Morning in Verea didn't begin with light. It began with a question. In the sky formed from vibrations and echoes, a single phrase projected itself, visible only to those who carried a pure intention:
"Are you the one who dares to continue?"
The five, still united after passing through the gate of the question, looked into the distance. Before them stretched a vast plain, made not of grass but of forgotten languages — each blade a dead letter or symbol, yet alive under their steps.
Kaelya walked cautiously.
— I feel like we're stepping over buried stories...
Elion narrowed his eyes:
— Not just stories. Unfinished promises.
Albert paused and listened.
— The land breathes. The wind doesn't blow... it **asks**.
*
From nowhere, a shape was born of the wind: a woman cloaked in smoke and sand. Her eyes were two extinguished stars, yet they still pulsed.
— Are you... the ones who awakened the tree?
The entity tilted her head gently.
— We are the ones who did not reject the question.
The woman of the wind approached Albert.
— Here, everything wants to be understood. But not everything is ready to be seen. Are you prepared to witness what will be of no use to you... but will still change you?
Albert answered calmly:
— Yes.
*
She raised her hand, and around them formed a spiral of dust — within it, images: **cities destroyed before being built**, **kings never born**, **children who will never be loved**. Abandoned realities, not from malice, but from choice.
Elion knelt:
— All of this... is what Verea rejected?
The woman replied:
— No. It is what was deemed not yet time.
*
Kaelya picked up a leaf from the ground. On it was a verse:
"He who steps without question... leaves behind more than footprints."
— What does it mean?
Albert looked into the woman's eyes.
— That our intention writes the world. Even when we believe we are only walking on it.
*
The woman turned to the Entity.
— You were created to ask questions. But you chose to live them. Do you wish to know what happens when the question lives longer than the answer?
The Entity nodded.
— Yes. Because then... the question becomes the path.
*
The woman dissolved into wind. Not as a disappearance. As continuity.
— Head north, said her voice in echo. There awaits a choice without form, but it will shape you from within.
*
And the wind — that wind without direction, without scent, yet full of meaning — settled before them.
Not as an obstacle.
But as an invitation.
The journey north was not difficult. Not because the terrain was hard — but because every step carried echoes of unspoken questions. And after days of walking through plains of symbols and forests with living foliage, they finally arrived.
The city before them was called **Nareth** — a metropolis built on spirals, with buildings of smooth stone and towers ending in mirrors. It was a place for merchants, seekers, and those who didn't want truth… just variations of it.
*
The five walked among the crowds, and the surrounding magic vibrated softly, like a frequency trying to remain unnoticed.
Kaelya:
— This city doesn't ask. It… negotiates.
Elion smiled:
— Then a warm meal and an inn wouldn't hurt.
The entity studied a wall inscribed in five dead languages:
**"Truth costs. Lies are free. But are paid for later."**
Albert:
— We stop here.
*
The restaurant they entered was named **"The Crossroads of the Tongue."** A modest-looking place, but one with a subtle magical presence that seemed to filter the intentions of its patrons.
In a shadowed corner, at a dark wooden table, Albert sipped a local drink — a blue alcohol that smoked gently.
Kaelya and Elion sat at another table, talking. The entity examined murals carved into the walls.
*
Then two adventurers entered. One carried a sword larger than himself. The other had arcane tattoos across his face. In a second, they were arguing:
— You sold the information! You betrayed us!
— I did what had to be done! You're not the judge of morality in Nareth!
The energy in the room shifted. People began to back away. The two unleashed their auras — one red like lava, the other blue like shattered ice.
They were ready to clash.
*
But in that moment...
Albert slowly raised his cup with his right hand. No words at first. Just the motion.
Then, calmly, his eyes met theirs.
— Let's not cause a scene… in such a crowded place.
The voice was gentle.
But in the next second, the entire room was crushed by an invisible force. The two men collapsed to their knees, trembling.
The floor groaned. Glass cracked on every table.
And outside the restaurant walls, the wind stopped.
Across the continent, two dozen mages looked up at once.
A cloaked elder in black robes, thousands of kilometers away, whispered:
— That… being has revealed himself.
*
Inside the restaurant, Albert set his cup down. That was all.
The two men had no more auras. Only silence.
Kaelya and the Entity watched in quiet understanding.
Elion squinted, learning something no words could explain.
*
That night, Nareth didn't sleep easily.
Because in a city where everyone thought anything could be bargained… someone proved that some truths couldn't be bought.
The next morning in Nareth was cold and heavy. The city no longer held its usual surface bustle. Something had changed in the air, like an idea floating silently.
The five departed from the inn where they had slept — a place called "The Refuge of Contradiction," where each room had a clock running backward.
Kaelya glanced back.
