Last time on Luna…

  She had completed her task. The forbidden ingredient was secured, the Necrotic Nightshade pulsing faintly in her satchel.

  But the moment she turned to leave Sable Hollow, a chill crawled down her spine.

  Something was watching.

  No—many things.

  She could feel it. The weight of unseen eyes, pressing against her like a physical force.

  She hurried her steps.

  But the Hollow had other plans.

  The air turned thick, heavy with an unnatural stillness. Then—

  They emerged.

  Figures of twisted bone and tattered robes, their hollow sockets burning with violet flame.

  Gravebound Alchemists.

  And behind them, something worse.

  Shadows stretched and took shape, forming into ghostly apparitions, their presence cold enough to leech the warmth from her body.

  But it wasn’t their touch she feared most.

  It was their whispers.

  "Failure."

  "Not worthy."

  "You don’t belong here."

  The voices slithered into her mind, twisting her thoughts like poison, digging into every insecurity she had tried to bury.

  Luna clenched her jaw. "Get out of my head."

  The ghosts only laughed.

  The first alchemist raised a hand, runes glowing along its skeletal fingers. A dark mist coiled toward her—not poison, but something worse.

  A spell meant to erode her mind.

  Her vision blurred.

  A deep pressure settled into her skull, like claws digging into her brain.

  The world tilted.

  "You shouldn’t be here."

  Luna stumbled backward, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Her limbs felt heavy, sluggish, her magic distant—like trying to grasp smoke.

  No.

  She was not dying here.

  Through sheer instinct, she grabbed a flask from her belt and hurled it at the alchemist’s feet.

  Volatile Flask.

  The explosion sent out a concussive blast, knocking back her attackers.

  For a moment, she was free.

  But the ghosts were relentless.

  Their wails grew louder, the whispers sharper, twisting deeper into her mind—

  "You should have died with them."

  Luna’s breath caught.

  Her stomach dropped.

  She could barely see through the blur of her vision, but she didn’t need to. She knew what they meant.

  Her mother.

  Her brother.

  Her twin sister.

  The accident.

  The blood.

  The way her relatives had looked at her, as though she were a curse, an omen of death.

  "You were never meant to survive."

  Her pulse spiked in terror. The edges of her vision darkened.

  Was this it?

  Was this how she was going to die?

  No.

  No.

  No.

  Somewhere in the haze of her breaking mind, she saw it—

  The border.

  The edge of Sable Hollow.

  If she could just make it there…

  She forced her legs to move, every step feeling like she was wading through quicksand.

  The alchemists regrouped. A new spell began to take form—

  The ghosts screamed.

  Luna sprinted.

  Her lungs burned, her mind fraying at the edges, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.

  Something lashed out—a tendril of shadow, reaching for her ankle.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  She jumped.

  The moment her foot crossed the threshold, the world shifted.

  The voices cut off.

  The cold vanished.

  The weight lifted.

  She collapsed to her knees, gasping, her body shaking uncontrollably.

  She was out.

  The Hollow’s influence was gone.

  But the fear?

  The fear still lingered.

  Her hands trembled as she clutched her chest, feeling the pounding rhythm of her heart, wild and erratic.

  She had almost died.

  She had never been so close to losing herself—to drowning in something she couldn’t fight.

  And suddenly, a thought gripped her harder than any ghostly hand.

  "Am I even cut out for this?"

  She was one of the Chosen.

  But why?

  Kyle had his leadership.

  Nash had his connection to Eidolon.

  Seraphine, Jasper, Eliath—they were all capable, strong, sure of themselves.

  And then there was her.

  A girl who had barely survived.

  A girl who hadn’t even wanted this.

  A girl who—

  She shook her head, hard.

  No. She couldn’t think like that.

  But the doubt wouldn’t leave.

  And as she sat there, catching her breath, her past crept in.

  She had been a gamer before this.

  A terrible one.

  She had been lucky, not skilled.

  Her one stroke of fortune had been using Dream Creation to transform the Alchemist class into a combat-based one.

  And then there was Kyle.

  Meeting him had been the best thing that had ever happened to her.

  Because before him—before all of this—she had been alone.

  Her family had died in a car accident when she was sixteen.

  Her mother.

  Her brother.

  Her twin sister.

  Gone.

  And her relatives?

  They had called her a curse.

  They had abandoned her.

  For two years, she had been on her own.

  No family. No one to turn to.

  Only the game.

  She had thought it would be a distraction, an escape.

  Instead, it had become her reality.

  Her new life.

  But now…

  Now it was becoming something else.

  Something she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

  She swallowed hard, staring at the distant sky.

  "Why am I here?"

  The question settled into her bones.

  And for the first time—

  She didn’t have an answer.

  ---

  Ding!

  The familiar chime of a message snapped Luna from her spiraling thoughts.

  She blinked, realizing she was still seated on the cold ground, the phantom weight of the Hollow’s presence lingering on her skin.

  Shaking fingers pulled up her menu.

  Nash: Are you still in Iridiel?

  Luna gasped, jolting to her feet. The motion felt unnatural, her limbs still shaken from the encounter, but the distraction was a lifeline.

  She forced herself to move, heading toward Spooky Forest, where Lukar awaited.

  Luna: I’m in Valeville.

  A response came almost instantly.

  Nash: Alright then. Are you busy?

  Luna exhaled, forcing her fingers to type.

  Luna: I am currently on a quest.

  A short pause.

  Nash: Alright then. I’ll start my next quest. Later.

  A small smile broke through the tension that had gripped her chest.

  Nash’s message had come at the perfect moment—a reminder that she wasn’t alone in this.

