He entered the gate.
He felt nothing in the first moment… no heat nor cold, no light nor darkness, no falling nor rising.
Then suddenly, without warning, he found himself standing in a place his senses couldn't comprehend.
The world here was whispering. Not silent, but as if every wall, every stone, every speck of dust whispered something… yet he could not hear it. A feeling that touched his soul, not his ears.
The ground was glass… or something like glass, revealing shadows moving beneath it. He couldn't make out their features, but they kept moving, as if prisoners at the bottom of an inverted world.
He looked around.
The sky here resembled black water, starless, but it pulsed every few seconds as if it were a beating heart.
And ahead… a path.
A stone path, straight, extending into the void. On either side, tall broken pillars, from which faded faces peered—faces carved by a hand that had lost all feeling.
He walked.
Each step echoed—not in the place, but inside him. As if the path was not made for walking, but for remembering.
And halfway down the path… a shadow stood waiting for him.
Not a shadow as usual.
It was a version of him.
But not him.
Its body was thin, deformed, half-burned, and the other half riddled with black shards like parasites living inside it.
The eyes of the version were empty. No pupils, no shine. No life… but also no death.
The shadow said in a broken voice:
"You… forgot me."
He did not answer.
"I'm the one you left behind… when you ran from yourself."
The shadow stepped forward.
But not like an enemy. More like one seeking mercy.
It came close—just a step away.
Then… it dissolved.
The shadow turned into black smoke, wrapped around his body, and seeped into his skin, as if returning to its original place.
And with every bit of shadow that entered him, he felt something breaking inside… and something else being built in its place.
A vision.
A memory.
He remembered himself… running through gray streets, holding a knife, stealing bread, screaming while no one listened.
He remembered the night his friend died in his arms… and the night he couldn't find a grave to bury him in.
He remembered his screams, then his silence, then his decision… to be nameless.
When he opened his eyes again… he was in a different place.
A round room, its walls made of mirrors, but they didn't reflect his image.
Each mirror showed a moment… from a past he didn't know if it was his.
He saw a child being tortured.
A man being whipped.
A woman dragged into a dark cellar.
They all looked like him… but they weren't him.
They were… his possibilities.
Had he taken different paths.
Had he not run.
Had he not killed.
Then the mirrors shattered.
All at once.
The glass fell, but it made no sound.
And from the shards… a voice emerged.
A feminine, resonant, deep voice, echoing as if from the heart of the earth:
"At last… you've found your door."
A door?
He turned.
And he saw it.
A black door, massive, but not like before.
This door… pulsed.
As if a living being was behind it.
And written on it: "To the Lost Light."
He stepped closer.
And as soon as his hand touched it… it opened.
And behind it… light.
But not a comforting light.
A harsh white light, as if the world was burning from within.
He entered.
And found himself at the edge of a vast valley.
A bottomless valley, above which hung a single narrow bridge, stretching toward what appeared to be… a lighthouse.
Yes… a lighthouse, rising from the pit of nothingness, twisted, as if woven from bones and scraps of torn books.
And at its peak… a light.
A light that screamed.
It did not shine… it screamed.
Each flicker of it was a voice.
Voices of children, women, men, screaming in pain.
He stood for a moment.
He felt he couldn't move forward.
But his feet moved on their own.
The bridge was not made of stone, but of his memories.
With every step, an image appeared beneath him.
Him… running.
Him… falling.
Him… abandoning those he loved.
Him… burning a letter.
Him… locking a door on his heart.
And when he reached the end of the bridge… the lighthouse opened its mouth.
Yes… the lighthouse was a being.
Its mouth at the top, and inside it, a single eye, staring directly at him.
The eye that had seen him from the beginning.
It said to him:
"You have arrived."
"But you have not begun yet."
Then… it swallowed him.
Everything vanished.
The lighthouse disappeared.
The bridge disappeared.
The light disappeared.
And only he remained.
Standing in the darkness.
And far away… very far…
He saw a small light.
Like a candle in a storm.
And he stepped toward it.