The halls of the Verdant Storm Sect were unlike anything Avishek had known.
Stone corridors pulsed with a strange, humming energy that tickled the edge of his senses. Lanterns burned with cold-blue flames, suspended in the air without chains. Every wall was carved with ancient glyphs — some glowing faintly, others cracked with age. The air itself felt thick with power, like the world here breathed differently.
Avishek followed in silence, his steps soft behind the figure ahead — Elder Elaron, the man who had split the sky to save him.
They walked deeper into the mountain that housed the sect. Elaron spoke little, but Avishek could feel something watching them. Not a person — not even a beast — but the mountain itself. As if it judged him with every step.
Finally, they reached a large stone archway etched in five rings — one for each of the Foldvein Paths. Each ring held a symbol: a winged crown, a burning eye, a sword through mist, a spiraling soul flame, and a hand of shadow. The paths of Ascendence, Divine, Law, Soul, and Wraith.
Beneath them, a plaque read:"The soul chooses, the path binds, and the world kneels."
Elaron turned. "Do you know what a soul truly is, boy?"
Avishek hesitated, then shook his head.
"The world teaches children that souls are light or fire or beasts. That they're weapons, or shields, or tools." Elaron's voice was quiet but cold. "But a soul is none of those. It is remnant will — a shape carved by every choice, every memory, every scar. Some are beautiful. Others... are born twisted."
He gestured toward the arch. "And once it awakens, it doesn't change. The Foldvein you bind to will shape your path forever."
Avishek swallowed hard. His hands were trembling.
Elaron watched him for a long moment. Then, he stepped aside. "Enter. Let the mirror see you."
Inside the chamber, the air felt thick. Still. Like sound itself was afraid to exist here.
The Soul Mirror stood silently at the center — tall and monolithic, a perfect oval of deep black glass, untouched by dust or time. It didn't reflect the room or his body. It didn't shimmer with power. It simply was.
Avishek stepped forward. His boots echoed like thunder on the stone. His throat was dry.
He remembered standing in his village square not even a week ago, heart pounding as the elders brought forth the mirror. Everyone else had stepped forward, one by one. Spirits emerged. Colors danced. Souls awakened.
When it was his turn — nothing.Not even silence. Just absence.
And then… the mirror cracked.
Now, as he stood before this second mirror, fear clawed at his spine.
What if it broke again?What if it didn't?
He stepped closer. Closer. Until he could see nothing but the void-like surface.
And placed his hand upon it.
At first, nothing.
Then the mirror breathed.
A slow, cold inhale.
The glass rippled outward from his palm, as if the surface were made of thick water. Colors swirled faintly in the dark — not bright like others' awakenings, but deep, oily smears of black, gray, violet, and blue. It was like staring into a sea of smoke beneath a frozen lake.
Suddenly— a heartbeat.
But not his.
It pulsed from the mirror, once, then again — slow, heavy, ancient.
Avishek couldn't move. Something was reaching into him. Not pulling... but observing. Peeling.
Memory.His mother's laugh. The smell of rain.Pain.Blood in the dirt. A scream.Fear.The raiders. The blade. The fire.Hatred.The moment the light left his father's eyes.
And then—
It saw him.
Whatever was inside that mirror, whatever lurked beneath the smoke and shadow — it looked back.
And the glass cracked.
A jagged line split the surface from top to bottom. But unlike before, it didn't shatter. It didn't fall. It just… split.
Like a mouth opening in silence.
From the crack, a faint tendril of violet smoke curled out. It coiled around his arm, cold and weightless, then vanished into his chest like it had always belonged there.
Avishek gasped.
And then it was over.
Elaron was beside him instantly. He placed a hand on the boy's back, steadying him.
"That's enough," the elder said softly.
Avishek stumbled away from the mirror, breathing hard. His chest ached like something had been planted there. Buried.
"What was that?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Elaron didn't answer right away.
He looked at the cracked mirror, his expression unreadable. "You've awakened something. That much is certain."
"But what is it?"
"I don't know," Elaron said. "The mirror cannot name it. It is… incomplete. Or perhaps undiscovered."
Avishek's heart sank. "Then I'm still broken."
"No," Elaron replied. "You are unmeasured. And unmeasured things... change everything."
That night, Avishek sat alone on a balcony overlooking the mist-wrapped mountains.
His soul was awake, they said. But it didn't feel like fire. It didn't feel like power.
It felt like a weight.A second heartbeat in his chest.A presence behind his eyes.
He didn't know what it was.But it was there.And it was waiting.