  She inhaled deeply, then let it out, steadying herself.

  Her next quest awaited.

  Far away in Iridiel, Nash opened his quest log, reading the objective carefully.

  Quest Name: The Rift’s Judgment

  Objective: Face the shadow within. Accept or Reject it.

  He frowned.

  But before he could fully process it, something else caught his eye—an unclaimed reward from his previous quest.

  Veil-Touched Status: Your connection to Eidolon has deepened. But so has the risk of being noticed.

  Nash’s breath slowed.

  "Noticed… by what?"

  A map appeared before him, a single red dot blinking on the outskirts of the city.

  With no hesitation, he set out.

  The barren mountain loomed in the distance, its jagged cliffs standing unnaturally still against the windless sky.

  It felt wrong.

  The closer Nash got, the more the air itself warped, the colors around him seeming too sharp, too vivid—as if reality was struggling to maintain its shape.

  At the mountain’s peak, the portal to the Rift awaited.

  A swirling void, pulsing in and out of existence, like a heartbeat.

  Nash took a breath.

  Then stepped through.

  The moment his foot crossed the threshold, the world inverted.

  Sound vanished.

  The ground beneath him was not solid, yet he did not fall.

  A sky without stars stretched infinitely above, rippling like liquid obsidian.

  Then—movement.

  Nash’s breath hitched as a figure peeled away from him.

  It was him.

  But not.

  A shadowed version of himself, its edges flickering like smoke, its eyes two pits of void.

  It spoke.

  "I know you."

  Its voice was his own, but layered, distorted—like multiple versions of himself whispering at once.

  "I know the truths you refuse to face."

  The air grew thick, pressing into his chest like an invisible force.

  "I know what you fear."

  Nash gritted his teeth, his hand tightening around his weapon.

  This wasn’t just an enemy.

  It was him.

  A reflection of every doubt, every weakness, every insecurity he had buried.

  And it was ready to tear him apart.

  The Shadow Self moved first.

  Nash barely had time to react before his own abilities were turned against him.

  Shadowmeld—The figure disappeared into the darkness, just as Nash himself would.

  Veil Slip—A blur of motion as it phased through Nash’s first strike, avoiding his attack effortlessly.

  It was like fighting a perfect counter.

  A version of himself that anticipated his every move.

  Nash dodged left, barely avoiding a Shadow Surge that ripped through the air, a mirror of his own attack.

  Nash panted, his movements growing slower, his body screaming in protest.

  The Shadow Self was relentless. Every attack mirrored his own, every attempt to outmaneuver it was anticipated, countered, punished.

  His strength was fading.

  He had fought plenty of enemies before—but this wasn’t an enemy.

  This was him.

  His doubts.

  His fears.

  His weaknesses.

  And right now, he couldn’t see a way to win.

  The Shadow Self lunged again—faster than before.

  Veil Slip—it phased through Nash’s defense, materializing behind him.

  Eclipse Surge—a blur of dark energy erupted as it dashed through him, slashing across his ribs.

  Nash staggered, gritting his teeth.

  He wasn’t just losing—he was being torn apart.

  What Was He Missing?

  "Think."

  He had always relied on his abilities. His adaptability. His instincts.

  But they were useless here.

  His opponent was his own reflection—it knew his habits, his reactions, his fighting style.

  Which meant—

  "I can’t beat it by fighting it."

  Then what?

  What was this quest really asking of him?

  His hands tightened on his weapon as he struggled for an answer.

  His weaknesses.

  What were they?

  His breath came faster, his thoughts a storm of memories.

  The countless moments where he had run.

  From expectations. From responsibilities.

  From his past.

  His mother’s voice flickered in his mind. Soft. Warm.

  A memory of her smile, radiant and full of love.

  "You always find an excuse, Nash. Always running from what’s hard."

  The words struck deeper than any blade.

  He had always drifted through life, never committing, never letting anyone get too close.

  Because the closer they got—

  The more it would hurt to lose them.

  The fear wrapped around his heart, cold and suffocating.

  That was it.

  That was his weakness.

  That was what the Shadow Self represented.

  Not just fear of failing.

  Fear of attachment.

  Fear of losing people.

  Fear of being powerless when it mattered most.

  His mother had died. He couldn’t stop it.

  And so, he had spent his life never trying. Never believing he could be strong enough to protect what mattered.

  But that had to change.

  Now.

  The Answer

  The Shadow Self lunged again.

  This time, Nash stood still.

  He took a deep, shaky breath.

  And lowered his weapon.

  The Shadow froze.

  Nash’s voice was rough, but steady.

  "I see you."

  A crack split across the Shadow’s form, its edges fraying.

  "I know my weaknesses."

  Another crack.

  The darkness writhed, resisting, as if trying to hold itself together.

  "I know my fears."

  The Rift shuddered. The air grew heavier, pressing against him like a living force.

  But he didn’t move.

  "And I accept them."

  The Shadow let out a silent scream, its form collapsing inward.

  Dark strands spiraled toward him, dissolving into his chest like ink vanishing into water.

  A notification appeared.

  Quest Complete – The Rift’s Judgment

  Final Choice: Shadow Accepted.

  New Ability Unlocked: "Eclipsed Soul"

  Limited control over shadow constructs, but at a cost.

  Nash staggered, breathing hard.

  The Rift’s presence shifted around him—less hostile, yet more… aware.

  Something had changed.

  Not just in the Rift.

  But in him.

  His connection to Eidolon had deepened.

  And the risk of being noticed had grown.

  But for the first time—

  He didn’t fear it.

  He embraced it.