They did not shimmer like the Road of Echoes had. They did not hum or whisper. They simply existed—three quiet truths laid bare beneath the open sky.
The left path sank into a forest of pale trees, their bark smooth as bone. No birds sang there. The middle road climbed sharply upward, winding toward a range of black mountains whose peaks cut into the clouds. The right path descended into a wide plain where tall grass bent as if bowing to an unseen wind.
Elian stood at the center, feeling the strange ache that came after grief—lighter, but raw. The air felt different now, thinner somehow, as though the road had peeled something essential from him.
Teren leaned heavily on his staff. "The First Road never branches without reason," he said. "Each path answers a different question."
"And what question is that?" Mara asked.
Teren's gaze lingered on Elian. "What kind of forever are you willing to carry?"
They stood in silence. Elian realized then that for the first time since leaving Kareth, no voice—living or dead—pushed him in any direction. The choice was his alone.
"I'll take the plain," Mara said suddenly.
Both men turned to her.
She shrugged, though tension flickered behind her eyes. "High ground and deep woods both hide dangers. The open plain shows what's coming. I prefer honest threats."
Teren nodded slowly. "A road of clarity, then."
Elian studied the grasslands. The wind moved through them in slow waves, like breath. Something about it felt… patient.
"I'll walk with you," he said.
Teren did not object. He only folded his map and slipped it back into his coat. "Then we walk the Third Path—the Road of Burdens."
Mara groaned. "Of course it has a name like that."
They stepped onto it together.
At once, Elian felt heavier. Not physically—not at first—but inwardly, as if invisible hands were laying stones upon his thoughts. Every doubt he had ever carried rose to the surface.
The grass brushed against his legs, whispering faintly. The sky above was vast and empty, a blue so wide it made him feel small.
After an hour, Mara slowed.
"You feel it too," she said, not asking.
Elian nodded. His shoulders ached. Each step required more effort than the last. "It's like… responsibility," he said. "Every promise I've broken. Every promise I haven't dared to make."
Teren smiled without humor. "The Road of Burdens gives form to what we avoid carrying. Kings have collapsed on this path, crushed by crowns no one could see."
They continued.
As the sun climbed, shapes began to appear in the grass—half-buried objects glinting faintly. Elian bent to examine one and froze.
It was a child's wooden toy, chipped and faded. The same kind he had once sworn to carve for his younger brother. The brother who had died before Elian ever learned how.
Mara knelt nearby, staring at a rusted blade. "This was mine," she whispered. "I threw it away the night I ran."
The road was digging into them, pulling their unfulfilled duties from the soil like bones.
"Don't pick them up," Teren warned. "The road doesn't ask you to reclaim the past—only to acknowledge it."
But the weight increased regardless.
By midday, Elian's knees trembled. Each breath came with effort. Ahead, the grass parted to reveal a lone figure walking toward them.
A woman, bent beneath an enormous pack strapped to her back. Chains wrapped around her arms and chest, clinking with every step. Her face was calm, almost serene.
She stopped before them.
"You look tired," she said kindly.
"What's in your pack?" Mara asked.
The woman smiled. "Everything I refused to let go of."
Elian swallowed. "Why keep carrying it?"
"Because it proves I mattered," she replied. "Pain is heavy, yes—but it is also evidence."
Teren bowed his head. "You've walked this road a long time."
"A lifetime," the woman said. She looked at Elian. "The road will ask you to choose. Not yet—but soon."
She stepped past them, her chains fading into the tall grass.
As evening fell, the weight became unbearable. Elian collapsed to one knee, gasping. His thoughts blurred, crowded by faces and failures.
"I can't," he said. "I can't carry all of this."
Mara stood unsteadily beside him. "Neither can I."
Teren planted his staff into the earth. "Then listen well. This is where most fall. They mistake burden for destiny."
The ground ahead shifted. The plain ended abruptly at a massive stone scale, its two sides empty, waiting.
Words carved into the base glowed faintly:
What you carry defines what you become.
Elian stared at it, heart racing. "So what do we do?"
Teren met his eyes. "You choose what stays."
Images flooded Elian's mind—his father, his brother, the faces of those he had failed. Slowly, he understood. The road was not demanding strength. It was demanding honesty.
He reached inward and found the heaviest thing of all: the belief that he had to atone by suffering endlessly.
With shaking hands, he imagined setting it down.
The pressure eased.
Mara exhaled sharply. "It's lighter," she said in wonder.
One by one, they approached the scale—not placing objects upon it, but releasing the invisible weights they carried. The scale did not move. It simply accepted.
When they stepped past it, the grass thinned, the sky deepened into gold and violet. The road ahead stretched on, firm and steady.
Elian stood taller, though the ache had not vanished completely. Some burdens, he realized, were meant to be carried—but not all.
As night fell and the first stars appeared, Teren spoke quietly.
"You've learned something rare today."
Elian looked down the road, feeling its steady pull forward. "That eternity isn't about how much we endure."
Teren nodded. "But about what we choose to carry with us."
And somewhere far ahead, unseen and waiting, another road prepared to ask its question.