Chapter 10: The Exiled Soul: Part Ten
The new tunnel was unlike the others. It wasn't shrouded in darkness or pulsing with eerie energy. Instead, it was faintly illuminated by an otherworldly glow that emanated from the crystalline formations lining the walls. The light danced and refracted, casting shifting rainbows across the smooth, cool surface. For the first time since her journey began, Saranoka felt a glimmer of peace.
Yet she knew better than to trust it.
The Exiled Lands thrived on deceit. Every moment of respite had proven to be a prelude to something worse. She tightened her grip on the staff, its glow still steady and warm, and pressed forward with cautious resolve.
The tunnel led her into another cavern, this one vast and awe-inspiring. A shimmering lake stretched out before her, its surface smooth as glass, reflecting the crystalline stalactites above. The air smelled faintly of something sweet, like wildflowers carried on a gentle breeze, though there was no sign of vegetation.
At the center of the lake stood an island, crowned with a single towering crystal that pulsed with a rhythm she could feel in her chest. The staff in her hand responded, its light flickering in harmony with the pulse. Whatever this place was, it was important—and it held answers.
But the lake presented a challenge. There was no obvious way to cross it. No boats, no bridges, no apparent path. The water's surface shimmered unnaturally, suggesting it was far from ordinary. Saranoka crouched at the edge, extending the staff toward the water. The moment the tip touched the surface, ripples of golden light radiated outward, and the staff hummed in her hands.
A voice, softer and more melodic than the others she had heard, whispered in her mind.
"To claim what you seek, you must trust the unknown. Step forward and let the lake guide you."
Saranoka frowned. Trusting anything in the Exiled Lands felt like a death sentence. But as she glanced back at the tunnel, she realized there was no turning back. If this was a test, she would face it head-on.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped onto the lake's surface.
Her boots didn't sink. Instead, the water held her weight, rippling with each step. The sensation was surreal—walking on water that felt like solid ground, yet moved beneath her feet. The staff's glow brightened with every step, guiding her toward the island.
Halfway across, the air grew colder. The sweet scent disappeared, replaced by a sharp metallic tang that reminded her of the abyss. Shadows began to writhe beneath the surface of the lake, their shapes twisting and coiling like serpents.
The whispers returned, louder and more insistent.
"He's lost because of you."
"You were never enough to protect him."
"Why do you even try? This land will consume you, as it has so many others."
Saranoka clenched her teeth, focusing on the glow of the staff and the island ahead. She refused to let the voices distract her, but the shadows beneath the water grew more aggressive, surging toward the surface. One broke through—a massive clawed hand, black as night and dripping with ichor, reaching for her.
Instinct took over. She swung the staff in a wide arc, its light flaring brilliantly. The creature recoiled with an unearthly screech, its form dissolving into mist. But more shadows emerged, each more menacing than the last.
"Of course it wasn't going to be that easy," she muttered, gripping the staff tightly.
The path to the island became a gauntlet. Each step was met with an onslaught of shadowy creatures, their claws and fangs inches from her before the staff's light drove them back. Her arms ached from swinging the weapon, and her breath came in ragged gasps, but she pushed forward, refusing to stop.
Finally, her boots touched solid ground. The shadows retreated, and the whispers faded. She had reached the island.
The towering crystal pulsed gently, its light casting long shadows across the rocky surface. Up close, it was even more magnificent—pristine and flawless, radiating an energy that felt both ancient and alive. Saranoka approached cautiously, the staff vibrating in her hands as if drawn to the crystal.
The melodic voice returned, stronger now.
"You have proven your resolve, wanderer. Step forward and claim the shard."
"Shard?" Saranoka asked aloud, her voice echoing in the stillness. "What is it? And how will it help me find Tarian?"
The voice didn't answer, but the crystal's glow intensified, almost beckoning her.
Saranoka hesitated for only a moment before raising the staff. Its light merged with the crystal's, creating a radiant beam that engulfed the cavern. For a brief moment, she felt weightless, as if she were being lifted by unseen hands.
When the light faded, a fragment of the crystal floated before her—a shard no larger than her palm, glowing with a soft, golden light. She reached out, her fingers trembling as they closed around it. The moment she touched it, a surge of energy coursed through her, filling her with warmth and clarity.
Images flashed in her mind—fragments of Tarian's face, his voice calling her name, his figure surrounded by darkness. The shard was a key, a guide, a piece of the puzzle that would lead her to him.
But with the images came a warning. The darkness around Tarian wasn't passive. It was alive, aware, and it wanted to consume him—and her.
Saranoka tucked the shard into her pouch, its warmth still radiating against her skin. She turned back toward the lake, now calm and quiet, the shadows banished. The path ahead was clearer, but the stakes had never felt higher.
The Exiled Lands weren't done with her yet. But neither was she done with them.