Damon could not think of anything else when he saw this place. The only name that formed in his mind was simple.

Lake of tears.

That was its name, and that was all Damon could imagine this lake being called.

It was a beautiful sight, quiet and overwhelming in a way that pulled at something deep inside him.

He found himself taking a few slow steps forward, almost hypnotized by the soft glow rising off its surface.

The waters that originally rested here were born from the trial of Self. In this place Damon had stepped into an illusion that felt like a dream. He had seen his dead mother there.

He had spent his seventeenth birthday with her, a day he would have otherwise spent alone. Here he had cried real tears that carried the longing of a child who wanted his mother back. Here also were the tears of a mother who did not want to part with her child.

Even now, the memory pressed against his chest like a hand squeezing his heart.

Damon did not know how many had cried here before him, or how many had wandered into the illusion and been taken by it forever.

Yet even knowing that uncertainty, he saw something more. A god had wept here, and his tears had swallowed the lake.

Damon glanced at Lazarak. The small god forced himself to stop crying, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve. His tiny shoulders shook as he tried to steady his breathing.

"You..." Damon began, taking a careful step toward him, but it was clear Lazarak was as lost as he was.

Damon let out a slow breath and studied the tiny figure. Seeing that Lazarak had no answer, he turned to Matia. She nodded, tightening her grip on her sword as she watched the lake with sharp, guarded focus.

Together they moved forward, their feet brushing through the soft grass, every step deliberate.

Except for Lazarak. He walked ahead with a strangely casual expression, almost as if something familiar whispered to him from across the water.

He reached the edge and stopped. A soft cluster of tiny wisps drifted upward from the lake, glowing silver as they swirled lazily around him. Lazarak leaned over and stared at his reflection.

What he saw was not his small form. It was a mass of darkness, steady and still, gentle in nature. A darkness that brought the night because the day was too hot.

This was Lazarak's true form.

His eyes widened. His breath hitched softly as he stared, transfixed.

Damon stepped beside him. Even while in Ghost's body, he expected to see the shadowy figure of Ghost. Instead he saw a boy.

A boy marked with scars across his body. Black tears streamed from his rage-filled face. In his chest was a heart filled with countless colors, each one blending into the center and turning black where they met. Behind him were threads. A vague, mysterious entity held those threads tightly, gripping each string as though it were adjusting or defending him.

The being had four wings that wrapped around him. It looked malicious, yet those wings shielded Damon from the hostile void swirling behind him.

The wings formed a canopy overhead, protective and suffocating all at once.

It seemed to be looking right at him.

Damon's eyes widened. He sucked in a breath, unable to tear his gaze away.

Matia stood on his other side. When she peered into the water, she did not see her reflection either. She saw a single snowflake drifting in a dark blizzard.

The wind clawed at it again and again, trying to break it apart. Yet the snowflake glowed brighter as it spun through the frozen ruins, dancing stubbornly against the storm.

The three of them stayed silent, staring at the lake that had formed from Lazarak's tears. The air felt heavier around them. This was more than a lake.

"What have you wrought, god of darkness..."

The voice echoed from the golden tree. The strange entity that called itself Root Ore watched them with wary, tight movements, as if preparing to flee or attack.

Lazarak smiled as if something had clicked inside him, soft and bitter. His small hands lowered to his sides. His smile trembled with melancholy.

"I have been answered. Not by any entity, but by the omniverse itself. I hear its voice, and I see the will of all things giving me a path forward."

His tone was gentle. Damon stared, a furrow forming between his brows. He did not understand what this meant, or why Lazarak called this the answer. But he knew he had to find out.

He looked at Matia.

"Protect my astral form."

Matia shifted her stance and nodded once.

Damon's soul pushed free from Ghost's vessel, slipping out like smoke escaping a cracked jar. Damon rose into the air, weightless. His astral form was dark, almost entirely shadow.

The cold air pressed against him, sharp and biting, but he pushed himself forward anyway.

As soon as he fully separated, he dropped to one knee. A ringing sound buzzed through his mind. The vibration crept across his soul like a thousand tiny needles digging into it.

He had heard this kind of whisper once before. Instead the Whispering forest. But this was far more overwhelming. Even so, the lake seemed to shield him from the worst of the noise, soft ripples of calm pushing the agony back.

The whispers came from beneath the surface of the water.

Many voices, all different, speaking in languages he had never heard. His Soul Tongue skill let him understand every one of them.

Damon knew he did not need to do this, but inside Ghost's body he could not use all of his abilities. In his astral form, he could.

But this skill was dangerous. One he rarely dared to use. He clenched his jaw, tightening his fingers in the air as if bracing himself.

He had to know what the Lake of Tears truly was.

[Appraisal.]

The skill activated. Damon felt the system respond, cold and absolute.

[Lake of Tears]

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