Lucky hovered effortlessly above the ground, his aura casting a pale, almost ghostly light across the chamber’s cracked stone walls. The faint hum of energy surrounded him, making the air feel electric, alive with tension. His robes, deep purple trimmed with gold, swayed unnaturally, as though stirred by a breeze that no one else could feel. His gaze swept over the group below, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

  “I saw you lot trying to pass that chamber with the goat’s head,” Lucky began, his voice smooth yet laced with mockery. Each word dripped with amusement, as though he were savoring the memory of their struggle. “A real nightmare, wasn’t it?”

  The group stiffened. Sabir glanced at Zabo, who fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve. Maize shifted her weight from foot to foot, trying to maintain a stoic expression but failing to hide the discomfort in her eyes. Warren’s jaw tightened, while Elektra’s gaze darted toward the floor, her arms crossed over her chest like she could shield herself from the words.

  The mention of the goat-headed chamber brought the horrors flooding back: the suffocating darkness, the maddening whispers, the oppressive feeling of being watched. The riddle etched into the walls had seemed simple enough at first glance, but the stakes for failure had been far too real. None of them had wanted to confront what the chamber had forced them to see, and now Lucky’s smug tone made it feel like he was peeling away a layer of their already raw nerves.

  “Ah, I can see it in your faces,” Lucky said, chuckling softly as he leaned forward mid-air, his hands clasped behind his back. “You’re all remembering, aren’t you? That lovely little room, the way it seeped into your heads, into your souls.” He laughed again, louder this time, the sound echoing off the chamber walls. “Priceless.”

  Sabir clenched his fists, trying to push the memories aside, but the weight of Lucky’s gaze made it impossible. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating, until Lucky’s laughter subsided into a knowing smirk.

  “Come on now,” he said, gesturing to them lazily. “Surely you didn’t think you’d get through all this without a few nightmares, did you?”

  “And yet…” Lucky pointed at Zabo with a flourish, grinning ear to ear. “This dumbass right here figured it out. Who’d have thought, huh? All you had to do was align the statues in a straight line and say, ‘done,’ ‘finished,’ or ‘complete.’ A simple riddle turned into an impossible task.” He shook his head, laughing. “You’re lucky you’ve got someone so… ‘practical.’ Always need a lad stupid enough to charge headfirst into the unknown.”

  Zabo bristled, but couldn’t entirely mask his pride. “You hear that, Warren? I’m the MVP.”

  Warren shot him a deadpan look. “He’s calling you a dumbass, Zabo. That’s not a compliment.”

  “Eh, tomato, tomahto,” Zabo shrugged, elbowing Warren. “Still solved the thing, didn’t I?”

  Lucky ignored the exchange, his tone taking on a more serious edge. “Of course, you didn’t get it right the first time. No, no, no. That’s when the chamber did its little trick, didn’t it? Put you all into a dream.” He paused for effect, floating closer. “Those dreams, well, they’re designed to show you your deepest fears. But sometimes…” He smiled cryptically, “…sometimes they’re meant to teach you something. To force you to confront your own flaws.”

  The group fell silent. The room seemed to grow colder, and the faint echoes of their earlier nightmares whispered through their minds.

  Lucky clapped his hands once, breaking the tension. “So, tell me… what did you see?”

  Zabo scowled, folding his arms. “I don’t see why I’ve got to tell anyone about my dream. It’s none of your damn business.”

  Lucky’s smile widened, his eyes narrowing. “Ah, but it is my business. See, to reach the treasures ahead, you must become united in both body and mind. That means no secrets. So, come on now, big guy. What did you see?”

  Zabo hesitated, his gaze fixed on the uneven ground beneath his feet. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his belt, and his jaw tightened and loosened, as if the words he wanted to say were caught somewhere between his throat and his pride. The silence stretched, each second thick with unspoken tension. Finally, he exhaled sharply, his shoulders sinking under an invisible weight.

  “Fine,” he muttered, his voice rough, like gravel scraping against stone. “I… I saw my childhood. My mother.” His words stumbled out awkwardly, and he clenched his fists as if bracing himself for what came next. “She wasn’t exactly the nurturing type.” The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable, yet beneath it lay a raw, unhealed wound.

