"Y-yes, Mom," the words came out of his mouth, a raw, high-pitched whisper, unmistakably the voice of his child self.
His mother smiled, a warmth emanating from her that chased away the lingering chill of the anchor chamber. She reached out, her fingers gently caressing his face a few times.
Aman’s carefully constructed mental defenses crumbled, his mind succumbing to the powerful illusion.
The anchor chamber, the raging blizzard outside, Zephyr, the Baron, the Lament Shroud - all of it faded, replaced by the vivid, comforting reality of his childhood home.
"Alright, I’m going!" he chirped, a wide, genuine smile spreading across Aman’s small face.
He waved back at his mother, who stood smiling by the fireplace. He snatched his familiar winter cap from a hook on the wall, tugging it firmly over his head. Though in reality, his hand had pressed the subtle mechanism to open the chamber’s heavy door, a soft click barely audible over the hum of the pylons.
"Ah, right, almost forgot this." After pushing the door open, he didn’t forget to close it gently behind him.
Who knows if the Shroud would try to mess with the inside, he mused, a thought that, even in his current state, held a thread of his true, adult self’s caution.
Outside, the illusion continued its masterful dance. A path of gentle snow and soft, guiding wind seemed to open just for him, cushioning his steps as he walked. His small body, seemingly trembling slightly from the cold, felt strangely invigorated.
The two spiraling black eyes, invisible to anyone else, floated ahead, leading him deeper into the blizzard.
Aman walked with a beaming smile, utterly captivated. Even the stray Mistborns, whose true forms were horrifying manifestations of the Shroud’s corruption, ignored Aman.
To his young eyes, they were merely the Keep’s people, bundled against the cold, waving at him and calling his name as he passed by.
After walking for a while, a journey that felt both endless and fleeting, little Aman arrived at a familiar corner of the path. His eyes widened with delight. Ahead, a group of children, all around his age, laughed and squealed, being playfully chased by a pack of smaller, shaggy snow dogs.
These weren’t the fierce hunting hounds of the Keep, but fluffy, harmless dogs. Without a second thought, Aman let out a joyful shout and ran toward them, fearlessly charging at the ’monsters’ to save them.
He darted among the children and the snow dogs, his small hands playfully pushing and shooing the ’creatures’ away. To his delight, the ’monsters’ yelped and scattered, running off into the snow, their tails wagging.
The other children immediately swarmed him, their faces alight with awe.
"Woah, Aman, you were amazing!" one cried.
"How did you do it?" another gasped.
"You looked like a hero!" a third exclaimed, their voices filled with genuine admiration.
Aman’s chest swelled with pride, an elation he hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity. Someone finally recognized his deeds! They were even calling him a hero!
With a final, triumphant wave to his adoring audience, Aman bid them farewell, continuing on his way, a bright smile fixed firmly on his face.
He was planning to brag to his mother and father about this later.
The day continued in a blissful haze for little Aman.
He helped an old farmer carry a heavy sack of feed to his barn, earning a toothless grin and a warm pat on the head.
He spent an hour in the pastures, giggling as he played with the farmers’ animals, their soft fur a comforting warmth against his small hands.
Later, he paused by the training grounds, mesmerized by the guards practicing their forms, their polished armor glinting in the illusionary sunlight.
He mimicked their stances, a small wooden stick becoming his sword, a shield made of imagination strapped to his arm. A genuine sense of contentment settled over him.
For a moment, the world felt so utterly right, so brimming with simple joys, that he almost forgot the chilling truths he knew about the Lament Shroud. The tales of its corruption, of illusions that began in bliss only to twist into unbearable nightmares – like the Baron’s experience – were stark reminders.
...it must be planning the same with me.
Just then, the illusion fractured.
Loud, guttural sounds of thunder and a raging storm echoed, ripping through the tranquil scene.
Little Aman’s eyes widened, the familiar, comforting world around him twisting.
The sky, a moment ago a gentle blue and white, darkened to an angry charcoal. The falling snow became fast and heavier, stinging his skin, the wind growing violent, howling like a hungry beast.
"W-what’s happening...?" He trembled, his small smile replaced by stark terror.
He spun frantically, searching for others, for his home, for a way back to the safety he’d known moments before. But all he could see was the white, swirling mass of the blizzard and endless drifts of snow.
"M-Mom? Dad?" He called out, his voice thin and desperate, but they were swallowed by the storm.
"H-HELLO?" He stumbled forward, boots sinking deep into fresh snow. "A-ANYONE?"
Only the roar of the wind.
The biting howl was no longer just a sound; it was a physical assault.
His cheeks, already rosy from the deceptive cold of the illusion, now burned a vivid red, chapped by the raw, biting wind of the true blizzard. His whole body shivered uncontrollably, the warmth of his illusionary home a cruel, fading memory.
Tears welled in his eyes, but he clenched his jaw, biting back the sobs.
A hero doesn’t cry, he reminded himself, echoing the words his mother used to say. And... a hero will always find a way.
Just then, through the swirling white chaos, he noticed something.
A faint glimmer of light, not far away, pulsing softly. It felt like it was calling out to him, a promise of warmth and safety in the desolate storm.
"W-what is this...?" he whispered, his voice thin against the wind. He reached out a trembling hand. "H-hey, s-stop!"
But the light seemed to dance away, always just out of reach, a teasing will-o’-the-wisp.
Driven by a desperate, childlike hope, Aman stumbled forward, chasing the elusive glow, drawn deeper and deeper into the storm’s churning heart, unaware that this guiding light led only to his inevitable doom.