Light swallowed him whole.
The moment Eryndor crossed the threshold, the world vanished.
There was no sound, no scent, no ground beneath his feet — only endless, shifting radiance.
He turned, but the entrance was gone. The others — Lyra, Zephyr, Lirien — had vanished like smoke.
He was alone.
“Where am I?” he whispered.
His voice didn’t echo. It simply dissolved into the brightness, as if the air refused to carry it. Then, gradually, the light condensed. Shapes began to form — curved walls of polished crystal, each one reflecting an image of him.
Dozens of Eryndors stared back.
Some wore his armour. Others were older, scarred, and broken. A few bore eyes are not of blue but silver.
Then, one of the reflections moved when he did not.
Eryndor froze. “What…?”
The reflection smiled
