Chapter XX: Mirror of You

Lance's gesture drew our attention to a room on the opposite side, its door slightly ajar. As we entered, a sense of familiarity mingled with the strangeness of the place. The room held an aura of modernity, a stark contrast to the ancient ambiance of the bunker. Lockers lined the walls, their metal surfaces gleaming faintly in the dim light.

Among the lockers, one stood open, revealing a cult robe – identical to the ones worn by the members of the circle we had observed. Tension settled upon us as the realization sunk in – this room was a portal between worlds, a bridge connecting the past and the present.

Dwight and Lance's voices rose in a heated argument, their disagreement echoing within the locker room. Belle's whispered attempts to calm them were sharp and urgent, the urgency of our situation driving her frustration.

"Enough!" I interrupted, my voice firm and unwavering.

All eyes turned toward me, the weight of their expectations resting on my shoulders. I took a deep breath, my resolve solidifying with every heartbeat. "I'll do it. I'll wear the robe and join the dance."

Dwight's protest was immediate, his voice laced with concern. "No way, Jordan. It's too risky."

Belle's worry was palpable, her gaze locking onto mine. "Are you sure about this?"

I met her gaze, my voice soft but resolute. "It's my fault Candy is dead. I have to do something to make it right."

Penny stepped forward, her eyes wide but determined. She hugged me tightly, her small arms wrapping around me. "Promise you'll come back, Jordan. Pinkie promise."

A bittersweet smile tugged at my lips as I pinkie-promised with Penny, our fingers interlocked in a solemn vow. I kissed the top of her head, my heart heavy with both determination and the weight of her innocence.

With a deep breath, I turned to the cult robe, its dark fabric holding the promise of answers within its folds. As I put on the robe, I felt both excited and nervous. Maybe the excitement was a bit misplaced and nervous was an understatement. I felt like I was going to shit my pants any second.

As I got into the groove of the cultists' dance, a wave of ancient vibes hit me. The torchlight in the room created this cool ambiance, shining on the walls and revealing these super intriguing symbols. It was like stepping into a history book, like those lessons back in school about the Osyran Empire—paying attention did pay off for once.

The symbols on the ground totally screamed Osyran, like their hieroglyphics that told tales of gods, the afterlife, and nature's cycles. It was wild how these patterns underfoot seemed to bring those stories to life.

The central fire radiated with an energy that recalled the Osyran reverence for the sun god Ra. The flames seemed to mirror the celestial power that Ra represented in their culture, an embodiment of light, warmth, and life. The dance of the fire's flickering shadows seemed like a tribute to the cosmic forces that the Osyrans held in such high regard.

Beside the fire lay a figure, a body seemingly brought forth from the depths of the ancient Nile. This ritualistic placement reminded me of Osyran practices tied to the river – the source of their livelihood, a symbol of renewal, and a conduit to the afterlife. As I studied the submerged form, it was as if I could feel the echoes of the Nile's significance reverberating through time.

The atmosphere grew tense as the three of them – Lance, Belle, and Dwight – were apprehended by a vigilant cult member. They found themselves standing at the center of the circle, the hood of my robe concealing my face, just like the others. An urge to reveal myself and save my friends tugged at me, but a subtle shake of Dwight's head, barely noticeable, conveyed a silent plea for caution. I held my head down, my heart pounding in my chest as I suppressed the impulse.

Around us, the cultists' chants rose to a fever pitch. "They should be burned! Burned!"

Suddenly, a hushed awe swept through the room as a commanding presence emerged. The cult leader, enigmatic and powerful, entered the circle. Her robes were unlike any other – a breathtaking cascade of deep indigo, adorned with intricate patterns that seemed to shimmer in the torchlight. The fabric bore threads of silver and gold, catching the flickering flames and casting an ethereal glow around her.

Her arms were a tapestry of bangles and bracelets, each one a story unto itself. They jingled faintly as she moved, a symphony of mystery and prestige. Her presence was regal, exuding an air of authority that commanded respect even before a single word was spoken.

As the cultists fell to one knee, a reverent hush fell over the chamber. The weight of their devotion was palpable, their collective silence speaking volumes about the reverence they held for their leader.

And then, in a voice that resonated with power and command, she spoke. "Rise."

The cultists obeyed, standing in unison, the tension in the room palpable. Slowly, she reached up and lowered her hood, unveiling her identity to the room.

Time seemed to pause as the realization washed over us. My heart pounded in my chest as I lifted my gaze, locking eyes with the cult leader. It was like staring into a mirror, a mirror that reflected not just my image, but my essence, my being. As our gazes locked, a sinister smile curled upon the cult leader's lips. Her expression was a twisted blend of amusement and malevolence, as if relishing in the shock and confusion that had swept through the room. Her eyes, mirrors of my own, held a glint of darkness that sent shivers down my spine. It was a chilling sight – a facade of familiarity masking a depth of malefic intent, an expression that hinted at secrets and motives far beyond our understanding.

What was happening here?