"The mind resists change; the heart invites it."
The corridor didn't feel like a place.
It felt like a decision.
Light slid across the walls like living mercury, forming shapes that collapsed the instant Aarav tried to understand them. There was no floor, not really—the ground simply shaped itself where his foot intended to land.
The air was warm.
But not comforting.
Not hostile.
Just aware.
Every breath he took rippled through the corridor, bending it slightly.
Aarav swallowed hard.
"Alright. So this place… wants something."
The hum in his chest responded to the space around him—
not in fear,
not in warning,
but in recognition.
Something deeper than memory.
Something closer to truth.
He moved forward.
The corridor shifted with him, widening with each step, the walls smoothing into a seamless surface that reflected faint silhouettes. Not like mirrors. More like echoes.
He saw—
—shadows of people he once knew,
hands reaching out of time,
faces turned toward him from moments he tried to bury.
His mother.
A friend long gone.
Someone he couldn't quite remember.
He kept walking.
The corridor dimmed.
A glow formed ahead—
warm, golden, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Aarav's steps slowed.
The hum inside him tightened.
The glow expanded, filling the space—
not blinding,
not painful,
but heavy with familiarity.
He stepped into a chamber.
Small.
Circular.
Silent.
At the center floated a single object—
a shard of crystalline light,
no larger than his palm,
turning slowly,
casting soft radiance across the room.
But not like a source.
More like a memory.
Aarav felt his breath catch.
He knew this shape.
Not from experience.
From resonance.
The shard pulsed when he approached.
The hum in Aarav's chest pulsed back.
"Is this…?"
The shard turned once—
and an image flickered across its surface.
A hall of white stone.
A crown of fractured energy.
A man standing alone.
A world trembling at the edges.
A door slamming shut.
Aarav jerked back as the memory surged through him.
This wasn't his memory.
This was the King's.
The moment he lost his Anchor.
Aarav steadied his breathing. "The Vale is showing me… his past?"
The shard answered—
another flicker.
The same hall.
But this time, another figure stood there.
A silhouette.
A familiar outline.
Aarav stared, breath frozen.
"That's him," he whispered.
"The Lost Anchor."
The shard pulsed harder, projecting another fragment.
The Anchor turning away.
The King reaching for him.
The Anchor stepping through a shimmering gate—
one that did not lead where it was meant to.
Aarav whispered, "He escaped."
Another pulse.
The Anchor looked back—
eyes hollow with grief—
and then the image shattered.
Light dissolved into silence.
Aarav staggered.
The King hadn't lost his Anchor.
His Anchor had **left.**
By choice.
By desperation.
By grief so deep it cracked the bond that held their world together.
Aarav stared at the shard, breathing hard.
"Why are you showing me this?"
The shard drifted toward him, hovering at chest height.
He reached out.
The shard touched his fingertips—
and the corridor behind him vanished.
Not physically—
but **conceptually.**
It folded into a single point, leaving only him and the shard suspended in a void of soft silver.
Then the shard spoke.
Not in words.
Not in voice.
In truth.
_An Anchor must know why a bond breaks
before he chooses where to stand._
Aarav felt the meaning sink deep.
The King wasn't hunting him because he was powerful.
Or chosen.
Or fated.
The King was hunting him
because the wound left by his last Anchor
never healed.
Aarav whispered, "You want me to understand him."
The shard pulsed once.
_Understand the broken.
To avoid breaking the same way._
Aarav clenched his jaw.
This wasn't a test of power.
It was a test of **pattern**.
What happened to the first Anchor
could happen to him.
If he chose wrong.
If he carried the wrong grief.
If he let the wrong memory define him.
Aarav lowered his hand.
"I get it."
He didn't.
Not fully.
Not yet.
But he understood enough.
The shard dimmed—
then drifted downward,
embedding itself into the floor of the empty chamber.
The void rippled.
The corridor reformed.
And a voice—
soft, familiar,
older—
echoed through the chamber.
"Aarav…"
He turned sharply.
Older Aarav leaned against the chamber wall—
breathing hard,
face drained,
as if the Heart had dragged him in against his will.
"Finally found you," the older version murmured.
Aarav rushed to him. "What happened? Are you hurt?"
"Hurt?" Older Aarav smirked.
"Always."
His expression softened.
"But that's not why I'm here."
Aarav frowned. "Then why—"
The older version stepped closer.
"Because the path ahead…" He exhaled. "…you're not meant to walk alone."
Before Aarav could respond,
the corridor pulsed—
stronger than ever—
and a new doorway unfolded ahead of them.
Warm.
Blinding.
Waiting.
The older version nodded toward it.
"Come on," he said quietly.
"It's time to see what we become."
Aarav steadied himself.
Together,
they stepped through.
"He followed the invitation, not knowing it was the right choice until after."