As they trekked towards the ruins, remnants of forgotten villages and once-thriving cities loomed in the distance--now nothing more than silent memories of the past.

It was late in the afternoon when they reached the ruins of what had once been the grand elven palace. The white leaves of the winter plant, Lothielle, curled around the crumbling cobblestone walls, its delicate blue flowers blooming in solemn defiance. A rare sight--Lothielle thrived only where time had long since abandoned footsteps.

Varelor halted at the threshold, an inexplicable weight settling in his chest. Something about this place unsettled him, yet at the same time, it whispered to him--called to him. A place he had never been, yet felt like he had known all his life.

"Shall we head inside?" he asked.

Livian stepped forward, placing a hand on Varelor's shoulder, only for his brother to shift away, putting distance between them.

"Brother mine," Livian said, forcing lightness into his voice despite the growing divide between them. "Must we walk willingly into yet another ruin filled with gods-know-what waiting in the dark?"

Varelor did not meet his gaze. "You fear there are creatures lurking within?"

"No," Livian replied, though there was hesitation beneath his teasing smile. "But you should know better than to seek out shadows."

Varelor's eyes drifted to the flowering vines. "The Lothielle would not have bloomed unless this land had been left undisturbed for centuries."

"Then perhaps we should take that as a sign to turn back," Livian countered.

Varelor exhaled sharply. "We did not come this far to stand outside the ruins and marvel at the past. If there are answers to be found, they lie inside."

Livian hesitated, glancing at Alfira, who had remained silent. But he knew Varelor well enough--he will not defy his brother if he is really serious about something, especially after Livian being in danger because of Varelor following his lead.

"Very well," Livian sighed, conceding. "But if something happens, you had best not make me regret this."

"As if you ever cared to honour my decision before you so boldly insisted on entering this land," Varelor murmured.

"What did you say?" Livian asked.

"I stated that, should such an event occur, we would at the very least have imparted something upon one another's conscience," Varelor replied that made Livian's eyes widened.

"What has become of you?" he asked, scanning his brother from head to toe.

Without another word, Varelor stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the ruins. Around him, the delicate Lothielle flowers trembled. Their blue petals began to harden, shimmering like frost-kissed glass before breaking away, falling to the ground in a cascade of fragile crystal shards.

"Livian," Alfira said as she grasped his arm. "I fear your brother is already burdened beyond measure. This is what I dreaded. We must save him from whatever darkness lingers in this fallen land."

Livian met her gaze leaning forward, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"I will not allow this quest to change my brother," he vowed.

Then, without another word, he stepped forward, following a pace behind Varelor.

The moment Varelor stepped inside, a strange stillness settled over him. The winds passing through seemed to sing long-forgotten songs. Faint echoes of the past whispered through the grand hall, where towering pillars stretched towards a ceiling now half-collapsed.

What lies beneath these walls?

Then, his gaze caught the murals.

Faded by time yet still striking, the ancient depictions lined the walls. Scenes of elven kings in battle, of coronations, of a kingdom at its height. But it was not the grandeur that made Varelor stop--it was the figure at the centre of it all.

A king, clad in armour, his cloak billowing behind him as he stood atop a throne carved from onyx and silver. His sharp, noble features, the fierce determination in his blue eyes--it was like looking into a distorted reflection of himself.

His heart pounded.

"Var?" Livian asked as he finally caught sight of the mural that caught his brother.

Varelor barely heard him. A cold chill ran through his spine.

Who was he?

Why does he look like me?

His breath was unsteady. He had never belonged--not truly--not even among his own people. And now, standing before this forgotten history, something deep within him stirred.

Had he been searching for answers all this time? Or had the answers been searching for him?

"The former kings! I cannot believe there were so many of them," Alfira murmured in awe as her gaze travelled across the grand mural before them. But as her eyes reached the final image, a frown creased her brow.

"...But this last one," she hesitated. "I do not recall any record of his life."

Livian stepped closer, studying the figure that stood at the end of the mural. Beneath the king's carved form, the inscription was faint--almost as though someone had tried to erase it.

"What do you mean?" Livian asked.

Alfira turned to him. "Every ruler of our people has been recorded in the archives... except for this one. It is as if history itself has forgotten him."

"Pull the sconce!"

The whisper coiled around Varelor's pointed ear, jolting his very spirit. He turned sharply, eyes scanning the hallway.

"Did you hear something?" he asked.

Livian remained silent while Alfira merely shook her head.

"Sconce!" The voice came again, firmer this time.

Varelor's gaze drifted towards the torch sconce affixed to the right side of the mural--the one depicting the last, forgotten king. A flicker of hesitation gripped him.

And yet... something within him compelled him forward.

With a deep breath, he grasped the sconce and pulled.

A deep, rumbling sound filled the chamber as stone ground against stone. Dust spilled from the cracks as a hidden doorway yawned open before them, leading into a darkness untouched by time.

A torch rested nearby. Varelor took out his flint and steel, striking them together until a spark caught, the flame flaring to life. He raised the torch, its golden glow revealing a passage descending into the unknown.

"Shall we head inside?" Varelor asked.