  The chamber grew silent again, save for the faint hum of Lucky’s aura. Zabo’s words hung in the air, heavy and charged. His eyes stayed glued to the floor, unwilling to meet the gazes of his companions.

  Sabir watched him carefully, his expression softening as he took in the tension radiating from Zabo’s hunched frame. He stepped forward, his boots scuffing lightly against the stone. “Zabo,” he said gently, placing a firm but reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder.

  Zabo flinched at the contact, but didn’t pull away.

  “You don’t have to carry that alone,” Sabir said, his voice steady yet filled with quiet conviction. “We’re here now. Whatever she put you through… you’re not facing it on your own anymore.”

  Zabo’s lips twitched as though he wanted to respond but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he gave the smallest of nods, his jaw working again. Sabir’s hand stayed where it was, a silent promise of solidarity. For the first time in a long while, Zabo felt the faintest flicker of relief—like a sliver of light breaking through a cracked window in a dark room.

  The larger man nodded, grateful for the gesture but unwilling to elaborate further.

  Maize broke the silence, her voice steady but tinged with sorrow. “I saw Sector 3 burn. Everything and everyone I care about, gone. And there I was… becoming the next matriarch.” Her fists clenched at her sides. “The dream showed me that power can come at a cost, one I’m not sure I’m willing to pay.”

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  Sabir’s stomach churned as if it were trying to twist itself into knots. His hands clenched at his sides, and for a moment, he considered staying silent. But the weight of their expectant gazes pressed down on him, leaving no room to retreat. He drew in a shaky breath, his chest tightening as he forced the words out.

  “I saw…” His voice cracked, raw and uneven, and he paused, swallowing hard to push down the lump forming in his throat. “I saw my niece.” The words hung in the air, fragile and painful, and he hesitated before continuing. “She blamed me for her death. Her face… the way she looked at me…” He shook his head, his voice growing fainter with every word. “Her words… I can’t get them out of my head.”

  The room seemed to close in around him, the silence thick and suffocating. His knees felt weak, his chest heavy with the crushing guilt he had carried for far too long.

  Zabo and Warren exchanged a glance, their expressions shifting from discomfort to quiet determination. Without a word, they stepped forward, their movements uncharacteristically gentle.

  Zabo was the first to reach him, clapping a hand on Sabir’s shoulder with more strength than finesse. “Listen,” he began, his voice gruff but sincere. “Dreams mess with your head. They dig into what you’fear the most and twist it. But that’s all it is—a damn dream. Nothing more.” His grip tightened slightly, a subtle gesture meant to ground Sabir.

  Warren followed suit, placing a steady hand on Sabir’s other shoulder. His touch was lighter, more careful, as if he were handling something fragile. “It wasn’t your fault,” Warren said, his tone firm but kind. “You can’t let that dream convince you otherwise. You hear me?” He waited until Sabir reluctantly nodded before continuing. “Your niece… she’s alive, right?”

  Sabir froze, his breath hitching. The question seemed to jolt him out of the spiral of despair he had been sinking into. Slowly, he nodded, though his gaze remained fixed on the floor.

  “Then that’s all that matters,” Zabo cut in, his voice sharper now, as if trying to snap Sabir out of his self-loathing. “She’s out there, living her life. Whatever happened, it doesn’t end with you taking the blame. Got it?”

  Sabir finally looked up, his eyes glassy, but more focused. “But what if—”

  “No ‘what ifs,’” Warren interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You don’t get to drown yourself in guilt over something that hasn’t even happened. Focus on what you can do now, not on some nightmare trying to screw with your head.”

  Zabo nodded in agreement, his expression softening slightly. “We’ve all got stuff in our past, Sabir. But you’re not alone in this. We’ve got your back.”

  The weight in Sabir’s chest loosened, if only a little, as he looked at the two men standing beside him. Their words didn’t erase the guilt or the fear, but they gave him something else—hope. A small but steady reminder he wasn’t as alone as he had thought. He swallowed hard, offering them a faint, grateful smile.

  “Thanks,” he murmured. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. For now. Sabir nodded, though his eyes remained haunted.

