Chapter 81: Cynthia (7)
Cynthia reached out, hesitating only for a breath, then pressed her hand gently against the water within the well, unsure of what lay beyond this point—unsure of what came next.
The moment her palm made contact, the water quivered. A ripple spread—not just across the liquid surface, but beneath her feet, through the grains of sand, warping the air and distorting the very fabric of the desert around her. It was as if the ripple echoed through existence itself.
The ground trembled. Then—shifted.
The golden sands dissolved into pure nothingness, as though reality had been peeled away. In its place emerged a realm both serene and haunting: an endless floor of gently rippling water stretching into infinity, so clear it reflected the sky like a divine mirror. Above, a single, massive moon hung low—close, intimate, as if watching her. Its pale, silver light bathed everything in quiet radiance. The sky was a deep, empty indigo, devoid of stars, silent and still.
"This shall be the final trial, princess."
The voice, calm and resonant, echoed around her like ripples within the silence.
A humanoid figure formed again from the water itself, sculpted by unseen hands—tall, fluid, almost ghostly. Its back was lit by the moon, outlining its edges in silver.
"Shall I begin?" the figure asked, tilting its head slightly, its tone poised and ceremonial.
At the word ’final’, Cynthia felt a jolt through her chest. Her heartbeat quickened—not with fear, but clarity. Her fists tightened at her sides, knuckles white with resolve.
"I’m as ready as I’ll ever be," she said, her voice unwavering, clear as glass under pressure.
The figure nodded, and for the briefest moment, a smile—gentle and approving—played across its otherwise blank face. Then, like mist caught in wind, it vanished.