The sky above is almost gone, the sun smothered beneath a blanket of darkness. Streaks of weak light cut through the gloom, but they don't comfort me—they only make the black veins of the glass path ahead pulse, alive and sinister. Every sound I make echoes too long, distorted, bouncing back like whispers of warning. The crimson glass path has changed. It's no longer veined with red—it's black, smooth, unyielding. Silent. Watching. Waiting.
I keep walking, chest tight, my Shinobi Gi weighing on me like a second skin. The scales across it feel heavier with every step, almost as if they are absorbing my fear. The whispers begin again, soft at first, almost indistinguishable—but I recognize them. My own mind, twisted by the Shadowveil.
Then I hear it—a faint, strangled cry, carried across the glass corridor. I freeze. My pulse spikes. My stomach twists.
"Jordan? Maya? Cameron?" My voice shakes, cracking under the tension. No reply.
I follow the sound, stepping faster, the black glass cold and unyielding beneath my feet. The cry grows louder, ragged, desperate. Left. Right. Another left. And finally… I see him.
Cameron.
He's pressed into the corner of the glass wall, knees drawn to his chest, trembling violently. The veins in the glass around him burn a deep, dark purple, pulsing with a rhythm that matches his panicked heartbeat. His voice is barely coherent, repeating the same phrases over and over:
"I'm sorry… please… I didn't mean to… don't…"
I kneel, reaching out to him, hoping my touch can anchor him.
The moment my palm grazes his shoulder, the world twists violently. The ocean corridor, the black glass, the faint light—they all dissolve.
I'm inside him. Inside his fear.
The ceiling lowers, walls close in, and suddenly I'm standing in a small kitchen, the smell of burnt toast hanging thick in the air. Cameron is a child again. Alone. His father's shadow looms over him, teeth bared, fists slamming against the counter. Every strike reverberates through the floor—and through me.
Then it hits me.
A fist, not real, but every bit as solid, slams into my chest. I stagger, my ribs groaning, wind knocked out of me. Another strike. Then another, each blow perfectly timed, hitting me in places that ache long after they're "over." Phantom pain spreads through my body, mimicking Cameron's terror, mirroring the abuse he remembers. I choke back a scream, staggering as the kitchen twists, the walls bending into jagged shards of black glass.
Cameron's voice is small, terrified. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean… please…"
I grit my teeth, gripping his shoulders. My own chest burns, every inhale a knife slicing through my lungs. My vision flares with darkness at the edges. The world tilts as if I am about to fall into an abyss, swallowed whole by the echoes of his fear.
"You're not real! None of this is real!" I scream, my voice trembling under the strain. "Cameron! Listen to me! You're here! You're safe! It isn't real!"
The black veins in the walls pulse violently. The strikes continue, phantom fists pounding into me, each one a shadow of Cameron's terror. I stumble back, knees weak, heart hammering. My body wants to collapse, my mind screams to run, but I can't.
I force myself down, kneeling in front of him, gripping his shoulders tighter. "Look at me, Cameron! See me! It's not real! None of this! I promise, it's not real!"
The illusions falter, the blows hitting me with less intensity as his gaze locks with mine. Slowly, the fire in my heart spreads, pushing through the fear, anchoring him. Cameron trembles, then inhales a shaky breath. His hands unclench. His shoulders relax.
The world snaps back. The black glass corridor reappears. The ocean hums faintly ahead. The veins in the glass are dark, but no longer pulsing with violent energy.
Cameron stares at me, wide-eyed, trembling, but beginning to breathe normally again.
"I… I did it?" he whispers, voice barely audible.
"No," I correct gently. "You did it. You chose to see it wasn't real. That's what makes you brave."
A fragile smile spreads across his face, soft and real. Not forced. Not cautious. Real. I take a deep breath, chest still tight from the phantom blows that seared through me. My hand remains on his shoulder.
We stand together, stepping forward onto the black glass path. The ocean lies ahead, still, muted under the half-light. I glance at him and feel the weight of everything we've survived—the fear, the attacks, the shadows—but also a spark. A spark of hope.
We are not alone.
And for the first time in what feels like forever… we are moving forward.
