"What do you think waits for us this time?" Laina asked, shrugging her shoulders. Her black hair had mostly thawed, though a few droplets still clung to the ends, catching the light when she moved.
I studied the doorway. Unlike the previous two, this one had no distinguishing features—no heat shimmering from within, no frost rimming its edges. Just... emptiness.
"Nothing good," I replied, flexing my hands. "But we've handled worse."
Joran stood slightly apart from us. As I glanced his way, something... shifted in my perception. For a heartbeat, I saw not Joran the scout, but something else—a silhouette that didn't quite match the man before me, as if a shadow had momentarily slipped out of alignment with its caster.
My stomach twisted with the same uneasiness I'd felt when we encountered the Reflectors. That same wrongness—the sense that what I was seeing wasn't what was truly there.
I blinked, and the moment passed. Joran was just Joran again, watching the doorway with wary eyes.
"You alright?" he asked, catching my stare.
"Fine," I said. "Just... thinking about what's next."
He nodded, accepting the explanation, but his gaze lingered on my face a moment longer than necessary.
"Let's get this over with," Laina said, squaring her shoulders. "Standing here won't make whatever's in there any easier to face."
I took the lead, stepping through the third doorway with Heartseeker ready in my hand. The blade's crimson glow seemed to dim as we crossed the threshold, its warmth receding.
Beyond the door lay... nothing.
Absolute, perfect nothing.
I staggered, disoriented by the sudden absence of... everything. No floor beneath my feet, no ceiling above, no walls around us—just an endless void stretching in all directions. Yet somehow we weren't falling. We stood—or floated—in this emptiness, suspended by forces I couldn't begin to comprehend.
"What the fuck," I breathed, my voice sounding flat and lifeless in the void.
"Don't move," Joran warned, his body unnaturally still. "I can... feel something beneath us. Like invisible platforms."
I glanced down, seeing nothing but endless darkness, yet when I cautiously shifted my weight, I felt resistance—something solid supporting me despite my eyes insisting nothing was there.
A faint shimmer appeared a few feet ahead of us—the barest outline of what might be a path, visible only when viewed from certain angles. It stretched away into the darkness, occasionally branching or turning.
"I think we're supposed to follow that," I said, nodding toward the shimmer.
"How?" Laina asked. "I can barely see it, and it keeps... shifting."
I took a careful step forward, testing the invisible surface. "One step at a time." I extended my hand toward her. "Stay close."
She hesitated only a moment before taking it, her fingers warm against mine. Joran moved to follow, keeping a careful distance between us.
We proceeded slowly along the invisible path, guided only by that faint shimmer. With each step, I felt the void around us shifting, changing in ways my eyes couldn't track but my body somehow sensed. Gravity seemed to reorient itself randomly—what had been "down" suddenly became "left" or "behind," forcing us to adjust our movements constantly.
"This is..." Laina started, then gasped as the path beneath her feet seemed to rotate, leaving her momentarily disoriented.
I tightened my grip on her hand. "I know. Just focus on the next step. Nothing else matters."
Joran followed silently. That odd feeling returned as I watched him navigate the invisible platforms easily—as if he'd done this before, or somehow knew exactly where to place his feet despite the darkness.
"There's something ahead," he said suddenly, pointing to a spot where the darkness seemed slightly less absolute.
I squinted, trying to see what he saw. Gradually, a shape emerged from the void—a platform of some kind, more substantial than the path we'd been following. As we drew closer, I made out what looked like a small island of solid matter floating in the nothingness.
"Be careful," I warned as we approached. "Could be a trap."
Laina's fingers tightened around mine. "Or the way forward."
The platform was roughly circular, perhaps twenty feet across, with a smooth, slightly reflective surface. As we stepped onto it, the invisible path behind us faded completely, leaving us isolated in the void.
"Well," I said, looking around at the endless nothing surrounding us, "this is cozy."
Laina released my hand, moving to examine the platform's edge. "There must be something here. Some clue about how to proceed."
Joran crouched, running his fingers over the surface. "There's something... written here. I can feel it, but not see it."
I knelt beside him, placing my palm against the platform. Sure enough, there were subtle variations in the texture—lines and curves that might be letters or symbols.
"Maybe we're not supposed to see with our eyes."
I closed my eyes, letting my fingertips trace the invisible markings. Shapes began to form in my mind—not words exactly, but impressions, concepts that bypassed language entirely.
"It's a riddle," I said slowly, the understanding forming as I spoke. "The path forward is visible only to those who understand that... perception is subjective. Reality is what we believe it to be."
As I spoke those words, the platform beneath us shuddered. When I opened my eyes, the void had... changed. Where before there had been only darkness, now I could see faint outlines—bridges extending from our platform in multiple directions, each leading to another floating island.
"Can you see them?" I asked, rising to my feet.
Laina frowned, squinting into the darkness. "See what?"
"The bridges. There are at least five of them, leading to other platforms."
She shook her head slowly. "I don't see anything."
But Joran was nodding. "I see them. Not all of them—just three."
"Which one do we take?" Laina asked, breaking my train of thought.
I considered the options, trying to discern any difference between the bridges. All looked identical to me—insubstantial pathways stretching into nothingness.
