The village humd with quiet life. Sunlight filtered gently through the trees. Laughter danced on the wind.
And all of it was wrong.
Argolaith walked slowly through the heart of Seminah, each step dragging like it weighed a hundred pounds. The smiles of passersby no longer comforted him. Their warmth—too practiced. Their joy—too even. Every face wore a serenity that bordered on emptiness.
Too still.
Too scripted.
Too perfect.
He had faced monsters. He had faced storms. But now, he faced the most insidious trap of all: comfort.
And it didn't want to let him go.
"Argolaith!"
He turned.
A child ran toward him—dirt-smudged, grinning wide, arms outstretched. A little boy. Barefoot. Familiar.
Argolaith's heart twisted. It was him. A younger version, no older than six, racing through the street with a wooden toy sword in hand.
Behind him ca another—a girl—dark hair, violet eyes, no more than ten. She tackled the boy playfully, both collapsing into laughter.
Argolaith's chest tightened.
He had no siblings.
He never had.
And yet… there they were.
"Aren't you going to say hi?" asked Athos, appearing suddenly beside him, as if he had always been there. He held a steaming cup of tea in each hand and offered one.
"I don't rember this," Argolaith said, not taking it.
Athos smiled gently. "Of course you do. Sowhere inside. This is what your life could have been. Before the bloodlines. Before the trees. Before the burden."
Argolaith turned away.
The rune on his arm throbbed again. Dim. Weak.
Like it was struggling to rember.
Argolaith walked toward the square. His feet moved on their own, through paths his younger self had morized.
At the fountain, he found Kaelred again.
Still grinning. Still whole.
"Training's in ten minutes," he said cheerfully. "You're not skipping again, are you?"
Argolaith stopped. "You're not real."
Kaelred just laughed. "You're always saying strange things when you haven't slept."
"I'm not supposed to be here."
"Then why do you look so comfortable?"
That silenced him.
Kaelred stepped forward, more serious now.
"You always said you wanted to protect people. Well… here's a whole town that doesn't need protecting. They're safe. Everyone you love is safe."
He gestured around.
"No monsters. No liches. No trials. No trees. Just you, us, and ho."
Kaelred's voice softened.
"So why are you trying to destroy our peace?"
The question echoed through the square.
And everything stopped.
No movent.
No laughter.
The wind halted.
Even the birds fell silent.
And all eyes turned to Argolaith.
Hundreds of faces.
All smiling.
All watching.
His own included.
From the edge of the square, his younger self stood—expression blank, eyes glowing faintly gold.
The boy tilted his head. "Isn't this what you wanted?"
Argolaith took a step back.
The rune on his arm flared, brighter now, burning against his skin.
"No," he whispered. "This isn't real."
The child blinked. "That doesn't make it less perfect."
Cracks appeared at his feet.
Like glass splintering beneath pressure.
Argolaith reached for his sword.
It wasn't there.
Not in this world.
Only truth could cut through this lie.
The cracks spread slowly, like frost blooming across glass.
Each step Argolaith took forward splintered the world further—fine lines across cobblestones, down wooden beams, across smiling faces that never blinked. And still, the illusion held.
Children laughed.
Kaelred waved.
Athos poured tea.
His younger self watched from the square's edge.
It was breaking, but it would not break easily.
Not without permission.
Not without his.
Argolaith moved through the village, following the pull of the rune, now a burning brand beneath his skin. He felt it drawing him—not south, not west, but inward. Toward the center of whatever this place truly was.
He reached the base of the hill just beyond the edge of town. The one he rembered climbing as a boy, pretending he was seeking dragons or hunting forest spirits.
But now, a structure stood there that had never existed.
A tall stone archway, glowing faintly, its surface carved with hundreds of runes. Most were faded. So were crumbling. But one at the center blazed gold—the sa rune that lived on his arm.
At its base sat his younger self, legs crossed, smiling.
"You finally made it."
Argolaith stared.
"You're not ," he said.
The child tilted his head. "Aren't I?"
"No. You're the piece of that wants to stay."
The boy grinned. "Is that so bad?"
The sky dimd as Argolaith stepped toward the archway. He could see shapes now—phantoms standing in the fields behind him. Athos. Kaelred. Villagers. Friends. Family he never had.
Every face wore a perfect, pleading smile.
"You don't have to go," said the child. "The tree doesn't need you. Not really. You've already done enough."
Argolaith stepped closer.
"They're waiting for you back in the canyon. But here, you're ho."
"Ho…" Argolaith echoed, his voice distant.
The boy stood, eyes glowing like starlight. "What will you protect, Argolaith? The people in this world… or the pain of the one you left behind?"
Argolaith stared at the boy.
And the world began to pulse around him—flickering between truth and illusion.
One mont: his cabin, warm firelight in the windows.
The next: a ruined canyon, the masked Sentinel watching.
One mont: Kaelred laughing, a blade of grass in his teeth.
The next: Kaelred bleeding, face battered, clothes torn.
One mont: safety.
The next: reality.
Argolaith took a breath.
He raised his hand to the glowing rune on the arch.
"I choose—"
The world scread.
The child's face contorted—smile twisting, eyes widening.
"No!" it cried. "You don't get to leave! You don't get to throw us away!"
Argolaith slamd his palm into the rune.
Golden light erupted from the archway, lancing across the world in jagged threads of fire.
The illusion shattered.
Buildings cracked. Trees exploded into ash. The people—his people—began to cry out.
"Don't go!"
"You'll never find peace again!"
"Why suffer?"
"Stay…"
The world begged.
But Argolaith turned his back.
And walked through the arch.
Darkness.
For a breathless mont, there was nothing.
Then—
He gasped, stumbling forward, the runes of the canyon reappearing beneath his feet. His sword was in his hand again. The scent of stone and dust filled his lungs.
But the trial wasn't over.
The Sentinel still stood at the center of the arena.
"You have passed the first veil," it said.
Argolaith straightened, sweat trailing down his temple.
"There's more."
The Sentinel nodded. "The next illusion will not tempt. It will tear."
And then the runes flared again.
And the world was ripped away.
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