The clearing where they had faced the Guardian of the Breath seemed to breathe on its own as Arien and Nyra left it behind. The bluish light emanating from Arien's blade was now more intense, reflected on the damp leaves and on trunks that bent under the weight of memories. The ground felt soft, made from centuries of fallen leaves and entwined roots, sinking under the weight of footsteps heavy with promises.
A dense smell of moss and incense hung in the air, mixed with the metallic scent of dried blood on Nyra's shoulder. She walked with a slight limp, but her gaze was firmer than before, as if she had crossed an invisible threshold and been reborn, marked by a new scar.
Arien watched the path, feeling that the forest, once indifferent, now followed them with invisible eyes. The wind was a constant whisper, sometimes bringing incomprehensible words—fragments of ancient oaths thrown among the trees.
The silence between them was dense, yet comfortable. There was a kind of mutual respect, woven by what they had confessed and faced together. Even the falling leaves seemed to avoid breaking the silence, landing on the ground with ceremonial delicacy.
In the distance, a golden glow began to shine through the intertwined branches, casting intricate patterns on the leaf-carpeted floor. The light changed in intensity with each step—sometimes warm, sometimes cold, as if trying to decide whether it was dawn or dusk.
Nyra stopped in front of a twisted tree whose branches formed a natural arch over a narrow trail. The bark of the tree traced spirals and runes that seemed to glow beneath the light of Arien's blade, forming symbols of protection and memory.
— "Here begins the Sanctuary of the Sun Flower," said Nyra in a low, almost reverent voice, as if fearing to awaken something dormant beneath the earth. "It's a place where even memories bleed."
Arien ran his fingers over the markings on the tree, feeling a faint pulse. It was like touching the world's pulse, an ancient beat, indifferent to human pain but deeply connected to the cycle of life and loss.
The trail ahead was lined with roots rising from the soil like the ribs of a buried giant. With every step, Arien heard a moist crackle, the earth yielding gently, releasing scents of ancient life and decay.
Golden flowers sprouted among the roots, closed like fists, exuding a sweet yet slightly bitter aroma. Some pulsed with a faint light, making the path seem almost ethereal, as if they walked between two worlds.
In the center of the trail, a pool of water reflected the treetops in a distorted way, like a mirror of unresolved memories. Nyra knelt before the pool, running her hand over the surface and whispering words in her ancestral tongue.
Images began to surface in the water—fragments of childhood, faces of elders, scenes from ancient rituals where children offered flowers to the earth in exchange for protection and good harvests. Arien's reflection appeared beside Nyra's, overlaid with shadows that moved softly.
They moved on, leaving the pool behind, and soon the air grew denser, as if they were breathing gold vapor. Intertwined branches above formed a natural ceiling, filtering the light and casting shadows that danced—sometimes threatening, sometimes protective.
At the end of the trail, a circular clearing opened up. In the center, the Sun Flower stood majestically, rising like a vegetal throne. Its black and gold petals were closed, protecting a core of light that seemed to vibrate in sync with the heart of whoever observed it.
The ground around the flower was marked by golden lines, spirals and circles, like traces of ancient rituals. Small black stones shone among the fallen leaves, suggesting that sacrifices had been made there—perhaps of memories, perhaps of hopes.
Arien felt the blade vibrate in his hand, both a summons and a warning. He stepped forward, feeling Nyra's invisible gaze following every movement.
— "What does it ask for?" he asked, eyes fixed on the flower.
Nyra stepped closer, her voice weighted with gravity.
— "The Sun Flower only opens to those willing to trade an old pain for a new promise. One must choose to remember, even when it hurts."
Suddenly, the flower's petals began to move, slow, creaking like old wood in the wind. A golden light seeped from the center, illuminating the clearing and projecting long shadows that stretched as far as the eye could see.
The scent that spread was intense, awakening conflicting emotions: longing, fear, hope, anger, and tenderness. For a moment, Arien thought he heard ancient voices, perhaps his own ancestors, perhaps those who had attempted the rite before.
Nyra knelt before the flower, her breath caught in her throat. She closed her eyes, extending her hand toward the open petals.
— "I accept. I accept to carry the pain, so I won't forget who I was and who I need to be."
A golden tear slid from the flower, hovering in the air before falling into the center of Nyra's palm. The contact was instantaneous: a wave of energy swept through her body, spreading in patterns of light beneath her skin.
Arien, without hesitation, knelt beside her.
— "Me too. I will not trade my memory, but I promise not to betray what brought me here."
The flower responded with a second orb of light, floating to Arien. Upon touching it, he felt a mix of warmth and cold running through his veins, as if all his memories were being weighed and judged in that instant.
The petals began to spin around them, creating a hypnotic dance of light and shadow. Each turn brought forth a memory: the village of Mahran before the tragedy, Líara's laughter, the feeling of the desert burning his feet, the promise made to the dead.
Nyra felt a sharp pain in her wounded shoulder, but at the same time realized that the light in her palm was spreading, closing the wound with warmth and tenderness.
— "I… can heal," she whispered, astonished.
