The skies bled crimson.
Kaela blinked, but the blood-red clouds remained. This wasn't the world she knew. It was a vision—an artificial realm conjured for the Trial of the Apex Root. And yet, it felt too real. Her boots pressed into a cracked obsidian plain that stretched endlessly, dotted by bone-white trees and twisted roots clawing from beneath the earth.
The Trial had splintered her from her allies. She could still feel their essence, distant like flickering beacons, but she was alone in this shard of the trialscape. No Lucien, no Bran, no Eylira. Just her—and the storm of her own mind.
A whisper curled through the air like smoke.
"What are you when no one's watching, Spellcaster?"
Kaela narrowed her eyes. "You'll find out soon enough."
A pulse of magic answered her defiance. The world twisted. Shadows erupted from the ground and coalesced into a towering form. It resembled her—same face, same smirk—but its eyes were pitch black, and its aura reeked of corrupted arcana.
Her reflection.
Her fear.
The first trial's judge.
"You think strength is just about power?" the shadow-Kaela mocked. "You've worn your title like armor, Kaela. But deep down, you're afraid. Afraid of becoming like me."
Kaela lifted her hand, fingers swirling with Arcane Spiral energy. "I'm not afraid of you. I know you."
The shadow laughed. "You are me."
-----
The battle began without warning.
Shadow-Kaela surged forward, launching a volley of spiraling glyphs laced with corrupted 'Spellweave Dominion' threads. Kaela raised her arms, weaving an intricate arcane net, but the shadow slipped through, striking with feral precision.
Her real strength wasn't just imitation—it was distortion.
Every spell Kaela cast was mirrored and twisted, turned back against her with cruel elegance. Her 'Memory Flame' constructs fractured on impact, and her defensive wards buckled under the strain of dual magic.
Kaela skidded back across the obsidian, blood trailing from a cut across her cheek. Gasping, she whispered, "This isn't just a fight… it's a reckoning."
She closed her eyes.
She remembered Aelira's voice: "The Apex Root lies not in what you can destroy, but what you can endure. What you confront."
Kaela slowed her breathing. Let the silence stretch. Let her heartbeat echo.
And in that stillness—she didn't fight. She listened.
She reached inward, drawing not just power, but memory. The joy of learning her first glyph. The terror of her first true loss. The warmth of her squad's laughter. The weight of command. The unbearable, gentle ache of Lucien's lingering gaze.
With a burst of pure intent, Kaela let the 'Memory Flame' ignite fully—not as a weapon, but as a reflection. Her flame surged golden-white, illuminating every fracture, every scar within her soul.
The shadow-Kaela staggered, hissing. "No. No! You can't—"
Kaela stepped forward. "You think I deny you. But I accept you. I don't have to be unbroken to be powerful."
She raised her hand—and the flame leapt.
It engulfed the shadow, not in destruction, but in recognition. The double screamed once, a sound that shattered the blood-red clouds. The sky above cracked like glass, and the false realm began to collapse.
-----
When Kaela opened her eyes again, she stood in the trial chamber. Her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. Her hair clung to her face, soaked in sweat. She looked around.
Eylira was already there, kneeling in meditation. Bran lay flat on his back, groaning and smiling like he'd been punched by the gods themselves.
Lucien knelt beside her, worry clouding his silver eyes. "You're back."
Kaela nodded. "One down."
He offered a hand, and she took it. As he helped her to her feet, something new shimmered around her—a glow, subtle but unmistakable. A symbol etched across her forearm now pulsed with sigils of root and flame.
Lucien's eyes widened. "You've awakened the first tether. You're nearing Stage Four."
Kaela's voice was hoarse but steady. "Then we keep going. We all do."
Behind her, the shattered sky of the trial realm began to mend, as if acknowledging her growth. But Kaela knew—this was only the beginning.
The next trial would be harder.
And she would be ready.