The path wound downhill from the Forest of Echoes, narrowing into a rocky trail flanked by tangled roots and weeping willows. The air here was different—thicker, heavier, as if the land itself held its breath. Orien's legs ached from the journey, muscles burning with every step, but his mind buzzed with a restless clarity. The voices of the Echoes still lingered like ghosts at the back of his thoughts, whispering fragments of his past, but their grip had lessened. He had endured. The forest had not broken him.
And yet, he wondered if that was the point.
The Trials were not meant to be survived. They were meant to *change* him.
The sound of water reached his ears before the sight of it—a hush that wasn't silence, but something deeper. A suspension. The stillness of something watching. The trees thinned, their gnarled branches pulling back like curtains, and the path opened into a wide valley.
There it lay.
The Mirror Lake.
It was vast. Still. *Perfect.*
The lake stretched from horizon to horizon, cupped gently by the sloping hills around it. Trees leaned over the water's edge, their reflections so precise that Orien could barely distinguish sky from lake, reality from illusion. It was unnerving, like walking toward a hole in the world, a place where the boundaries between truth and deception blurred.
He stepped closer, boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. His own reflection stared back at him—undistorted, yet *wrong*. The mirrored Orien's eyes were older. Weary. Accusing.
*You know what you've done.*
A shudder ran through him. He tore his gaze away, scanning the shore. To his left, a weathered stone pier jutted into the lake, its surface slick with moss. At its end, a small wooden boat bobbed gently, tied to an ancient post. The rope was frayed, the wood cracked with age, but the vessel itself seemed intact. Painted across its side in faded white letters were the words:
**"Only the true shall pass."**
Orien hesitated.
He looked behind him—back toward the forest, the trial he had already endured. He could turn back. Find another path. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it was futile. The Trials did not allow retreat. They demanded confrontation.
With a slow exhale, he stepped onto the pier. The boards groaned under his weight, the sound too loud in the unnatural quiet. The wind stirred, rippling the lake's surface, as if the water itself was aware of him.
*Welcome,* it seemed to whisper. *We've been waiting.*
He reached the boat, fingers brushing the rough wood. The rope came loose too easily, as though it had been expecting him. The moment he stepped inside, the boat began to move.
No current. No oars. Just the slow, inevitable glide toward the center of the lake.
---
The water was a flawless mirror, doubling the world above. The boat cut through it without a sound, leaving no wake, as if it moved through a dream rather than reality. Above, the sky was pale and motionless. Below, its twin shimmered, perfect in every detail.
Too perfect.
Orien's grip tightened on the edge of the boat. His reflection stared back at him from the depths, unblinking.
Then it smiled.
A smile he had never worn. Too wide. Too knowing.
He recoiled, heart hammering.
The reflection's mouth opened, and from the water came a whisper:
*"You've lied."*
The lake rippled.
Something grabbed the boat.
Orien scrambled back as the vessel rocked violently. The air turned frigid, the light dimming as if the sun itself had flinched. Water surged upward, and a hand—*his* hand—burst from the surface, fingers clawing at the gunwale. Then another. The reflection dragged itself up, water cascading from its form as it pulled itself aboard.
It was him.
Exactly him. Same clothes. Same scars. Same face.
But the eyes were wrong. Hollow. Hungry.
*"You left her,"* the double said, voice dripping with quiet venom. *"You ran."*
Orien's breath came fast. "You're not real."
*"I'm more real than you are."* The doppelganger stepped forward, the boat barely shifting under its weight. *"I'm everything you try to hide."*
It lunged.
Orien barely twisted aside in time, the boat tilting dangerously. They crashed together, limbs tangling, fists flying. It was like fighting a shadow—every strike anticipated, every block countered. The double moved *with* him, as if it knew his thoughts before he did.
*"You don't deserve the Trials,"* it snarled, slamming him down. The boat shuddered under the impact. *"You seek to lead, but all you've done is run from your guilt."*
Orien gritted his teeth, straining against the weight. "I carry it… so I can learn from it. That's why I'm here."
The double's grip faltered—just for an instant.
Orien seized the opening. He slammed his forehead forward, pain exploding through his skull as he connected with the double's nose. The creature reeled, and in that split second, Orien yanked the dagger from his belt and drove it into the reflection's chest.
The world shattered.
Light erupted, blinding white, as the double fragmented like glass. Shards of mirror and memory scattered into the sky, dissolving into mist. The boat rocked violently, water surging around him—
Then silence.
---
Orien awoke lying in the boat, his clothes soaked, his body aching as if he had been dragged through a storm. The vessel floated peacefully now, nudging against the opposite shore.
He sat up slowly, wincing. His reflection in the water was his own again. No smile. No accusation. Just him.
Trembling, he stepped onto solid ground. The mark on his arm—the sigil of the Trials—burned briefly before cooling, the lines darkening with another completed challenge.
Behind him, the lake rippled once.
No reflection followed.
Ahead, the path turned, rising into shimmering heat and endless dunes.
Trial III awaited.
The Blistering Sands.