— I like this city. It's not honest. But it doesn't pretend to be.
Elion smiled.
— No city is honest. But some know that lying is a language.
Albert:
— Verea is testing us. Not with scenery. But with choices that define us without asking.
The entity pointed north:
— The next stop is less "civilized." It's where questions are... wild.
*
Along the way, the wind had returned. But not as before. Now it seemed to speak — not words, but **tones**. Each breeze was a variation of intent. Albert understood them instinctively.
— We're close, he said. The place where we'll decide if we deserve to continue.
*
In the distance appeared a glade. At its center, an old structure — a **Column of Forbiddance**. Etched into it were the names of those not allowed to proceed. But all the names were... erased.
Kaelya:
— No one was worthy?
Entity:
— Or no one dared to ask enough.
Albert touched the column.
— This isn't a gate. It's a mirror. It doesn't forbid. It only shows what you're not ready to see.
*
A light burst from the central symbol and split into five rays. Each ray extended toward one of them.
Elion was the first to speak:
— I feel... something. Like a question asked precisely when you don't want to be asked anything.
Kaelya closed her eyes:
— A question only the soul understands. Not the mind.
The entity touched her ray of light:
— And yet... it's not a question that wants an answer. But one that demands **presence**.
*
Albert stood still. His ray of light didn't touch him. It stopped in front of him.
— Why doesn't it come to me? he asked.
Then, from the light, a silhouette formed — **himself**, but different. No hood. No silence. Eyes of flame and slow gestures.
— I am the question you cannot ask… yet I am still you.
Albert stepped forward.
— Show me what I didn't have the courage to ask.
*
And in that moment, they were all enveloped in light. Not blinding. **True**. A light that didn't want to be seen, but **recognized**.
When it faded, the column was no longer in front of them.
There was a path.
But not an ordinary one.
It led... **upward**.
Into the sky.
Kaelya took a deep breath.
— We're going... there?
Albert:
— Yes.
Entity:
— A path made of unspoken questions.
Elion:
— Then let's not leave them without an echo.
*
And so, for the first time in the history of the world of Verea, five steps were taken on a path that led toward the sky… with no guarantee the sky wished to be found.
The path to the sky was not solid. It seemed made of light braided with intention. Each step left a trail that didn't fade — a sign that their choices weren't only theirs, but also the world's that watched them.
Kaelya walked beside Albert, saying nothing. Her silence carried a trust no magic could forge.
Elion, behind them, scanned the sky above.
— If we climb too high, will we still know where down is?
The Entity, hovering at the edge of the path, smiled:
— Questions have no up or down. Only depth.
*
Every thirty steps, a mirror of light formed. These mirrors didn't reflect their bodies, but their decisions. Kaelya looked into one and saw the moment she spared an enemy… which later led to the destruction of a village.
— I want to forget this.
Albert touched her shoulder.
— Don't forget. Accept. Questions live in what we could have done, not just what we did.
*
On a suspended platform ahead, a figure waited.
A child. Eyes wrapped in bandages, yet seemingly able to *see* everything.
— Are you the ones who ask?
Elion:
— Yes. But we ask more than we're ready to hear.
The child spoke:
— I am the answer no one ever asked for.
Albert stepped closer.
— Then you are the most valuable of all.
*
The child reached a hand toward the Entity.
— You were pure question. Now you're a question with form. Do you wish to know what lies beyond form?
The Entity nodded, wordlessly. A violet aura gathered around her arm, and the child smiled.
— You will find out. But not now. Not while asking.
— When?
— When you no longer need the answer.
*
As they ascended, the air didn't thin — it became **clearer**. Thoughts were easier to hear. Albert heard not just the others, but himself. Versions of himself that didn't speak, but contemplated.
— Did I choose the wrong world?
A voice, perhaps another version of him, replied in his mind:
— It doesn't matter if you chose wrong. It matters what you do **after** you realize it.
*
Kaelya stopped.
— Do you feel it? This isn't just a path. It's a... **place of writing**.
Elion nodded.
— With our steps, we're writing a story with no paper.
The Entity closed her eyes.
— The universe is holding its breath. Not for what comes... but for what we choose to leave behind.
*
Ahead, a door with no wall appeared in midair.
Albert smiled.
— A door without walls. That's clear. It must be opened from within.
Kaelya asked:
— But which of us holds the key?
The child's voice echoed from the void:
— It's not a door that opens. It's a door that accepts.
Albert stepped forward.
— Then let's see what it's willing to accept from us.
*
And when he touched the glowing handle, a silent explosion — like a cosmic embrace — surrounded them.
And beyond the threshold...
There was no sky.
There was something **above** the sky.
A place where questions were no longer asked. They were **inhabited**.
