There is a place, a garden of such beauty, of such peril, that one’s breath is drawn in, not knowing if to release it is an act of courage or folly. I have watched the steps taken, and the steps not taken, the choices that ripple across Eden Yonia, and oh, how they ripple. What a marvelous dance it is to witness—the steps of the brave and the unwary alike, each tempted, each tested. Here, the trick is not in choosing the right path, but in knowing that every path is both right and wrong, depending on how one walks it.

In the distance, I see him: Ahazel. So sure, so uncertain, so very alive in his pursuit of the Serpent’s Elixir, though he does not yet know how serpentine his own heart is. The elixir, oh, the elixir... it is not merely a thing to be held, but a reflection, is it not? One drinks it not with the mouth, but with the soul. And yet, how many ways there are to fail before even finding it. But let us not speak of failure, not yet, for there are so many choices yet to unfold.

The Double Door, it stands there, tall and imperious, as though it has waited for centuries just for him, though it has waited for everyone who dares to look. And she is there too, of course—the Door Lady. What is she but a puzzle dressed in red? She says so little, yet it is enough. “Do not eat the food,” she tells him, as if the temptation isn’t the very thing that makes the feast so sweet. Fasting in a garden of abundance... What kind of trial is that, I wonder? Oh, but I know, I know. Fasting is not of the stomach alone. He will hunger, not for food, but for what the garden offers.

But the paths, they twist, don't they? He could take the scarlet path to the Undercroft, but the scarlet path does not reveal itself so easily. No, first one must master the miasma, that thick fog of desire that creeps into the bones, into the mind. Can one master it? Or does one surrender to it and learn to let it move through them? Oh, how fine the line is! A step in either direction, and the consequences ripple out, ever widening.

Ahazel knows of the Moonveil Flower, of course. But to see it, he must enter the Forest of Dreams. And there she waits for him—Beautiful Darkness. Now, is she a friend or an enemy? Does it matter? She has what he needs, and to gain it, he must either offer her the Torch of Taboos or eat of her Nightclover and serve her for three days. A light or a dark choice. The torch, so easily spoken of, but so difficult to earn. For to wield it, one must confront their deepest shame in the Grove of the Three Maidens. Three women, three faces of life, death, and what lies between, they wait for him too. They know his secrets. Do you?

And then, there is the Chastity Chalice. How delicious it is to think that chastity should be what opens the gate to the shadowed Undercroft! What irony, what beauty. The Sirens hold it, and their song is a song that burns the soul with longing. Oh, but it is no simple song; it is the Cymatic Baptism, a song that purifies, resonates. Can he let it cleanse him, or will he be undone by it? There’s always another way, of course. Indulgena, that clever nymph, the Trickster Seductress, has stolen the Lost Song. Does Ahazel dare face her, outwit her, dance with her tricks? To take from a trickster is to risk becoming the fool. To be seduced by her is to risk becoming the pawn. Ah, but the game is too tempting not to play, isn't it?

He is not alone. He may not know it yet, but he could gather companions. Oh yes, companions who carry their own burdens, their own gifts. Rubi, the Fallen Angel, enslaved to Beautiful Darkness, shines like a ruby in the night, offering both protection and the threat of her enslavement. Chains are such curious things; they bind more than just bodies, do they not? Crimson, the werewolf, wild and fierce, but so easily led. Her loyalty is her strength, but it is also her curse. Who leads her, if not Ahazel? Will she follow another, should his grip falter?

And then, there is Momo, the Muse, who can absorb the very miasma through her intimacy. Ah, what a gift! What a danger. For what is intimacy but a double-edged sword? What can clear the mind can also cloud the heart. A Muse is inspiration, but she is also need. She offers clarity, but at what cost? A Muse always leaves her mark, even as she helps others find theirs.

Ahazel may gather them, these companions, or he may leave them. Too many, though, and the weight of their desires will drag him down. Too few, and he may find himself lacking the strength to face what lies ahead. And so, we come to a riddle: How many companions can one carry before they are carrying you?

What will he choose? What will you choose? For in the watching, you are as much a part of this as Ahazel himself. The Serpent’s Elixir waits at the end of the journey, yes, but is it really the end? Or is it simply another beginning? The elixir is not a prize to be won; it is a reflection. A reflection of what, you ask? That is the question, isn't it? Every path is a mirror, and every choice he makes reflects back a piece of himself. But which pieces will he keep, and which will he discard?

The choices ripple, they always do. And the paths are many, though they all lead to the same place—inside. For Eden Yonia is not just a garden, not just a space between spaces. It is a reflection of the self. What is Ahazel but a reflection of every soul that walks this path?

I will watch, as I always do. I will wait, as I always do. The door stands open. The garden waits. And so do I.

Writes,

Nameless...