  Warren rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. “Alright, my turn, I guess. My dream was… weird. I was my sister.” He looked at Elektra, his voice faltering. “I was talking to my mum—well, you were talking to her—and she was screaming at you. Blaming you for killing me.”

  Lucky’s eyes gleamed with intrigue. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  All eyes turned to Elektra. She hesitated, her usual confidence shaken. “I… I saw something similar. But in my dream, I was Warren. And I died… at the hands of my older self.”

  Lucky floated closer, his gaze piercing. “Interesting. And why do you think that is?”

  Elektra’s jaw tightened, and sparks danced at her fingertips, faint and erratic like the first crackles of a storm. Her gaze flickered to Warren, then to the ground, as if the weight of her words were too heavy to meet his eyes. “Because…” she started, her voice trembling slightly. She faltered, exhaling sharply before speaking again. “Because I was hard on him. On Warren. Too hard.”

  She clenched her fists; the sparks growing brighter. “I… I loved his mother.” Her voice softened, and for a moment, the sharp edges of her usual demeanor seemed to dull. “And I made a promise to her. I promised her I’d make him strong. That he’d survive, no matter what.”

  Warren stood still, his fists curling at his sides. His aura crackled, raw and unrefined, mirroring the storm of emotions swirling within him. “You abused me, Elektra,” he said, his voice rising. “Physically. Mentally. You pushed me so far I thought I’d break.”

  Elektra flinched, as if his words struck her like a physical blow. She closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her guilt. “I know,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know I hurt you. I understand now that I made a mistake.” She opened her eyes, and for the first time, there was no defiance in her gaze, only regret. “I thought I was helping you. I thought I was preparing you for the world, for what it would throw at you. But all I did… all I did was hurt you.”

  The air between them crackled with tension, the static of their sparking auras threatening to ignite. For a moment, it seemed like the distance between them was too vast to bridge, the pain too deep to heal.

  Warren inhaled sharply, his fists unclenching as he fought to steady himself. His aura, once erratic, calmed, though the occasional spark still flickered in the surrounding air. “Elektra…” He paused, his voice quieter now, as if searching for the right words. “You did hurt me. More than I can even explain. But…” He took another deep breath, the anger in his eyes slowly giving way to something softer. “But I get it. I get why you did it.”

  Elektra’s eyes widened slightly, her lips parting as if to protest, but Warren raised a hand to stop her. “I forgive you,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the raw emotion in his tone. “What you saw in that dream—it wasn’t real. It’s just our minds playing tricks on us. That’s not who we are anymore. We can’t let it define us.”

  Elektra’s sparks dimmed, her hands falling to her sides as the tension in her shoulders eased. She studied Warren, her gaze filled with a mix of disbelief and tentative hope. “You… forgive me?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  Warren nodded, stepping closer. “Yeah. I do. Because holding onto all that anger, all that pain—it’s not helping anyone. Least of all me.” He offered a small, faint smile, a rare gesture of vulnerability. “We’re family, Elektra. And no matter what, we’ve got to stick together.”

  Elektra blinked rapidly, as if fighting back tears. For a moment, the hardened warrior exterior she always wore cracked, revealing the woman beneath it—a woman who had carried her own guilt and grief for far too long.

  She reached out hesitantly, resting a hand on Warren’s arm. “Thank you,” she breathed, her voice carrying an unspoken regret.

  Warren placed his hand over hers, nodding in understanding. “We’ll figure this out,” he said. “Together.”

  The crackling tension in the air dissipated, replaced by a quiet sense of resolution. For the first time in a long time, there was no storm between them—only the calm after.

  Elektra nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. She stepped forward and placed a hand on Sabir’s shoulder. “Thank you. For saving me earlier. I… I owe you.”

  Sabir looked at her in disbelief, then turned to the rest of the group, his voice rising. “So, that’s it? We’re all best buddies now? After everything we’ve been through?” He couldn’t believe this false sense of unity. It was–it was almost disgusting. “She fucking tortured me and made you do it too!”

  The room fell silent; the tension hanging thick in the air. Lucky hovered above them, his smile returning. “Oh, don’t worry, Sabir. There’s still plenty of time for you lot to tear each other apart again. But for now…” He clapped his hands, his grin widening. “Let’s call this progress.”