unlike any Raen had seen.
It hovered midair, point down, spinning slowly. Its hilt was wrapped in strands of silk and shadow, and its blade looked as if it had been forged from silence itself—a colorless void that shimmered between states of existence. Runes drifted lazily around it, written in languages older than any mortal script.
Talin whispered, "Is that… the Echo Blade?"
Nira took a step back. "The sword of the First Whisperer… The blade that was never meant to be found again."
Raen's hand instinctively reached for the Silent Edge, which buzzed softly as if resonating with its lost sibling.
He approached the edge of the lake. No wind. No sound. Even his breath felt muted. The further he walked, the more his own thoughts began to echo—not just in his head, but aloud.
"What are you seeking?"
The voice wasn't his. It was layered. Male and female, old and young, like every version of himself speaking at once.
Raen stood still. "Truth. About the Forgotten Arts. About who I am now."
"And if the truth turns against you?"
"I'll sharpen it like a blade."
Suddenly, the surface of the lake rippled—and from it rose figures.
Reflections of himself. Ten of them.
Each one bore a different emotion—rage, sorrow, arrogance, mercy, fear, cruelty, doubt, joy, emptiness, and ambition. They surrounded him in silence, all holding blades of their own. Not forged steel, but memories.
Nira and Talin watched from the edge, helpless. This trial was Raen's alone.
Raen faced the reflections. "So this is what it means to wield the Whisperer's legacy? To confront all that I could have been?"
None of the reflections spoke. They moved.
Rage struck first, a wide arc aimed at Raen's throat. He ducked, then rolled, clashing with Ambition. Sorrow wept even as it stabbed. Doubt hesitated, making its attack the most dangerous.
Each memory fought differently. Each demanded dominance.
Raen didn't try to overpower them all—he listened. With every clash, he understood which part of himself they represented, what choices in his life had birthed them. He didn't deny them.
He embraced them.
He blocked Fear with the back of his blade, then whispered: "You've kept me alive."
He parried Joy's light-footed dance, and said, "You reminded me I was human."
He let Sorrow strike—and allowed the pain to remain.
Finally, only one remained.
The reflection of Emptiness stood calmly, holding no sword.
Raen stepped forward and said, "You were who I was before all this began. Lost. Quiet. Hollow."
The reflection nodded—and faded into him.
The others followed, dissolving into particles of light.
The lake shimmered—and the floating sword slowly descended into Raen's hand.
The Echo Blade.
As he held it, a thousand voices whispered in harmony.
"You are now the Voice of the Forgotten."
Behind him, Nira exhaled. "Raen?"
He turned. His eyes shimmered with silent energy. The Silent Edge and Echo Blade vibrated in harmony on his back.
"I remember them all now," Raen said quietly. "All who came before me."
Talin frowned. "And what will you do with that power?"
Raen looked at his reflection in the still lake.
"I'll make sure they're never forgotten again."
---
To be continued