THE BROKEN DREAMS

The moment Fred touched the narrow path on the shimmering map, the chamber rumbled.

Stone cracked and groaned.

The wall before them split open, revealing a thin, jagged corridor lined with black, spiked vines.

They slithered slightly, as if alive.

Clara cursed under her breath.

"You had to pick the one called Thorns," she muttered.

Fred forced a wry smile.

"Better thorns than another illusion."

They entered the passage, shoulders brushing dangerously close to the barbed vines.

The air smelled metallic—like blood long dried.

Every step felt heavier.

Every heartbeat sounded louder.

---

As they moved deeper, the vines seemed to shift.

Whispers filled the air.

Faint, teasing voices.

Fred tried to block them out, but the words slithered into his mind:

"You will fail..."

"She will leave you behind..."

"This is your punishment..."

He stumbled.

Clara grabbed his wrist sharply.

"Don't listen," she snapped. "They're trying to turn us against each other."

Fred gritted his teeth.

He focused on Clara's hand wrapped tightly around his.

Real.

Alive.

Not the vines.

He nodded and pressed forward.

The vines hissed in frustration.

---

Halfway through the tunnel, they found the next obstacle.

A black stone gate blocked their path, entwined with thorned vines thicker than a man's arm.

At the center of the gate, a simple inscription:

"Blood to pass. Doubt to perish."

Fred stared at it grimly.

There was no lock.

No key.

Only one way forward.

Clara pulled a small knife from her boot without hesitation.

"I'll do it," she said quietly.

Fred grabbed her wrist.

"No. Let me."

Before she could argue, he dragged the blade across his palm.

Blood welled instantly.

He pressed his hand to the stone.

The vines reared back, hissing furiously, before shriveling into black ash.

The gate shuddered—and opened.

But Fred felt the wound's sting deep inside, as if it cut more than just flesh.

---

Beyond the gate, the tunnel sloped downward into darker depths.

The air grew colder.

Fred and Clara moved cautiously, but a sense of dread thickened with every step.

They weren't alone.

A soft scraping echoed behind them.

Then a low, guttural growl.

Fred spun around, raising his knife.

But the tunnel behind them was empty.

Empty—but not safe.

Clara pressed close, voice tense.

"It's following us. Watching. Waiting."

Fred nodded grimly.

Whatever it was, it wasn't rushing them.

It was stalking them.

Patient.

Predatory.

And it would strike when they were weakest.

--

They reached a fork in the passage.

Both tunnels looked identical.

Both led into blackness.

But a faint breeze stirred from the left path—carrying the scent of rot.

The right path was silent.

Dead.

Fred hesitated.

The map's memory still burned in his mind: the wrong choice would cost them dearly.

Clara looked at him, trusting.

"Which way?" she asked.

Fred closed his eyes, listening.

Behind them, the growl came again—closer this time.

No time to doubt.

He grabbed Clara's hand.

"Left. We take the left."

They plunged into the darkness together.

Not knowing if they had just chosen survival—or their graves.

---