Their Own Truth

A truth is shown to them that they had once known. - Daily Flash Fiction Entry.

The humming grew louder as Darius and Elara stood on the glowing platform, the rocks beneath them pulsing in time with something; something ancient, buried deep beneath the earth.

Everything stopped.

The feathers overhead froze in midair, suspended like time itself had taken a breath. The gold coins quit shimmering. Even the light from the crystals dimmed to a dull glow.

Elara instinctively reached for her daggers. “Okay... what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Darius said, eyes darting. “But I don’t like it.”

The Flamekeeper stood perfectly still at the edge of the platform, their obsidian mask unreadable. Then, slowly, they lifted one hand, and the space around them shattered like glass.

Reality twisted.

Suddenly, Darius and Elara weren’t in the vault anymore. They were standing in a vast field under a night sky churning with red clouds. A river of molten fire cut through the landscape, and floating stone islands drifted overhead, defying gravity.

“This...is not real,” Elara whispered, turning in a slow circle.

“No,” said a voice behind them; it was the Flamekeeper, still cloaked, but no longer masked. Their face flickered like flame, shifting from one person to another. “This is memory. Echo. Trial.”

Darius stepped forward, tense. “You said you’d show us the truth.”

The Flamekeeper’s voice rang out like thunder. “Then look.”

Before them, the molten river rose and twisted into an image; a younger Darius, standing before a burning city. Elara saw herself, too, clutching something close to her chest, eyes wet with tears. Visions of things they couldn’t remember, or chose not to; played out in the fire.

“What is this?” Elara breathed.

“The price of power,” the Flamekeeper said. “The path you’ve walked. The one still ahead.”

The vision faded.

And they were back in the vault.

But nothing felt the same.