The sky above is almost gone, the sun smothered beneath a blanket of darkness. Streaks of weak light cut through the gloom, but they don't comfort me—they only make the black veins of the glass path ahead pulse, alive and sinister. Every sound I make echoes too long, distorted, bouncing back like whispers of warning. The crimson glass path has changed. It's no longer veined with red—it's black, smooth, unyielding. Silent. Watching. Waiting.
I keep walking, chest tight, my Shinobi Gi weighing on me like a second skin. The scales across it feel heavier with every step, almost as if they are absorbing my fear. The whispers begin again, soft at first, almost indistinguishable—but I recognize them. My own mind, twisted by the Shadowveil.
Then I hear it—a faint, strangled cry, carried across the glass corridor. I freeze. My pulse spikes. My stomach twists.
"Jordan? Maya? Cameron?" My voice shakes, cracking under the tension. No reply.
I follow the sound, stepping faster, the black glass cold and unyielding beneath my feet. The cry grows louder, ragged, desperate. Left. Right. Another left. And finally… I see him.
Cameron.
He's pressed into the corner of the glass wall, knees drawn to his chest, trembling violently. The veins in the glass around him burn a deep, dark purple, pulsing with a rhythm that matches his panicked heartbeat. His voice is barely coherent, repeating the same phrases over and over:
"I'm sorry… please… I didn't mean to… don't…"
I kneel, reaching out to him, hoping my touch can anchor him.
The moment my palm grazes his shoulder, the world twists violently. The ocean corridor, the black glass, the faint light—they all dissolve.
I'm inside him. Inside his fear.
The ceiling lowers, walls close in, and suddenly I'm standing in a small kitchen, the smell of burnt toast hanging thick in the air. Cameron is a child again. Alone. His father's shadow looms over him, teeth bared, fists slamming against the counter. Every strike reverberates through the floor—and through me.
Then it hits me.
A fist, not real, but every bit as solid, slams into my chest. I stagger, my ribs groaning, wind knocked out of me. Another strike. Then another, each blow perfectly timed, hitting me in places that ache long after they're "over." Phantom pain spreads through my body, mimicking Cameron's terror, mirroring the abuse he remembers. I choke back a scream, staggering as the kitchen twists, the walls bending into jagged shards of black glass.
Cameron's voice is small, terrified. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean… please…"
I grit my teeth, gripping his shoulders. My own chest burns, every inhale a knife slicing through my lungs. My vision flares with darkness at the edges. The world tilts as if I am about to fall into an abyss, swallowed whole by the echoes of his fear.
"You're not real! None of this is real!" I scream, my voice trembling under the strain. "Cameron! Listen to me! You're here! You're safe! It isn't real!"
The black veins in the walls pulse violently. The strikes continue, phantom fists pounding into me, each one a shadow of Cameron's terror. I stumble back, knees weak, heart hammering. My body wants to collapse, my mind screams to run, but I can't.
I force myself down, kneeling in front of him, gripping his shoulders tighter. "Look at me, Cameron! See me! It's not real! None of this! I promise, it's not real!"
The illusions falter, the blows hitting me with less intensity as his gaze locks with mine. Slowly, the fire in my heart spreads, pushing through the fear, anchoring him. Cameron trembles, then inhales a shaky breath. His hands unclench. His shoulders relax.
The world snaps back. The black glass corridor reappears. The ocean hums faintly ahead. The veins in the glass are dark, but no longer pulsing with violent energy.
Cameron stares at me, wide-eyed, trembling, but beginning to breathe normally again.
"I… I did it?" he whispers, voice barely audible.
"No," I correct gently. "You did it. You chose to see it wasn't real. That's what makes you brave."
A fragile smile spreads across his face, soft and real. Not forced. Not cautious. Real. I take a deep breath, chest still tight from the phantom blows that seared through me. My hand remains on his shoulder.
We stand together, stepping forward onto the black glass path. The ocean lies ahead, still, muted under the half-light. I glance at him and feel the weight of everything we've survived—the fear, the attacks, the shadows—but also a spark. A spark of hope.
We are not alone.
And for the first time in what feels like forever… we are moving forward.