"You know, if you are so eager to get us killed, then by all means, step forward and walk to your doom," Livian snapped. "But if you have any sense left in you, you'll remember our true mission--the one we agreed upon--and you'll turn back before we waste any more time on this madness!"

Varelor halted, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk that did not reach his eyes. "But you, brother dear, were the very one who suggested we enjoy ourselves," he said, his voice laced with mockery. "Surely, a little adventure won't hurt?"

Without waiting for a response, he strode deeper into the passage, torch in hand.

Livian let out a sharp breath, rubbing his temple. "By the stars, he is insufferable."

"Halt! We're coming with you!" Alfira's voice rang out before he could protest. She reached for Livian's hand and pulled him forward.

The narrow passage stretched before them. Their footsteps echoed through the corridor, swallowed by the oppressive silence of the ruins.

After what felt like an eternity, they emerged into a grand chamber. At its farthest end stood a towering door, its surface etched with intricate runes--the very same symbols Varelor had seen on the old maps and the ruins above.

"Now what?" Livian asked. He folded his arms, glancing warily at their surroundings. "Shall we wait for an earthquake to bury us alive, or is there a plan beyond blind recklessness?"

"Stop it, Liv!" Alfira snapped, whirling on him. Her gaze burned with frustration, her posture rigid with exasperation. "This is not the time for your quarrels! If we are to uncover what lies ahead, we must work together--not tear each other apart."

Then, it came to him. What if my brother is hiding something from me? What is it he doesn't want me to know?

"There must be a way to open this! There could be something inside!" Varelor declared as he shoved the torch into a rusted sconce.

His hands curled into fists as he pressed against it, muscles straining with effort. He pushed with all his might, then pulled, feeling the cold bite of iron beneath his fingertips. Gritting his teeth, he rammed his shoulder against it, ignoring the sharp jolt of pain that shot through his arm.

Please, open up!

Still, the door did not yield.

A growl of frustration escaped him. He stepped back, breathing heavily, his jaw clenched. Without a second thought, he drove his boot against the centre of the door. Pain lanced up his leg, but he barely noticed. Again, he kicked, and again, the metal barely shuddered. His breath turned ragged, sweat forming despite the cold.

"Open up!"

His palm, scraped and reddened, slammed against the surface.

I have to get inside. I need to.

Alfira's voice finally cut through. "Wait--Varelor, stop."

He barely heard her, his breaths coming in sharp gasps.

"I've seen these runes before," she continued, stepping closer. "In the ancient books of our land. I might be able to decipher them."

Varelor froze, chest rising and falling rapidly. His hands trembled, whether from exertion or something deeper, he did not know. Slowly, he stepped aside, letting Alfira examine the engravings.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he watched her trace the symbols with careful fingers. He had fought, bled, burned, and froze to get here. Now, the answers lay just beyond this door.

And he would have them.

It wasn't long before Alfira's voice broke the silence. "Come to me, you weary hearts, and glimpse the fate the future imparts. Speak the words, unlock the door,Athalien Myhdrille-forevermore!"

The ground beneath them seemed to tremble as the door creaked before finally giving way, revealing the chamber they suspected. The walls were covered in faded tapestries and crumbling stone reliefs. At the far end of the chamber, a large mirror stood, its frame ornate, yet worn with age.

Alfira glanced at Varelor, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "This mirror... it feels different."

Varelor felt it, too. There was a pulse, almost as though the mirror was alive, breathing in time with his own heart.
"What is this?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Alfira stepped forward. "It's enchanted. A relic from an age long past... a mirror that shows not what is, but what could be."

Livian, standing beside Varelor, shifted uneasily. "What do you mean? It shows the future?"

Alfira nodded, her eyes on the mirror. "Not just one future, but many--a glimpse of all that could unfold, depending on the choices made."

Varelor's breath caught as the mirror suddenly shimmered to life. The glass rippled like water, distorting and bending until a vision appeared before them.

In the vision, he saw himself standing tall and regal, draped in fine robes, a crown of silver and obsidian resting upon his brow. The people of the kingdom gathered before him, kneeling in reverence. They loved him, feared him, and obeyed him. The power, the control--it was intoxicating.

But it was not just his future that the mirror revealed.

Livian stepped forward, his face pale as he stared into the depths of the enchanted glass. His expression twisted in shock as a different vision unfolded before him. He saw himself, standing in a ruined kingdom. The walls of the once-great palace that stood at the city of Sepphora crumbled, the streets deserted. His people lay in the ashes of his decisions, the kingdom collapsing under his reign.

Varelor glanced at Livian, a sinking feeling settling in his gut.

He had seen it too--what could be. What if my vision is really his to keep? What if I just saw myself because it is my perspective?

"Livian..." Varelor's voice was strained. "What did you see?"

Livian didn't respond immediately. His eyes were locked on the mirror, his body tense.

"Nothing so serious," he whispered. But before the tremor could betray him, he forced a smile.

Yet, Varelor saw it. The way Livian's fingers twitched at his side, the way his breath caught for half a second too long. The mirror had shaken him.

Would we both become rulers of Everdaile?

What did Livian see?

What does my vision mean?