Chapter 250 Third Space — Wound
The stone door opened slowly and heavily, reluctant to reveal the contents of the space behind it. The scent of long-dried blood mingled with the thick air, resembling the incense of death that never ceased to burn. Fitran and Rinoa exchanged a brief glance before stepping inside together.
As soon as their feet touched the floor of the third room, a familiar voice whispered again in the air:
"A wound is not what you experience... but what you carry with you afterward."
The room revealed itself not as a conventional space, but as a cracked world, split open like a giant body that had lost its soul. The ground pulsed while the walls breathed slowly. In the center, a massive open wound gaped like a mouth longing to recall all the suffering that had ever been buried.
Around the wound grew deep red figures, resembling half-formed human bodies made of fibers and memories. Each moved slowly, like people lost between the boundaries of life and symbols. They were silent, yet the entire space hummed with a sense of unspeakable pain.
Rinoa trembled. "They are not spirits..."
Fitran nodded. "They are wounds that never became memories."
Upon hearing those words, tears streamed down Rinoa's face. She felt a weight deeper than mere knowledge pressing down on her. She understood that they were not just ghosts; they were remnants of souls caught, trapped in painful memories that could never be forgotten or released. "How can we give them peace?" she thought silently.
As they ventured further, Rinoa felt a wave of sorrow crashing over her, like a cold wind striking her ears. She recalled all the chaos she had endured—wrong choices and unspoken words. "Is all this the result of decisions I made long ago?" she pondered, struggling to contain the anger and guilt surging within her chest.
Fitran, too, felt crushed by his own emotions. He observed the faces faintly visible, as if beckoning him to delve deeper to unravel the meaning behind the neglected wounds. "Do I have the right to be here?" his inner voice trembled, feeling like an intruder in this dark labyrinth.
Yet, something compelled them to continue. The whispering voice seemed to emanate from the wounds themselves, guiding them with unspoken promises. As they approached the large wound, they felt a palpable frequency of energy, something that lingered on the surrounding walls. Though frightening, its energy sparked their curiosity.