The Gate pulsed like a sleeping eye.
A circle of black stone hovered above the platform, still as glass. Its center shimmered with a soft light—not the harsh vortex of storms or screaming winds like other Gates, but something calm. Inviting.
"This one's called the Gate of Gentle Masks," Leven said, her voice unusually calm. "Never been through it before, but rumor says it's peaceful. Good for a warm-up."
"Peaceful Gates are rarely what they seem," Mira muttered, holding out her hand. In her palm was a stone etched with a single curved line—a Return Stone. "We'll go, but we don't stay if things go wrong."
Leven grinned. "Where's your sense of adventure?"
Mira didn't answer.
Silas said nothing, standing between them, shoulders slightly tense.
Leven gestured dramatically. "Well then, brave party of three—shall we?"
She stepped forward and vanished.
Mira walked in next.
Silas took a breath.
The Gate welcomed him.
⸻
They emerged in a garden made of whispering glass.
Everything shimmered: trees of glinting crystal, flowers blooming in the air without stems, rivers flowing upward in gentle arcs. The sky was violet, and the air was filled with a distant, music-like hum.
"It's beautiful," Silas whispered.
"Told you," Leven said, strolling ahead, arms behind her head. "Some Gates are aesthetic paradise."
Mira remained wary, walking close to Silas.
As they passed through the silver trees, strange signs appeared—floating panels of light with riddles etched in script that changed as you read.
"Speak the name of the world where silence is loud."
"Cross the path where the left becomes right, but only when watched."
"Remove your name, or lose your self."
Leven frowned. "Okay. Bit weirder than I expected."
Silas stared at the third sign. "Remove your name…?"
"Ignore it," Mira said. "We're here to observe. Not engage with unknown rules."
"But… isn't that what a quest is?" Silas asked, his voice quiet but curious.
Mira looked at him with surprise. He was speaking more.
Leven smirked. "That's the spirit. Cautious, but asking the right things."
The path led them to a bridge made of mirrored panels. Every step showed a different version of themselves beneath: younger, older, broken, laughing. Some versions whispered things they couldn't hear.
Leven stopped in the center. "Okay, now it's getting weird."
Silas glanced down. One of the mirrored versions stared up at him with blank ink eyes. It raised a hand and pointed deeper into the forest.
That's when the whispers began.
They didn't come from outside—but inside.
A pressure.
A presence.
"You don't belong here."
"You write the world but fear its consequences."
"Take off the mask."
Silas staggered back. "I… don't…"
The world shifted.
The trees curled in on themselves. The sky inverted. Roads became rivers. Signs changed languages. The rules began to warp—and so did gravity.
Leven cursed. "It's a cognitive puzzle realm! They test your perception, not your strength. These things can break your mind if you're not ready."
"What do we do?" Silas said, trying to keep balance as the world turned sideways.
Mira pulled out the Return Stone.
It glowed.
"Hold hands!"
Silas grabbed Mira's arm. Leven slapped her palm down on top of theirs.
The light consumed them—
⸻
—and they stood again on the gate platform, panting, shaken.
Silas let go of Mira's arm slowly. "That… that wasn't peaceful."
"Told you," Mira said.
Leven dropped onto the ground and laughed weakly. "Okay. That sucked. But in a cool way."
Silas didn't laugh. But he sat beside them. He didn't drift away. He stayed.
Mira noticed.
He stepped forward. Not with power, but with presence.
He questioned. He listened. He felt.
In the Gate of Gentle Masks, Silas saw more than illusions. He glimpsed himself in mirrors that didn't lie. He did not run. He did not rewrite the rules. He stayed.
This, too, is power.
The kind not taken. The kind earned.
But let us see what waits beyond the next mask.