Souls Online: Mythic Ascension

When Morgan opened his eyes, there was only a thick, heavy fog. He could barely see a foot in front of him, yet he was absolutely certain that something was watching him. He just didn't know where. He looked around for the others, but he was alone. There was no sound, and when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out.

"Is this real?"

The words should have echoed in the emptiness, but nothing stirred. Even his own breath vanished into the mist without a trace. He took a step forward and felt the ground ripple beneath his foot, soft and unstable, as though he were walking across water. His stomach twisted at the sensation.

A shadow drifted across his vision. Tall, thin, shifting in a way that made his skin crawl. He blinked hard, hoping it was only his imagination, but the fog seemed to thicken in the direction the shadow had gone.

Morgan clenched his fists. "I know you're there," he said, though once again he heard no sound from his own mouth. The silence swallowed everything.

He reached for his pocket, desperate for something familiar, only to find it empty. Not even the smallest trinket remained. His clothes felt strange, like they were made of ash and could fall apart if he pulled too hard.

The ground shuddered beneath him. The fog stirred, and from within it came a low vibration that he felt in his bones. It was not a voice, yet it spoke all the same.

"You are lost."

Morgan froze. The words, or whatever they were, pressed directly into his mind. He turned sharply, scanning the fog, but there was nothing. Only the sense of something vast circling just beyond sight.

"Then show me the way out. I have someohe I must protect!'

The shadow wavered, then dissolved into the fog as if it had never been there at all. Morgan spun in circles, searching desperately for even the faintest trace of it. His chest tightened. The silence returned, thicker than before, pressing against his skin like a weight.

Then, from behind him, another presence stirred.

He felt it before he turned, the air growing colder, the mist curling inward as though drawn toward a center. A voice slid into his mind, smoother than the first, yet heavy with something he could not name.

"There is no one way out."

Morgan whipped around, but the figure that now stood behind him was only a darker shape in the fog. It had no edges, no form he could properly focus on. Yet it loomed, vast and patient.

Everything you see is an illusion," the voice continued. "This fog. The ground beneath your feet. Even the breath in your lungs."

Morgan gritted his teeth. "Then what is real?"

The shadow shifted, a ripple through the mist. "Illusions are merely a mirror to reality." it said. "That is the truth. That is the only path. Reflection is just another form of creation."

Morgan's pulse quickened. The words scraped across his thoughts like glass, impossible to ignore.

"A mirror to reality," he repeated, his voice still silent even to his own ears. "Then what does that make me?"

The shadow bent forward, stretching and unraveling in the fog, its form twisting like smoke caught in unseen currents. When it finally spoke again, the voice was almost gentle.

"You are both the illusion and the reflection. The choice is not whether this world is real, but whether you are strong enough to shape it."

Morgan felt the ground beneath him pulse as though it were alive. Ripples spread outward with every breath he took, and the fog shifted in response, curling toward him as if drawn by his will. His chest tightened, a strange mix of fear and wonder building inside him.

The fog quivered as if it too listened for the answer in Morgan's silence. The shadow leaned closer, its outline dissolving until it felt less like a figure and more like a presence wrapped around him.

"If you wish to harness the power of illusion," the voice whispered across his mind, "you must give it weight. Illusions fade unless anchored. They are smoke unless bound to flesh and bone."

Morgan's breath caught. The fog thickened around his hands, curling between his fingers like threads waiting to be woven.

The voice deepened, pressing against him like a tide. "You must bind yourself… to another self."

Morgan's eyes widened. "Another self?"

"Every illusion is a reflection. A shadow cast by the light of your will. To master them, you must accept that you are not one, but many. What you create must not only look real. It must be real enough that you, too, believe it."

The ground rippled violently, then stilled. For the first time since he had opened his eyes, Morgan heard something. A single, faint heartbeat that did not belong to him.

The shadow's form flickered. "Bind yourself, and you will walk both as dream and dreamer. Fail, and you will vanish into the mist as just another forgotten reflection."

The heartbeat came again, louder, steady, waiting.

Morgan stared into the fog, his chest tightening. Was it a warning, or was it an invitation?

The heartbeat grew louder, echoing in the air around him until it seemed to match the rhythm of his own. The fog swirled violently, pulling in on itself, and then parted.

From the shifting gray, a figure stepped forward.

Morgan froze. His mind struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. The figure was a woman, her outline soft at first, then sharpening as the mist peeled away. Her hair fell across her shoulders, her stance defensive yet uncertain. But what made his stomach drop was her face.

It was his face.

Not a perfect copy, but a reflection bent in the opposite direction. Her eyes were the same shape as his, her jaw carried the same line, her expression the same wary suspicion he knew he wore now. She was him, yet not.

The woman's lips parted. Her eyes widened as she stepped back, as though she too had been struck by the impossible sight before her.

"You…" she whispered, though Morgan still heard no sound. Instead, the word formed inside his head, pressed into his thoughts just as the shadow's voice had. "You look like me."

Morgan's heart pounded. "No," he thought, shaking his head. "You look like me."

They stared at one another in silence, neither moving, the fog curling tightly around them as if holding its breath.

The shadow's voice returned, low and resonant, curling around them both.

"One illusion. Two reflections. Each of you bound by the other. Dream and dreamer, mirror and image. Decide, and the illusion will take root."

Morgan swallowed hard, his eyes locked with the woman's. For the first time since the fog had swallowed him, he felt something far stronger than fear. A connection.

And the woman, his other self, seemed to feel it too.

Morgan's breath came shallow, his chest rising and falling as if the fog itself pressed down on him. The woman's gaze never left his, steady yet trembling at the edges. Slowly, as though pulled by something greater than either of them, she lifted her hand.

Morgan hesitated. His fingers twitched, his mind screaming a dozen warnings, but his body moved on its own. He raised his hand toward hers.

The space between them shrank until only the thickness of the mist remained. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to pause. Then their fingers touched.

The instant their hands interlocked, the fog erupted. Light flared from their joined palms, spilling through the gray in violent waves. Morgan staggered, but the woman gripped tighter, refusing to let go.

A surge of power tore through them both, raw and unyielding, as though the fog itself had been waiting for this moment. Morgan gasped silently, the force threading through his veins, searing into his mind. Images flashed before his eyes—her memories, her life, her fears. But each was his, too, woven into the fabric of his own thoughts.

He saw himself through her eyes. He saw her through his own. And as the tide of visions settled, he realized there was no longer a boundary between them.

They were not two separate selves staring across a mirror. They were one, pulled together, sharing existence as dream and dreamer.

Morgan met her gaze again, and this time there was no shock, no hesitation. Only understanding.

The shadow's voice echoed around them, deeper than before, satisfied.

"So it begins. The illusion is no longer smoke. It has weight. It has form. And now, it has you."