Chapter 10 Alone in the Dark Corridor
Raka woke up in a silence so thick that, for several seconds, he wasn't sure whether he was still conscious. Dust filled the air, leaving his throat dry. He tried to draw a breath, but every inhale carried the scent of old stone, earth, and something faintly like iron. His body felt heavy. Very heavy. He slowly moved his hand and touched the cold stone floor beneath him. There was no one beside him. No sound of Elandor. No sound of Lira. No sound of the masked woman who had kept appearing at the most dangerous moments from the very beginning. Only a faint rumble from beyond the rubble, a sign that the battle was still raging somewhere he couldn't see. Raka tried to remember what had just happened. They had been running through a secret passage. Rovan's forces had been chasing them. Then an explosion had shaken the building, and part of the corridor had collapsed. He had been separated from the others. Now he was alone.
Raka slowly got to his feet. A small stone fell from his shoulder. He wiped his face and looked around. The corridor was almost completely blocked by rubble. Behind him was a pile of massive stones that was impossible to get through. Ahead, the corridor stretched into darkness. There was no torchlight. No sign that anyone had used the place recently. The walls were covered in moss and old cracks. The ceiling was low in places, forcing Raka to hunch slightly as he walked. He called Elandor's name once more, louder this time.
“Elandor!”
His voice echoed.
“Lira!”
There was no answer.
Raka swallowed. He knew that shouting too much would only drain his strength, but staying silent wasn't an option either. If Rovan's forces were behind the rubble, they might find a way in soon. He had to move. Raka began walking slowly down the corridor. Each step made a small sound that bounced off the walls. Strangely, the farther he went, the more unfamiliar the place felt. He tried to let Ashwin's body guide him as it had before, hoping the body's original owner's memories would surface and show him a way out. But this time, nothing happened. No image of the palace. No memory of the corridor. No instinct helping him choose a direction. Only emptiness.
Raka stopped.
He stared at both his hands.
“Why now?”
There was no answer.
He continued on. A few steps later, his head began to throb. It wasn't pain like before, but rather a strange sensation slowly spreading from the back of his head toward his temples. Raka closed his eyes for a moment. He remembered what Elandor had said about the body's memories. Every body held traces of its original owner's life. Emotions, habits, fears, and memories could blend with his consciousness. But if the connection between him and Ashwin's body was beginning to weaken, perhaps those memories were beginning to disappear too.
That means I don't have much time left here.
The thought brought him to a stop.
Ever since he first woke up, Raka had always regarded the body transfer as something beyond his control. He didn't know when it would happen, how long he could last, or where he would be thrown next. But while he was in Ashwin's body, at least he had one thing he could rely on: the body's memories. Now even that was beginning to fade. If he lost the ability to recognize this place, he might get lost before he had a chance to find a way out.
Raka started walking again.
The corridor grew narrower.
In some places, he had to touch the wall to keep his balance. His fingers felt the rough, damp surface of the stone. Then, by accident, his hand brushed against something different.
An engraving.
Raka stopped.
He cleared away the moss covering that section of the wall with his palm.
Slowly, a symbol emerged.
A split sun.
Raka froze.
“No way.”
He leaned closer.
The symbol was identical to the one he had once seen on Elandor's ancient map. Identical to the symbol that had appeared in his memories. Identical to the symbol that had appeared again and again right before something happened.
Raka's heart began to beat faster.
He brushed his fingers over the engraving.
Cold.
But a few seconds later, warmth spread from his fingertips.
Raka immediately pulled his hand away.
The symbol seemed to pulse.
Once.
Then it fell silent again.
“What are you, really?”
He stared at it for a long time.
Beneath the symbol was a line of writing.
Raka didn't recognize the language.
At least, he shouldn't have.
But as he studied it longer, the unfamiliar letters slowly became something he could understand.
Not because the writing had changed.
But because his mind suddenly knew what it meant.
Kings come and go.
Raka held his breath.
Beneath the first sentence was a second line.
Only the Witness remembers everything.
He read the sentence once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then he slowly stepped back.
“Witness.”
The word felt more terrifying with every passing second.
Ever since he had first died, thousands of voices had called him by that name. Elandor called him a Witness. The masked woman knew him as a Witness. The Tower Keepers hunted Witnesses. Even now, an ancient inscription that might have been on this wall for hundreds of years used the same word.
As if his existence had been foretold long before he was born.
Raka stared at the sentence.
Only the Witness remembers everything.
If that was true, then every life he had lived wasn't a coincidence.
Every body he inhabited left something behind.
Every death might bring a fragment of memory.
Every world he entered might be part of the same story.
But if the Witness truly remembered everything, why didn't he remember the life before he became Raka?
The question made his chest tighten.
“Who am I, really?”
Raka's voice sounded small in the corridor.
There was no answer.
He closed his eyes.