"This one," Joran said, pointing to a bridge I could barely make out—one of the fainter ones from my perspective.
"Why that one?" I asked.
"Because it's the only one that isn't an illusion."
Before I could question him further, he stepped toward the bridge he'd indicated. To my surprise, his foot found solid surface where I saw only the barest shimmer.
"How can you tell?" Laina asked, moving to follow him.
Joran hesitated. "I just... can. Trust me."
That was exactly what I was struggling with. But what choice did we have? We were stranded on this platform with no obvious way forward. If Joran could perceive what we couldn't...
"Alright," I said, gesturing for him to lead. "But move slowly. We'll follow your exact steps."
We proceeded across Joran's chosen bridge, which gradually became more visible to me as we walked. It led to another platform, larger than the first, with what appeared to be a pedestal at its center.
"There," Laina said, pointing. "I can see that."
The pedestal was carved from some dark material that seemed to absorb rather than reflect the non-existent light of the void. Atop it sat a small object—a perfect sphere that hovered a few inches above the pedestal's surface, rotating slowly.
"What is it?" Laina asked as we approached.
I studied the sphere without touching it. It appeared to be made of the same material as the pedestal, but somehow more... substantial. As if it had greater reality than our surroundings.
"I think it's what we're here for," I said, reaching toward it.
Joran's hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. "Wait!"
I jerked back, startled by the unexpected contact. His grip was stronger than I would have expected from his lean frame, and colder.
"What?" I demanded, pulling free of his grasp.
"It's not..." He struggled for words, his brow furrowed. "It's not what you think it is."
I stared at him, that feeling of wrongness intensifying. "And what do I think it is?"
He looked away, unable to meet my eyes. "I don't know. But it's dangerous."
Laina moved to stand beside me, her gaze shifting between us. "How do you know that, Joran?"
He shook his head, frustration evident in the tightness of his jaw. "I can't explain it. I just... know."
I studied him for a long moment, trying to reconcile the man before me with the unease he inspired. Joran had been nothing but helpful since we met. He'd saved my life more than once. Yet something about him felt... off. Wrong in a way I couldn't articulate.
"I'm going to touch it," I said finally, turning back to the sphere. "We need to complete this trial to move forward."
Before Joran could object again, I placed my palm against the sphere. The moment I made contact, the void around us... shifted.
Gravity seemed to invert, then twist sideways, then disappear entirely. The platform beneath our feet dissolved, and we were falling—or floating—through absolute darkness.
Then, abruptly, we weren't in darkness anymore.
We stood in a vast chamber with walls, floor, and ceiling of polished black stone. The room was empty save for a single door on the far side—an ordinary wooden door that looked laughably out of place in these surroundings.
"What happened?" Laina asked, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space.
"I think we passed the trial," I said, looking around. The sphere was gone, but I could still feel its impression on my palm—a perfect roundness that seemed to have become part of me, just as the flame and ice had done.
Joran stood a few paces away, his expression unreadable. That moment of wrongness had passed again, leaving me questioning my own perception. Was there really something off about him, or was it just the Chamber of Void playing tricks on my mind?
"Let's keep moving," I said, starting toward the door. "I'd rather not spend any more time here than necessary."
The door opened easily at my touch, revealing the central chamber of the Temple once again. Three of the six doorways now glowed—orange, blue, and a deep, fathomless black.
"Halfway there," Laina said.
I nodded, but my attention was on the fourth doorway—the one we would need to enter next. Unlike the previous three, this one seemed to... shimmer, the air around it wavering as if seen through intense heat.
"Let's rest a moment before continuing," I suggested.
We moved to the center of the chamber, sitting in a rough circle on the smooth stone floor. Laina took the opportunity to check her makeshift bow, running her fingers along the string to ensure the cold hadn't damaged it. Joran pulled a small flask from his belt and took a careful sip before offering it to us.
"Water," he explained. "From the marshes, but I filtered it."
I accepted the flask, studying his face as I drank. In the normal light of the central chamber, he looked exactly as he always had—lean, weathered, watchful. No hint of the shadow-self I thought I'd glimpsed in the void.
"Thanks," I said, passing the flask to Laina. "How are you holding up?"
Joran shrugged. "Well enough. These trials are... challenging, but not impossible."
"You seemed to navigate the void pretty easily," I noted.
"I've always had good night vision. Growing up in Frostfall, you develop a sense for things you can't always see clearly."
It was a reasonable explanation. So why didn't I believe it?
"What do you think the next trial will be?" Laina asked, handing the flask back to Joran.
I glanced toward the shimmering doorway. "No way to know until we face it. But if the pattern holds, each trial tests a different aspect of ourselves. Courage. Clarity. Perception. The fourth might test..."
"Truth," Joran suggested quietly.
I looked at him sharply. "What makes you say that?"
He shrugged again, tucking the flask away. "Just a guess. The doorway looks... revealing somehow."
I couldn't argue with his assessment. The shimmering air did give the impression of something being unveiled, layers peeled back to expose what lay beneath.
"If it is truth," I said slowly, "then we should be prepared for uncomfortable revelations."
Laina laughed, the sound unexpectedly bright in the solemn chamber. "What could be more uncomfortable than what we've already faced?"
I didn't answer, my gaze drifting back to Joran.
What indeed?