I didn’t remember walking into the temple. I only remember the feeling of being called—like something ancient had whispered my name long before I was born, and I had finally answered.

The air inside was cold, thick with dust and something older… something that felt alive.

Three doorways stood before me.

To my left, the desert stretched endlessly beneath a dead sky. A towering jackal-headed figure stood guard, its stone body unmoving, yet I felt its gaze press into me like a hand around my throat. The torch it held flickered, though there was no wind. Behind it, carved into the horizon, was a face so massive it should not exist—watching, waiting, judging.

To my right, a forest breathed in silence. Pale light filtered through twisted trees, and a staircase descended into fog so dense it swallowed itself. I could hear something down there—not footsteps, not quite voices—but a wet, dragging sound, like something learning how to move again.

And in front of me… nothing.

A doorway opened into a starless sky filled with drifting stone and broken paths that led nowhere. The ground itself was fractured, floating over a bottomless void. I leaned forward, and for a moment, I swear the darkness leaned back.

That’s when I realized—I wasn’t alone.

The reflection in the abyss shifted.

It wasn’t mine.

It stood where I stood, but wrong. Taller. Thinner. Its head tilted in a way that made my neck ache just to look at it. And then it smiled… though I hadn’t.

I tried to step back, but the floor beneath me cracked softly, like bone under pressure.

A voice echoed—not from the halls, not from the doorways—but from inside my skull.

You were not brought here to choose a path.

The torches dimmed.

The jackal figure turned its head.

The forest staircase groaned as something began climbing up.

You were brought here… because one of us must leave.

The reflection stepped forward.

So did I.

But only one of us moved.