THE REFLECTION THAT RETURNS NOTHING
The village was small, surrounded by low mountains covered in damp forests. The air smelled of wet earth, freshly cut wood, and smoke from chimneys that rose in thin spirals toward a grayish sky. The sound of chickens and the creaking of wooden carts marked the routine of an ordinary day, as if nothing in the world could interrupt that peaceful normality.
Zyrion walked through the narrow streets, accompanied by Caelithra. She smiled naturally, greeting the villagers who seemed to have known her forever. Children ran around, throwing stones and laughing, while women wove in their doorways. Everything seemed too perfect, too static, like a painted picture with cracks along the edges.
Zyrion remained silent, observing every detail with suspicion. His breathing was slow and heavy. He knew something was wrong. He knew it because, beside him, in the shadows invisible to everyone, were Miranth and Psyrion. No one else could see them. Not even Caelithra, who spoke to him as if no other presence existed.
"Do you feel it, boy?" Miranth murmured, his mocking voice echoing close to his ear. "This place is a loom of illusions, so delicate it hangs from the memories you haven't yet dared to face. And yet... here you are, walking among them as if they were real."
Psyrion spoke immediately, his tone stern, like a teacher giving a warning. "Be careful, Zyrion. Your mind is being tested. This world you see is nothing more than a reflection, a construct of what once was, mixed with what you fear losing. Do not cling too tightly, or the illusion could become a prison."
Zyrion listened to them, but didn't answer. He fixed his white eyes on the houses, on the shadows of the people passing by. It was as if he were looking for a crack, a mistake, something that would confirm what they were saying.
Caelithra looked at him and smiled gently, oblivious to the tension coursing through his body. "Zyrion, what's wrong? You've seemed distant ever since we arrived in this village. You shouldn't worry so much; everything is peaceful here. We can rest, have something hot to eat… perhaps even forget for a moment everything we've been through."
He turned to her, trying to decipher from her features if it was really her. Every gesture, every word, every glance seemed genuine, but his heart knew it wasn't.
"Caelitra…" Zyrion murmured, his voice trembling. "Are you really… you?"
She frowned, hurt by the question. "What kind of question is that? Who else could it be? I'm here with you, can't you see?"
Miranth let out a dry laugh. "Look how well he plays his part. Every line of his voice, every movement, is woven to confuse you. How much longer will you keep up this charade?"
Zyrion felt a lump in his throat, but he didn't reply. At that moment, the village gates opened. Four men pushed them open to let three figures walk in from the stone path. The crowd turned toward them with a murmur of surprise and respect.
As Zyrion looked up, he felt the ground beneath his feet disappear.
It was them.
Kyrahna, with her firm bearing and her dark eyes that exuded determination.
Karion, with his broad shoulders and the sharpness of his gaze that seemed capable of piercing steel.
And Taliena, with her silent walk, her aura of mystery, and the calm in every movement of her hands.
Zyrion took a step forward, as if his very blood compelled him to run toward them. But he stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed something impossible: none of the three recognized him.
The villagers surrounded them, offering water, greetings, and curiosity. They responded naturally, talking amongst themselves. Zyrion clenched his fist, trying to get their attention.
"Kyrahna…" he murmured, barely audible. "Karion… Taliena…"
But they walked past him as if he were just another stranger. Their eyes fell on Caelithra, whom they seemed to recognize, but there wasn't a single spark of recognition toward Zyrion.
He stepped back, his heart pounding. "No… it can't be. They know me. They've been with me… they've fought by my side. Why here… why don't they know who I am?"
Caelithra gently took his arm, confused. "What's wrong with you? Do you know those people? I've barely heard of them; they're just travelers, nothing more."
Psyrion's voice echoed deep within his mind, sharp and grave. "Because here you are not Zyrion. Here you are nothing more than an intruder in a memory that does not belong to you. They exist in this illusion, but not in relation to you. Here you were never part of their lives."
Miranth added with a mocking tone, though with an underlying warning. "Do you see how cruel illusion can be, boy? It gives you what you desire, but it warps it to break you from within. This is the price of walking in worlds that are not your own."
Zyrion breathed heavily, watching Kyrahna, Karion, and Taliena laughing amongst themselves, as if they were a group of comrades without him. Despair enveloped him.
