The stone creature's words echoed through the gorge like thunder in a tunnel. Dust shook loose from the cliffs, and the vines overhead trembled. Aric stood his ground, the Emberblade at his side beginning to radiate a low, pulsing heat. Maelis stepped closer, sword halfway drawn.
"The trial?" Aric asked again. "What kind of trial?"
The creature took a step forward, and the earth groaned beneath its weight. Its face was carved and ancient, like a monument half-swallowed by time. But its voice, though deep, was not cruel.
"Long ago, when the blade was first lit, the Bearer had to pass through the rites," it said. "Fire alone is not enough. To wield the true flame… you must be tested."
Aric hesitated. The dream—the woman cloaked in black fire—her voice came back to him. You were not meant to wake it.
"Why now?" he asked. "Why me?"
The creature's stony brow furrowed. "Because the Emberblade has chosen. And the Veil draws near. You must be forged again… or you will break."
Before Aric could respond, the ground beneath him shifted. Cracks spiderwebbed through the floor of the gorge, glowing with faint orange light. The stone guardian slammed a massive hand to the ground.
"Begin."
The gorge split open.
Maelis shouted as the ground vanished beneath their feet. Aric fell through a column of light and fire, down into darkness. He hit solid ground hard, pain flaring through his side. The light above closed like a lid, sealing him in.
The chamber was wide, lit only by flickering flames embedded in the walls. At the center stood three stone pillars. On each sat a different item: a worn leather satchel, a gleaming silver helm, and a charred piece of cloth.
Aric got to his feet. The Emberblade was still strapped to his back, humming faintly.
A voice filled the chamber—not the guardian's, but something older, colder.
"Choose."
Aric's fingers curled. "What is this?"
"A memory. A truth. A lie. Choose one to carry. Leave the others behind."
He approached slowly. The satchel looked familiar. His father had carried one just like it. The helm was bright and untouched, its surface etched with strange symbols. And the cloth—black, scorched—looked almost like the remnants of a cloak.
The fire inside the sword stirred, as if urging caution. Aric reached for the cloth first. The moment his fingers brushed it, visions surged into his mind—him, cloaked in black, standing atop a pile of ash, the Emberblade in his hand, eyes glowing with rage.
He yanked his hand back.
The helm shimmered next, tempting. Strength. Power. An unbroken path. But it felt... hollow. Perfect in a way that made his skin crawl.
The satchel, though old and plain, felt real. Grounded. He reached for it.
The fire calmed.
The moment he lifted it, the room trembled. The other items vanished in a wisp of smoke. A door opened in the far wall, revealing a narrow corridor.
Aric moved forward, gripping the satchel. Inside, he found only a folded scrap of parchment. He opened it.
"To carry the flame, you must know why you burn."
He didn't understand—but something in his chest twisted at the words.
Another chamber followed. This time, mirrors lined the walls. Each reflected a different version of him—one younger, one older, one cloaked in black flame with eyes like the sun. Another with blood on his hands.
"Face yourself," the voice said again.
Aric stepped forward. The mirrors shimmered. One reflection stepped out.
It was him—but colder. Harder. A version of himself unbound by doubt, wielding the Emberblade with ruthless certainty.
"You're too soft," the reflection sneered. "Too afraid of what needs to be done."
Aric raised the real sword. "I know what I could become. But I haven't."
"Not yet."
They clashed. Blade against blade. Fire against fire. The chamber shook with the fury of their fight. Aric barely kept up—this version of himself fought with purpose, precision, rage without remorse.
But Aric had something else—restraint.
He parried a strike and twisted, slamming the flat of his blade into the reflection's chest. The image shattered, the pieces fading like ash in the wind.
Silence fell.
Then the voice returned, quieter now.
"You are not whole. But you are not lost."
A new path opened. Aric walked through it, heart still pounding.
He emerged back in the gorge. The stone guardian stood where he had left it, unmoved.
"The trial is passed," it said. "But not ended. The true test lies ahead."
Maelis rushed to him, relief and confusion on his face. "What just happened?"
Aric looked down at the satchel in his hand, then at the blade.
"I think," he said slowly, "I've just seen what I might become."
Maelis frowned. "And?"
Aric tightened his grip. "I won't let it happen. Not if I
can help it."
But deep in the back of his mind, the shadowed version of himself still smiled.