The spiral chamber pulsed with quiet energy, the violet flames of Kaela's trial now extinguished, leaving a silvery sheen over the runes etched in the stone. The gathered council stood in silent awe, eyes fixed on Kaela as she slowly rose to her feet.
Lucien exhaled, stepping forward. "You did it."
Kaela's fingers twitched, sparks of golden-violet arcana still crackling beneath her skin. "No. We did it. I just… stepped through first."
Aelira tilted her head slightly. "Then let the others follow."
A hush fell over the Eclipse Bastion as the spiral ignited once more, and Aelira's voice, soft yet commanding, echoed in the minds of each council member.
"One flame, one truth. One lie buried deep. The Trial of the First Burn is yours now to face. Each of you must walk into the spiral, and confront the lie you've made into truth."
Kael's massive form moved first. The Dragonkin's scales shimmered bronze beneath the moonlight as he stepped forward without hesitation. "Then I will burn."
He vanished into the spiral's light.
Kael's Trial
The flames twisted, but unlike Kaela's, they burned with a heavier hue—molten gold and obsidian. Kael stood on a desolate battlefield. The scent of ash and blood filled the air.
Before him knelt a child—his brother.
"You swore to protect me."
Kael's jaw tensed. "You died in the war. I wasn't strong enough."
"No," the boy whispered, rising. "You were too afraid to let go of your code. You could've ended it sooner."
Kael's vision blurred. His Guardian's Oath had once demanded he never strike first, never kill without cause. That hesitation had cost lives. Too many.
The boy turned, revealing hollow eyes. "How many more will you let die before you stop clinging to a dead creed?"
The flames surged.
Kael stepped forward, armor smoking. "Then let it die."
He drew his weapon—not to fight, but to lay it down. "I protect by being willing to destroy when I must. That is my truth now."
The vision shattered, and Kael emerged. Taller. Sharper. His aura thundered like a rising mountain. He had shed his chains.
Nyrix's Trial
The spiral consumed him in a blink.
Nyrix stood in a crypt, candlelight dancing off stone coffins. Blood trickled down the walls. A woman waited by the far end—his sister, the one he'd left behind when he turned.
"You never came back for me."
Nyrix folded his arms, trying to play off the tremor in his throat. "You wouldn't have recognized me."
"I waited. I fought the thirst. You didn't."
He looked away. "I couldn't."
"But you made them pay," she whispered.
"I made everyone pay," Nyrix hissed. "I gave up everything for this power. For revenge."
"Then why does it still ache?"
The silence clawed at him.
He finally stepped forward. "Because I thought letting go of you meant forgetting you. But I never did. I carry you in every life I take."
The vision wept blood—and vanished.
Nyrix emerged, eyes hollow, yet something gentler lurked beneath the frost. He had made peace, not with what he'd done, but with why.
Brannic's Trial
The fire greeted him with a roar.
He stood in a hall of fallen warriors—his kin. His father's voice thundered.
"You left the clans for a council of mages and murderers."
Brannic growled, fists clenching. "They're not just mages. They're family."
"A family that will bury you."
"They've bled beside me. They've earned me."
The spectral form of his father raised a warhammer. "Then prove it. Die with pride. Or live with shame."
Brannic caught the strike. "No. I'll live with purpose."
He shattered the illusion with a roar, the ground beneath him trembling.
When Brannic returned, even his laughter seemed sharper, like steel honed in fire.
Torik's Trial
The spiral flickered, dimmer for him.
He stood before a broken forge. A golem kneeled, its chest cracked.
"Master… why did you abandon us?"
Torik touched the rune etched into its heart. "I failed you. I tried to create life without understanding it."
"You wanted soldiers. Not sons."
Torik grimaced. "And I regret it. Every day."
The golem smiled sadly. "Then create again. Not from fear. But hope."
The forge reignited, and Torik's hands glowed.
He emerged weeping, face smeared with soot and memory. But he walked straighter.
Eylira's Trial
The spiral shimmered with threads of time.
She walked through mirrors—endless futures spiraling outward. A voice whispered from behind one.
"You see them all, yet choose blindness."
Eylira touched the glass. "I see too much."
"And so you hide from choice."
"No," she whispered. "I search for the future where we survive."
One mirror shattered. The others bent inward, forming a spiral of light. She stepped through.
When she returned, even her gaze felt heavier, like she now carried the weight of countless paths walked and ended.
Lucien's Trial
He did not flinch as the flame consumed him.
A black throne stood at the end of the void. On it sat a version of himself, cloaked in judgment flame and crown.
"You wanted control. You feared chaos."
Lucien narrowed his eyes. "Order is survival."
"At what cost?"
The throne dissolved. Before him lay Kaela, broken.
"You'll lose her if you keep choosing control over connection."
Lucien knelt. "Then let me learn another way."
The void responded not with words, but with warmth.
He emerged—still a Warden, but now with fire tempered by vulnerability.
As each council member returned, a hush fell again.
Kaela stepped forward, meeting each gaze in turn. "You all made it."
"We're not the same," Brannic said, voice softer than usual. "But maybe that's the point."
Kaela turned to Aelira. "So… is this it? We're at Stage Four?"
Aelira's eyes glowed like twin moons. "No."
The spiral reignited—but it burned higher this time, crackling with new sigils none of them recognized.
"You have passed the first trial. One of seven. One for each of you. One flame for each truth."
Silence gripped the council.
Torik muttered, "Seven?"
Kael exhaled. "Damn."
Lucien nodded slowly. "So what's next?"
Aelira stepped into the spiral's heart. "The Trial of the Echoed Flame. A test of unity, and a reflection of the one you cannot deceive."
The second gate had opened—and this time, they would not walk through it alone.