The temple was no longer tranquil. It felt reopened by something ancient. Xiao Mu walked into its deepest corridor, where even echoes had vanished—sound itself had ceased to function, and perception began to dissolve.
The marks on his palm, like ashes after a fire, no longer glowed or warmed. Yet they began to spread—not across his skin, but within his consciousness. He could no longer recall why he had made his wish, or whether it had truly come from his heart.
He reached a shattered wall behind the temple. The cracks had split wide, revealing a hidden chamber that had never existed before. On its walls were countless versions of himself—each bearing different emotions: rage, regret, obsession, emptiness, greed. They were fragments of souls who had once made wishes here, but never truly left.
He realized: every wish had shaped a version of "him." Now, they had returned, demanding the truth.
He touched one of the reflections. A memory surfaced—his childhood home, his mother kneeling to tie his shoes, whispering:
"Live well, my child.
You are my only wish."
He had never replied. He thought wishes needed no response—only silent endurance. But now he questioned: if a wish is merely a way to avoid failure, then perhaps his true failure was lacking the courage to face himself.
The temple began its mirror trial. Each wish reflected a version of Xiao Mu—similar, yet fundamentally different. These were not ghosts, but the selves he could have become but never did.
They whispered: "Do you wish to be protected by your wish,
or consumed by it?"
The temple was no longer a sanctuary—it had become a labyrinth of consciousness. The backlash of the wish was not punishment, but a restructuring of identity. Each wish rewrote the parameters of Xiao Mu's self.
🕯️Echo of the Wish:
"A wish is not light.
It is the courage to choose to become light in the dark."