Deep within a sacred temple, lost among the forgotten mountains, stood a mysterious portal. Its arches, painted a deep black like a moonless night, were adorned with blood-red patterns, resembling veins pulsing with ancient life. No one knew who had built it, or why. Legends whispered that whoever managed to open it would discover either absolute wisdom or an endless curse. Scholars, adventurers, and even kings had come to try their luck. Some spent years studying the symbols carved into its surface, others sacrificed their blood in hopes of awakening its dormant magic. But the portal remained silent, indifferent to their prayers and pleas.
 
One evening, as the moon bathed the temple stones in a silvery glow, a young woman named Elara approached. She was neither a priestess nor a scholar, just a traveler guided by an inexplicable intuition. She placed her hand on the cold wood and felt a vibration run through her body, as if the portal finally recognized a soul worthy of it. The red patterns glowed faintly, and a gust of icy air escaped from the cracks.
 
Elara closed her eyes. She had no ritual or magical formula to offer, only her heart and her doubts. «Show me what you hide,» she whispered. Silence. Then, a creak, like that of a rusted door opening after centuries of abandonment. The portal cracked open, revealing not a treasure or a trap, but a mirror. A mirror that reflected not her face, but thousands of unknown faces, lives she had never lived, worlds she had never explored.
 
And in that reflection, she understood: the portal was not a door to walk through, but a question to ask oneself. A question about what one was willing to sacrifice to know the unknown.