Arien, surprised, watched as Nyra tested the new power, touching her own arm and closing the scar left by the battle with the Guardian of the Breath.
— "How is that possible?"
Nyra looked at him, pupils dilated, her face a mixture of fascination and fear.
— "It's vital sap… the blessing of the Flower. I feel I can use it to heal any wound, but… something tells me I can only do it again after the cycle renews. It's as if I must wait for the sun to cross the whole sky—twelve hours."
Arien smiled in relief, extending his arm, showing the recent cuts from battle.
— "Think you can do it once more?"
She nodded and gently placed her hands on his chest. The energy flowed from her fingers, warm and comforting, closing the wounds and dispelling the pain.
— "There. Now we're whole."
The flower's core shone brighter, almost dazzling, before slowly closing, sealing the newly made promises in the clearing.
Silence returned, but now it was a silence full of life, as if the entire forest watched, satisfied with the new bond created there.
They remained kneeling for long moments, absorbing the meaning of what had just happened. Every detail of the environment—the color of the leaves, the movement of the light, the whisper of the roots—felt more intense, as if they had crossed an invisible threshold to a sharper realm.
A rustling interrupted their contemplation. At the edge of the clearing, a shadow moved cautiously, watching them. Both stood up, alert, weapons ready, though they knew the greatest danger there was within.
From the dimness emerged a figure wrapped in moss and leaves, eyes shining deep green. It carried a staff of roots and moved as if it were part of the very forest.
— "You have crossed the Sanctuary of the Sun Flower," announced the entity, its voice as deep as the earth's murmur. "But there is no healing without a price. Now you must prove that the truth does not destroy you."
Arien and Nyra exchanged a quick glance.
— "We're ready," said Arien, gripping his blade, feeling the fragment pulse in sync.
The entity pointed its staff at them.
— "The Barbs of Truth await beyond this circle. Only those who endure being shattered by their own memories are worthy to proceed."
Nyra took a deep breath, feeling her new power vibrate under her skin.
— "Pain is part of the path. We no longer fear silence."
The ground trembled lightly, as if the forest approved their courage. Golden leaves drifted from the branches above, falling in spirals, landing on their shoulders like a blessing.
Arien shivered as he saw the shine of the leaves, recalling every sacrifice made so far.
— "We didn't come to forget. We came to remember and transform."
The entity opened a passage between the roots, revealing a dark trail lined with thorns gleaming in the blade's light.
They moved forward, the silence broken only by the rhythmic sound of their steps and the pulse of the newly awakened magic in Nyra.
The path was narrow, forcing them to walk side by side, nearly brushing the thorns. The shadows seemed denser, filled with murmurs of ancient voices, testing the travelers' resolve.
On the horizon, the light faded, and the air grew thin, charged with electricity. Each breath was a promise of resilience; each heartbeat, a challenge thrown at fate.
From time to time, Nyra looked at Arien, seeking in his eyes the certainty that they were moving forward together—not just as allies, but as survivors of a story that insisted on rewriting their pain.
They reached a plateau covered in golden mist. There, translucent figures awaited them: echoes of people who had once tried to cross the same path, trapped by unresolved memories.
— "These… are living memories?" Arien whispered, fascinated and afraid.
Nyra nodded, a respectful shine in her eyes.
— "They are the warning and the promise. If you fall here, you become part of this place."
The figures danced slowly, as if guided by an inaudible music. Occasionally, their faces twisted in pain or lit up with brief smiles, repeating scenes from past lives, eternally trapped between forgetfulness and longing.
Arien and Nyra passed among the echoes, feeling the weight of time, each step demanding strength not to be drawn into the endless cycle of wounds that never healed.
At the edge of the plateau, a new root portal awaited, ajar, like the mouth of a sleeping animal.
— "We will only cross together," said Arien, reaching out to Nyra.
She accepted it, squeezing firmly, and together they crossed the threshold, entering a damp darkness where the silence was absolute and time seemed suspended.
Crossing that portal felt like plunging into icy water—the senses sharpened, the air dense, the sense that everything there weighed more, even certainties.
On the other side, they found themselves in a clearing lit only by the bluish light of Arien's blade. In the center, a fountain of black water bubbled in circles, mirroring above a starry sky that did not exist.
Nyra approached the fountain, touching the water with caution. Her reflection and Arien's multiplied, showing versions of themselves—some wounded, others smiling, others with empty eyes.
— "Each reflection is a path not taken," Nyra explained, her voice thick. "We must choose which truth to accept."
Arien leaned over the water, seeing his own face distort—sometimes a child, sometimes old, sometimes lost in shadows.
— "My truth is that I am not only what I've lost, but also what I refuse to abandon."
Nyra smiled, tears shining in her eyes.
— "And mine is that I can only heal others when I no longer run from my own scars."
The fountain glowed intensely, and the darkness around them dissipated, revealing a new path—now clear, lined with small golden flowers.
With firm steps, Arien and Nyra moved on, feeling the power and the weight of their choices. The forest, attentive, whispered blessings and warnings.