The moment she stepped forward, the world around her changed.
The mist thickened, swallowing everything. The path behind her vanished, leaving her standing in an endless sea of swirling gray. The guardian's glowing eyes flickered before her, shifting like a phantom.
She held her son tightly, her heart steady but wary.
A voice—low and ancient—whispered through the air.
"Only the worthy may proceed."
The mist pulsed, wrapping around her like living tendrils.
Then, it struck.
A force crashed into her from the side, unseen yet suffocating. She staggered but held her ground, her arms tightening around her child. Her breath came in sharp gasps, but she refused to fall.
Another force slammed into her from behind, then from the front. It was as if the mist itself was testing her, trying to break her.
But she would not be broken.
She had endured worse.
She had suffered humiliation, rejection, and pain beyond measure—yet she had never faltered.
She would not falter now.
Her feet dug into the ground as she pressed forward, pushing against the crushing weight.
Step by step.
The mist twisted, forming shapes—shadows of the past.
She saw herself as a child, training under the watchful gaze of her father. His voice was cold, his eyes filled with disappointment.
"You are weak. A failure."
She clenched her teeth and walked on.
The mist shifted again, showing her the moment she had left her family—the night she had abandoned her status, her wealth, everything she had ever known for the man she loved.
Her father's voice echoed in the air.
"You are nothing without us."
She shook her head, pushing the vision away.
Then came the final image.
Her husband.
Lying in a pool of blood.
His face pale, his breath shallow, his fingers weakly reaching for her.
She felt the old pain strike deep, like a dagger to the heart.
But she did not stop.
Tears stung her eyes, but she walked forward.
The mist roared, swirling violently—then, suddenly, it parted.
She gasped, finding herself standing at the edge of a vast courtyard.
The Heavenly Pavilion.
The courtyard was silent.
A grand structure loomed in the distance, its towering spires vanishing into the mist above. Statues of ancient warriors lined the path, their expressions cold and unyielding.
And standing before them was a man.
He was tall, his robes flowing like shadows in the wind. His presence was suffocating, his eyes sharp as blades.
He studied her for a long moment.
"You made it through the mist," he said, his voice emotionless.
She steadied her breath. "I seek the Heavenly Pavilion's aid."
The man's gaze drifted to the child in her arms.
There was a flicker of something in his expression—curiosity, perhaps?
Then, without warning, he raised a hand.
A force lashed out, invisible yet overwhelming. It struck her like a tidal wave, sending her to her knees.
She gasped for air, struggling to remain upright.
The man stepped forward, his eyes never leaving her.
"The mist does not test the weak," he said. "But you are not strong enough."
She clenched her fists.
"I am strong enough for my son."
Silence.
Then, the man exhaled, almost amused.
"You are brave," he said. "Foolish, but brave."
With a flick of his fingers, the pressure vanished.
He turned away, walking toward the pavilion.
"Follow me," he said.
She hesitated only for a moment before rising to her feet.
And with her son in her arms, she stepped into the unknown once more.