"So... I'm alone even here?" he asked softly, his throat tight.
Psyrion answered without hesitation. "You are not alone, Zyrion. But you must understand: what you see is a reflection. And reflections... never return the whole truth."
The wind rose between the houses, wafting the torches. Zyrion's white eyes shone brighter than the flames themselves, as the reality before him seemed to crumble into his emotions.
The village air grew more vibrant with the arrival of the three travelers. Children ran toward them with flowers and laughter, the elders bowed their heads in respect, and even the dogs wagged their tails, joyfully following them. Kyrahna, Karion, and Taliena walked with confidence, as if they had been there a thousand times, accepting the smiles and greetings as part of a shared destiny.
Zyrion stood still, a few steps away. The bustle of the place seemed to fade around him, as if the whole world had shrunk to the sound of his breathing and the weight gathering in his chest. His eyes followed their every move, like someone observing a memory they could never revisit.
Caelithra spoke beside him, trying to distract him. "See? People like them. They're not strangers to this village; they're like heroes. Why the gloomy expression, Zyrion? Did you expect something more?"
He didn't answer right away. He felt the trembling in his lips, the tension in his jaw, and that white light in his eyes vibrated as if it might shatter. Finally, he took a step forward, whispering in a broken voice.
"Kyrahna…"
She turned slightly, as if she had heard a whisper in the air, but her eyes didn't linger on him. She continued walking, talking to Taliena about the paths they had traveled and the harshness of the approaching winter.
Zyrion clenched his fists. "Karion... can't you hear me? I've fought by your side, I've seen your fury, your determination. How can you... how can you look at me like I'm just another stranger?"
Karion bowed to a villager offering him bread, acknowledging him with a polite gesture. His voice boomed clearly, but not directed at him. "The people here are generous. Perhaps we can stay here for a while."
Zyrion felt the impact of each word, like hammer blows against his chest. He turned then to Taliena, despair already evident in his voice.
"Taliena, not you either? Your silences always spoke louder than your words. I... I trusted you when everyone else doubted you. Tell me you recognize me, even just once."
She looked up, her calm eyes scanning the square, but they didn't linger on him. Not a spark of recognition, not a shadow of memory. Only the emptiness of someone who had never known him.
The world seemed to crumble beneath his feet.
Miranth spoke in his ear, his tone cruel, though tinged with a certain hidden compassion. "Do you feel it now, boy? Illusion doesn't lie entirely. It only reflects what you fear most. And what do you fear most than not being remembered?"
Psyrion added harshly, like a hammer striking his mind. "This is a mirror of your pain. Here they exist without you, and so it shows you what hurts you most: that your name, your sacrifice, your wounds... mean nothing to those you love."
Zyrion breathed heavily; the village air felt suffocating, as if the smiles and laughter of others surrounded him like knives. His eyes shone brighter, moist. He felt the tear fighting to escape, as everything inside him screamed for him to let it flow, to allow himself to cry.
But she didn't. She brought a hand to her face, hiding her broken expression. She bit her lip so hard it almost bled, clenching her teeth until it hurt.
"No…" she whispered softly, trembling. "I'm not going to cry. Not here. Not now."
She turned, looking at the damp earth, and whispered almost inaudibly, "Because if I cry... I'll admit I'm lost in this world that isn't mine."
Caelithra looked at him with concern. "Zyrion? What's wrong? You look broken, as if you've carried a thousand battles on your shoulders. Would you like to go somewhere else for a while? I can get you some water, a place to rest."
He looked up, forcing a weak smile, though his eyes still held a glimmer of moisture. "I'm fine, Caelitra. I just... need to breathe."
In the distance, Kyrahna laughed softly with Karion and Taliena, their voices full of life, as if they shared a forgotten story. To them, Zyrion was nothing more than an anonymous shadow in the crowd.
And at that moment, Zyrion understood that the real wound was not in his body, but in the emptiness of not being recognized, in the loneliness that pierced deeper than any sword.
He stood firm, his heart breaking and his eyes burning, but he didn't cry. Breaking his rule would have been accepting defeat. And he knew that, even if this world tore him apart, he had to endure.
The final trial is not strength, but choice.