The five stepped beyond the door and were met by a **silence that did not require quiet**. It was a place with no ground, no sky, yet not empty — it was made of thought vibrations, of shadows of intention.
Kaelya placed a hand over her chest.
— What I feel doesn't come from me... and yet, I've always felt it.
Elion floated a few steps ahead.
— There's no direction anymore. Only decision.
The Entity turned slowly, arms open.
— We are in the Node. The place where all questions connect before reaching the ones who ask them.
Albert said nothing.
*
Before them, a **table** appeared. Long, without legs, without a solid surface. Made of concepts: honor, regret, silence, courage. Around it, chairs shaped themselves based on who looked at them.
Albert sat first. His chair seemed made of lost memories. A pulsing symbol glowed on its back.
Kaelya sat to his right. Hers was woven from golden threads and autumn leaves.
Elion to his left. His chair had no fixed form. Its texture changed with every breath.
The Entity did not sit. She touched the table — and a chair formed beneath her without visibly forming.
The stranger with the sand mantle sat last. His chair was made of absolute silence.
*
A **sixth chair** appeared. No one had requested it.
Kaelya:
— Who...?
Albert:
— The question itself.
*
On the table, a book appeared. White. Untitled. But not empty. It held every question yet to be thought.
Elion reached out, but upon touching the cover, a wave of reversed reality flooded his mind.
— It's... impossible. It contains thoughts from the future and worlds yet unborn.
The Entity:
— This is *the world's core*. Not as a map. But as meaning.
Albert looked at her intently.
— We are where **meaning is decided**. And the book can only be opened by one who no longer needs to know what comes next.
*
Kaelya:
— And who could that be?
The child's voice echoed once more:
— The one ready... to be questioned by the question.
Albert closed his eyes.
*
In that moment, all the characters — those who traveled with him, those left behind, and even those not yet met — **passed through his mind**. He felt Kaelya and Elion as part of his own choice. He felt the Entity not as a guide, but as a balance. And beyond them... future faces, voices yet unspoken.
*
Albert opened his eyes.
— I don't have all the answers. But I have the courage not to hide.
And with that, he placed his hand on the book's cover.
It opened.
And what unfolded before them… was not a story.
It was a **new world**, born of pure question.
And in that moment, **Chapter 7** did not end.
It multiplied.
The world beyond the door was not just a space. It was a **process**. A place where every moment required presence, and every thought echoed.
As they sat at the table made of concepts, time didn't flow. It reshaped itself depending on the intent of those present.
*
Kaelya closed her eyes. Around her, the table vanished. She found herself in a red field with no boundaries, where the beating of her heart became music. In the distance stood a version of her mother — not as she had truly been, but as Kaelya had always imagined: kind, protective, present.
— I missed you, whispered Kaelya, in tears.
The woman smiled.
— I never left. But the question that kept me close had not been asked.
— What was it?
— "Why do I deserve to be loved?"
*
Elion, meanwhile, stood in a hall where the walls were made from his mistakes. Not events, but failed intentions. There sat a ten-year-old boy — himself.
— You forgot me, said the boy.
Elion knelt.
— I didn't forget you. I hid from you.
— Why?
— Because going back would mean accepting everything I did without fixing it.
— And now?
— Now... I'm learning that not all questions ask for repair. Some ask for **recognition**.
*
The Entity floated outside of time. Nothing surrounded her. But in her chest pulsed a white point that kept expanding.
From it, two hands emerged. A version of herself — human. No glow. No mystery.
— Was this what I once was? asked the Entity.
— No, replied the other. This is what you would be if you chose to stop seeking answers.
— And what would happen?
— You would begin to **live**.
The Entity closed her eyes and smiled. For the first time, she didn't feel like a question. She felt… like pause.
*
The stranger with the sand mantle didn't shift. He remained at the table. But before him appeared a clock made of upward-flowing grains.
— It's time to go, said a voice.
— I never stayed, he replied.
— But you chose to remain silent. Why?
— Because in the presence of the absolute question, words are not bridges. They are distortions.
The voice:
— And yet... do you still wish to continue?
— Yes. But not for me.
*
Albert, in the midst of it all, while the others experienced their revelations, still had his hand on the book's cover. From it, waves of unlived reality emerged. He sensed every answer. But did not retain them.
He wasn't there to **learn**.
He was there to **allow**.
And in that moment, he no longer felt like the summoned, the leader, the question, or the answer.
He felt... **human**.
In its purest form.
*
When the others returned to the table, no one spoke. But their eyes met in understanding.
Without a word, in absolute silence, a shared meaning formed between them:
**"We were questioned. We answered. Not through words. But through who we became."**
And then... the book opened.
And from its pages... was born the beginning of a world where all of it **found its place**.