Morning light filtered through the forest canopy like liquid gold, but none of the party felt the warmth. The serenity of Nimavari’s Grove was behind them now. Before them loomed an entirely different challenge—one not shaped by time or truth, but by torment.

  They stood at the edge of a forgotten vale, where twisted ruins rose like broken fingers from the cracked earth. A city, long crumbled, lay ahead. Its gates hung half-torn from rusted hinges, and its streets were lined with moss-covered bones.

  Varkhala.

  A name spoken only in whispers. A city cursed by the gods themselves after a great betrayal. The scroll that led Arjun toward the next fragment pointed here—not to a shrine or sanctuary, but a graveyard of sin.

  “We should turn back,” Raaka muttered. “This place stinks of old magic. Rotten and vengeful.”

  Arjun shook his head. “The fifth fragment lies here. If I walk away now, everything we’ve done would be for nothing.”

  Ayra drew her blade, the steel humming slightly in the still air. “Then we walk in together.”

  They crossed the threshold.

  As soon as they stepped within, the air changed.

  Sound faded. The colors around them dulled, draining into muted greys and browns. Even their voices became hushed, as though the city itself refused to allow speech. Ghostly shapes flickered in alleyways—shadows of people long dead, repeating the final moments of their lives.

  Children ran with laughter that ended in screams.

  Merchants stood in stalls selling goods to invisible crowds.

  Then, silence.

  “Wraith echoes,” Elaran explained. “Powerful magic soaked into the stone. Varkhala’s death was… unnatural.”

  They pressed deeper, navigating streets littered with rubble and broken memories. Statues with cracked faces watched them from every corner. Strange symbols lined the walls—prayers, or warnings. It was impossible to tell.

  At the heart of the city, they found the palace.

  Or what remained of it.

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  Its gates were torn asunder. One tower had collapsed entirely. Yet in the central courtyard, untouched by time or rot, stood a massive obelisk carved from obsidian. Its surface shimmered faintly in the light.

  As they approached, the ground trembled.

  From the shadows emerged figures.

  Ghosts.

  But not the mindless kind.

  These were sentient echoes—guardians bound to this place.

  Warriors clad in spectral armor, their eyes glowing violet, stepped forward in unison. Their leader, a tall woman with a broken crown and a blade forged from starlight, pointed her weapon at Arjun.

  “You do not belong.”

  Arjun stood his ground. “I seek the Karmic Fragment. I am the bearer of four. The Grove has accepted me.”

  Her ghostly gaze pierced him. “Then prove your worth.”

  The specters circled them. There was no choice.

  “Formations!” Arjun shouted.

  Ayra dashed left, twin daggers gleaming. Raaka bellowed and brought down his axe on a spectral knight. It passed through at first—but Elaran whispered a word, and his blade ignited with golden energy, striking true.

  Arjun faced the crowned wraith alone.

  She moved like smoke and fire—swift, silent, deadly.

  Their blades met with no clash, only silence. Each strike was a memory, each parry a forgotten sin. Her power was not just in strength, but in sorrow. Every blow she landed was a weight of guilt.

  Arjun gritted his teeth. “You cannot break me with my past. I’ve embraced it.”

  He pushed forward.

  Flames from his fourth fragment wrapped his blade—white, pure, and absolute.

  He struck her chest.

  And the wraith froze.

  Light poured from the wound. The others dissipated, vanishing into mist.

  The obelisk began to glow.

  The crowned ghost stepped back. Her expression softened.

  “You carry your burden well, Arjun. The throne is closer than you think.”

  She raised a hand and pointed to the base of the obelisk. There, hidden in a compartment of ancient stone, lay the fifth fragment.

  It was unlike the others.

  Not glass. Not crystal.

  A mirror.

  But not reflecting their forms. Instead, it showed visions—of choices yet to be made.

  Arjun touched it.

  It pulsed once—and then surged into him.

  [Karmic Fragment Acquired – The Mirror of Choice]

  [System Notification]

  You have reached Fragment Threshold 5/9. The Karmic Throne reveals a path forward.

  [New Trait Gained: Forked Path – Before making any decision of consequence, you may glimpse possible outcomes. (Limited)]

  He fell to one knee as the visions overwhelmed him.

  A kingdom burning.

  A child crying in the dark.

  A blade piercing Ayra’s chest.

  Kael’s laughter echoing across the battlefield.

  And a throne—surrounded by skulls and golden banners.

  Then nothing.

  He gasped, eyes wide.

  Ayra knelt beside him. “What did you see?”

  “Futures,” he whispered. “And none of them are guaranteed.”

  They rested in the ruined palace that night.

  Elaran stared at the stars through the collapsed ceiling. “Five fragments. That’s more than any bearer has ever held.”

  Raaka snorted. “Means more enemies, too.”

  Ayra placed a hand on Arjun’s.

  “We’re with you. No matter what.”

  Arjun looked down at his hand—now etched with symbols that shimmered faintly under the moonlight. A sign of progress. A sign of warning.

  He remembered the vision of Ayra falling. The child. The fire.

  But he also remembered the light.

  He clenched his fist.

  He would not fail.