The Hall of Echoes felt like it had left its mark on all of us. The pressure, the doubt — it was as if the entire room had crawled under our skin and settled there, making every breath feel heavier. I could still hear the whisper of the trial in my mind, feel the weight of those reflections clawing at my thoughts.
But we couldn't afford to stay stuck in the past. We had to move forward.
The door in front of us opened with a low groan, revealing a vast, circular room. The walls were lined with mirrors, but this time, they were different. Each mirror was framed in intricate, shifting designs, with flashes of symbols I didn't understand. A low hum filled the air, like the sound of distant voices murmuring in unison.
It was time for the second trial.
"Welcome to Reflection Roulette," Alice's voice echoed in the room, though she was nowhere in sight. "You'll see your memories — your most important ones. But be warned, not all of them are what they seem. Some will be real, some will be lies, and some will be traps."
I glanced at Arisa and James. Their faces were grim, and I could see the nervous energy rolling off them. The last trial had shaken us all, but this one felt different. It felt dangerous.
"We're in this together," I said, trying to steady my own nerves. "Whatever we see, we stick together."
They nodded, but I could see the doubt in their eyes. The trial ahead wasn't going to be kind.
I stepped forward, eyes locked on the first mirror. The surface shimmered for a moment, and then the reflection emerged.
It was my old house.
The familiar hallway, the worn carpet I'd tripped on a thousand times. I could hear my mother's voice calling me from the kitchen, just as I remembered it. A flash of warmth spread through me, the kind that only home could bring.
But something wasn't right. The scene flickered, like a broken film reel, and the voices distorted. My mother's voice changed, deepened into something cold, something unfamiliar.
"Alex," she called again, but this time, it wasn't her. The voice was twisted, echoing in a way that felt wrong. "Come here, Alex. I'm waiting for you."
My heart skipped a beat.
I knew what was coming. I knew this memory — this wasn't my mom. It was a twisted version of her, a reflection of my fear. A reflection of the things I'd buried deep inside myself.
I stepped back, eyes flicking to Arisa and James. "Don't look at it," I muttered, my voice tight. "It's not real."
Arisa's eyes were glued to the mirror, her face pale as she watched the scene unfold. Her lips parted, as if she was about to speak, but then the mirror shifted again.
The house disappeared, replaced by a familiar place: the old schoolyard.
I felt the knot in my stomach tighten. This was a memory I'd tried to forget.
There I was, standing alone at the edge of the playground. I could feel the weight of every stare, every whisper as they all laughed at me. It was a painful memory, one I'd buried under layers of time and distance.
"Why are you so weird, Alex?" someone called from the crowd.
I recognized the voice. It was the voice of the kids who had bullied me. The ones who'd made me feel like I didn't belong. The ones who'd torn me apart piece by piece until there was nothing left but a hollow shell.
I could feel the heat of their eyes on me, their judgment burning like acid. I was back there, trapped in the past, surrounded by nothing but echoes of my own insecurities.
"No," I breathed, forcing myself to look away. I couldn't let this place break me again. This was a reflection, not the reality. "It's not real."
But the mirror didn't let me go that easily.
The image shifted again, pulling me deeper into the memory. I saw myself walking away from the playground, my head down, my heart heavy with shame. But something was different. As I walked away, I could hear whispers again, but this time, they weren't from the kids.
It was my own voice.
"You're weak, Alex. You'll never escape this. You'll never be good enough."
The whispers followed me, wrapping around me like chains, dragging me back into that place where I was nothing.
"Stop," I whispered to myself. "Stop!"
But the whispers didn't stop. The memories kept coming — the shame, the failure, the guilt. I was drowning in them, unable to escape the weight of my past.
"Alex!" James's voice cut through the haze. "Look at me!"
I snapped out of the trance, blinking rapidly as the room around me shifted. The whispers faded into silence, and I realized I was standing in front of a new mirror.
This time, it was Arisa.
She was standing in front of the mirror, staring at herself, her face expressionless. But the reflection was different. It was her, yes, but it was… cold. Empty. Her eyes were hollow, and she looked at me with a gaze that made my stomach drop.
"Arisa?" I said, my voice shaky.
But she didn't respond. Instead, the reflection lifted its hand, and the glass seemed to ripple, pulling Arisa closer. Her reflection stepped out of the mirror, and I felt the temperature in the room drop.
The reflection of Arisa smiled, but it wasn't a kind smile. It was full of bitterness, of regret.
"You'll never be strong enough," the reflection said, its voice cold and hollow. "You'll never protect anyone. You'll always be weak."
Arisa's face was pale, her hands shaking, but I could see the fight in her. She wasn't going to let this reflection win.
"We have to go," I said, stepping forward, but Arisa held her ground, staring down the reflection with a steely gaze.
"You're wrong," she whispered, her voice trembling but fierce. "I am strong."
The reflection smirked, and with a sudden motion, it vanished, leaving Arisa alone in front of the mirror. But she was still there, standing tall.
"Let's keep moving," she said, her voice steady, but I could see the cracks beneath the surface.
I looked at James. His face was tight with tension, and I could tell he was barely holding it together.
But we had to keep moving. The trial wasn't over yet.
The mirrors kept coming. The memories, the lies, the echoes — they all tried to pull us in, tried to drag us into a past we couldn't escape.
But we kept going. We had no other choice.