And suddenly, an image appeared.
Not Ashwin.
Not the Kingdom of Veyra.
Not the street where he had died.
A vast room.
Its walls were made of black glass.
At the center of the room was a large circle bearing the split-sun symbol.
Someone stood in its center.
Raka couldn't see the person's face.
But the voice came through clearly.
“Every life leaves one piece behind.”
Raka opened his eyes with a sharp gasp.
The corridor was empty again.
He clutched his head.
“What was that?”
There was no answer.
But for the first time, Raka began to question something far more fundamental.
What if he wasn't moving at random?
What if someone was deliberately sending him from one body to another?
And if someone really was orchestrating everything, what was their goal?
Raka walked on.
He didn't know how much time had passed. The corridor felt as if it had no end. Several times, he came across forks, but they all looked the same. Stone walls. Moss. Darkness. No sign of an exit.
Then he heard a voice.
Very faint.
“Raka.”
He stopped.
His heart pounded.
The voice sounded like Elandor.
“Elandor?”
There was no answer.
Raka walked toward the source of the voice.
“Elandor!”
This time, the voice came again.
“Raka...”
Raka quickened his pace.
But after a few yards, the voice changed.
It wasn't Elandor's voice.
It was a woman's.
Then it changed again.
A child's voice.
Then an old man's.
They were all calling his name.
“Raka.”
“Raka.”
“Raka.”
He stopped.
The voices came from every direction.
Raka covered his ears.
“Stop!”
The voices grew louder.
Witness.
Witness.
Witness.
Raka dropped to his knees.
His head felt as if it were about to split open.
Then everything suddenly stopped.
Silence returned.
Raka panted.
He opened his eyes.
At the end of the corridor was a small light.
It wasn't sunlight.
It was blue.
Raka slowly rose to his feet.
He didn't know whether he should approach it, but at least the light was something different from the darkness. He began walking.
The closer he got, the clearer the light became.
Beyond a gap in the stone was a small room.
Raka slipped inside.
The room was empty.
There was only a stone table in the center.
An object rested on top of it.
A metal token.
Raka approached.
The split-sun symbol was engraved on its surface.
He was about to touch it when footsteps sounded behind him.
One step.
Then a second.
Heavy.
Measured.
Raka froze.
He didn't need to turn around to know that the person wasn't Elandor.
Not Lira.
Not the masked woman.
Those footsteps were too familiar.
Raka slowly turned around.
Captain Doren emerged from the darkness.
His face was covered in dust, but his cold smile was still clearly visible.
His sword was in his right hand.
He stopped several yards from Raka.
“Your Majesty.”
Raka took a step back.
Doren tilted his head.
“Or should I call you... passenger?”
Raka felt his blood run cold.
So it was true.
Doren knew.
He wasn't merely suspicious.
He really knew.
Raka stared at the man, holding his breath.
“How did you know?”
Doren smiled.
“The Tower Keepers told us everything.”
Raka clenched his fists.
“Who are they?”
“The people who have been waiting for your arrival all this time.”
“Why?”
Doren slowly raised his sword.
“Because you were never supposed to be in that body.”
Raka backed away.
“I didn't choose it.”
Doren showed no mercy.
“That doesn't matter.”
Raka glanced at the metal token on the table.
The split-sun symbol.
Then he looked back at Doren.
He had no weapon.
Nowhere to run.
No one who could help him.
But he still had one thing.
His wits.
He drew a deep breath.
If he was going to die again, he had to get at least one answer first.
“What happened to Ashwin?”
Doren fell silent.
For the first time, the smile disappeared from his face.
“His soul is still alive.”
Raka froze.
“Where?”
“None of your business.”
“He's the body's original owner.”
“And you took his place.”
“I didn't take anything!”
Doren stepped forward.
“You were supposed to die with your own body.”
Raka backed up until his back touched the stone table.
“I don't even know how I got here.”
“No.”
Doren raised his sword.
“You may not remember it.”
He stepped closer.
“But someone like you once opened that gate.”
Raka fell silent.
The gate.
The word had appeared again.
The gate in the south.
The Mirror Tower.
The Witness.
All the pieces began to shift inside his mind.
But before he could ask anything more, Doren raised his sword.
Raka stared at the blade gleaming in the blue light.
He had no weapon.
No fighting ability.
And no one at his side.
Doren's sword began to descend.
But just before the blade reached Raka's body, a shadow leaped from behind the rubble.
CLANG!
Another sword blocked Doren's attack.
Raka flinched.
Someone stood between them.
A woman.
A silver mask.
A curved sword.
Her breathing was labored.
And blood dripped from the wound in her arm onto the stone floor.
The masked woman had come to save him again.
But this time, Raka saw something different.
Behind the silver mask, her eyes gazed at Raka with profound sorrow.
As if she had seen Raka die countless times before.