Kieran stood alone in the pitch-black room, the silence around him suffocating. Every breath he took felt heavy, as though the very air itself was made of darkness. And yet, he wasn't alone.
The woman's eyes glowed faintly in the distance, a beacon in the void.
"You can't see it, can you?" she called from the edge of the chamber, her voice lilting with amusement. "The truth isn't hidden in the shadows—it's woven into them."
Her words echoed, bouncing around the darkness in a way that made Kieran's head spin.
He stepped forward, his boots making no sound against the cold stone beneath him. The fragment—the second one—was near. He could feel its pull. But the shadows moved, not with the logic of the world, but with a hunger, a force that wanted to consume him.
"What are you?" Kieran asked, his voice steady despite the tightening knot in his chest.
The woman's figure was little more than a silhouette against the impenetrable dark. She laughed softly.
"You think this is a test of strength?" She took a step closer, her voice now clear and direct. "No. This is a test of truth. If you want the fragment, you'll need to uncover it—just as you'll need to uncover yourself."
Kieran clenched his fists. He didn't have time for riddles.
"Tell me what I need to do."
Her amber eyes glinted like fire in the dark.
"Find the truth, Kieran. The truth of what you are. The truth of who you are."
The Shadows' Dance
The shadows grew heavier, swirling around him in a twisting mass. He felt them press in, a thousand whispers curling around his mind.
"What am I?" Kieran whispered to himself. His thoughts flitted between the teachings of Seréne, the memories of Eldoria, and the fragments scattered across the world. But none of it felt like the truth.
The darkness chuckled—faint, like the rustling of leaves.
"You think you know who you are because of the past? Because of him?" The voice echoed, and for a moment, it wasn't the woman anymore. It was something deeper, something primal. "You carry the blood of a man who saved the world and then disappeared. You think you're his heir? You're nothing but a boy, clinging to a legacy you barely understand."
Kieran's heart skipped a beat. The shadows whispered more. The voice was everywhere, all around him, but there was one word that cut through the noise:
"Voidborne."
Kieran gritted his teeth, hands tightening around his blade.
"I am not just his legacy," Kieran said, his voice rising. "I am my own person. I'll make my own path."
The shadows seemed to recoil for a moment.
But then, as if answering his defiance, the darkness shifted—and suddenly, the room was flooded with ghostly images.
The Illusions of Truth
Kieran watched in silence as the figures from his past appeared in the dark. There was his mother—smiling gently, holding him close. There was his father—his features sharp, proud, cold. And then there was Sylas—his face now recognizable, as if the shadows had stolen the shape of his memories.
The figures flickered, shifting between forms.
"This is your truth," the voice purred from the darkness. "You've always been running from it. The blood that flows in your veins isn't just Voidborne—it's his blood. And in that blood lies not just power, but a curse."
Kieran stumbled back, eyes wide. But he couldn't escape the truth these shadows showed him. His parents—his heritage—told him stories that made him believe he was the heir to something greater, something that would save the world.
But the shadows weren't finished.
"You are nothing but a tool. A tool to break the world so it can be remade. And that world will never belong to you."
Confronting the Shadows
He fell to his knees, the weight of the voice pressing down on him, threatening to crush everything he believed. The figure of Sylas flickered, and Kieran's breath caught.
"No," he whispered, barely a breath.
The darkness laughed again, louder this time, and the figure of Sylas blurred into something else—a twisted, haunting reflection of himself, eyes burning with a fury Kieran didn't recognize.
"You think you're free of me?" Sylas's voice echoed, deep and hollow, resonating with the very air around him. "You will always be bound by the shadows. By the fate of the Voidborne."
Kieran slammed his fist against the floor.
"No. I won't let you define me. I will be the one to choose my fate."
And then, with a roar that shook the walls of his mind, he surged forward, his blade drawn.
The shadows responded in kind. They writhed and twisted into monstrous shapes—creatures made of nothing but fear, doubt, and darkness. They attacked in droves, but Kieran cut through them with the sheer force of his will, each strike fueled by the clarity he found within the chaos.
"I am Kieran Veyron. And I will forge my own path."
As the last of the shadows melted into the air, the figure of Sylas lingered for just a moment longer, his face a mixture of approval and sorrow.
"Then prove it," Sylas's voice whispered, fading into nothingness.
The Fragment Awaits
Kieran stood alone, breathing heavily, but victorious. The second fragment lay before him, glowing faintly in the darkness, as though waiting for him to claim it.
Without hesitation, he reached out, his fingers closing around it.
The shadows had shown him his fear—but now, they had no hold on him.
And as he held the fragment in his hand, he felt something deep inside shift.