The Metaphysical Tunnel shimmered—silver weaving into gold like braided truths. Each step echoed like thought, each breath like confession. Stillness moved them, not their feet. They were weightless… yet burdened.
Noan: (quietly)
"So this is where honesty strips you bare..."
Klexis stared ahead, his crimson eyes dimming under the ethereal glow. Memories surged in waves—his father's sacrifice, his brother's betrayal, the tears Merina tried to hide.
He muttered:
Klexis:
"I fought a war against myself… and I still don't know who won."
Tarren, ever the skeptic, scowled. His gauntlets pulsed slightly as if to defend him from truths.
Tarren:
"Trapped forever, huh? Sounds more like divine blackmail than enlightenment."
He turned to the Creation Stone, floating beside them like a silent judge.
"You really think everyone needs this? Even the ones who never left Avia?"
The Creation Stone pulsed gently, forming words from light:
Creation Stone:
"To never leave Avia is not the same as never doubting it... Even belief, when hollow, echoes with corruption."
Noan suddenly stopped, his fingers trembling.
Noan:
"...Then what about me? I wasn't corrupted... I ran. I ran because I didn't believe I belonged... because I thought I was just... a fill-in."
Creation Stone:
"Running from worth is still a form of denial, Noan. The corruption within is not always loud. Sometimes, it whispers."
"This dimension was not made to punish... it was forged to reclaim."
The pathway rippled.
Ahead, an enormous gate of fractured mirrors twisted into view. Behind it, whispers began—echoes of their own voices, distorted slightly... exposing inner arguments they never voiced aloud.
Klexis clenched his fists.
Klexis:
"So what now? We look into ourselves and either emerge... or drown?"
Creation Stone: (pulsing dimmer now)
"Even I do not emerge unscarred. I once believed compression would keep Avia safe... restrict power so no one becomes a god. But now… I doubt. What if I only birthed more fear?"
Tarren, for once, softened.
"Then maybe you're not a god. Maybe you're just... like us. Trying."
Klexis nodded, his expression heavy but clearer.
"Let's go. Whatever waits inside... it's time to face it."
The gates opened.
Each of them stepped through a different mirror—three paths, tailored to their denials.
Klexis walks into a world where his father never died—but he did.
Tarren faces himself… as a child who begged for strength after being powerless to save his village.
Noan finds a world where everyone praises him... but he knows it's all fake, and he can't stop smiling anyway.
Back in the metaphysical hallway, the Creation Stone glowed alone.
A faint crack appeared across its perfect surface.
Creation Stone: (whispering to itself)
"Maybe… power isn't meant to restrain. Maybe it's meant to reveal."
Tarren's Trial — The Shame of the Protector
Tarren walks through the charred memories of his village—his home once filled with laughter and life, now haunted by disillusioned faces and crooked smiles of old friends.
Villager 1:
"Oh look, the prodigal coward returns."
Villager 2:
"Did you come back to finish the job, Tarren? Or just to cry again?"
Villager 3 (his old teacher):
"I always said he had power… but no spine."
Their words slice deeper than any blade. Tarren falls to his knees, hands trembling, heart pounding like thunder against a hollow drum.
Tarren (breathless, eyes wild):
"Y-you think I don't know that?! I left! I ran!
You think I don't replay that day every night?
I froze, okay?! The pressure—it shattered me from inside.
I didn't want to destroy anything… I didn't even want the power…"
The elder spits on the ground, his eyes steely.
"Intent means nothing when your fear does the damage."
Tarren (screaming, voice cracking):
"But I'm trying! I'm here, aren't I?!
I could've stayed in denial… but I came to face it.
I came to say:
Yes, I failed.
Yes, I'm scared.
But I'm more than that moment.
Please… let me be more than that moment…"
The world doesn't reply. It just watches.
And that silence?
It's louder than the shame.
---
Noan's Trial — The Weight of Hyper-awareness
Noan stands atop marble steps as adoring crowds cheer for him.
His name echoes like prophecy, banners rise like prayers, statues smile like gods.
But Noan's expression is pale.
Noan (quietly, to himself):
"This… this is too much. Too perfect. Too tailored. This isn't real…"
The crowd begins to chant.
"Noan! Noan! The One Who Knows All!"
He grits his teeth.
He doesn't smile.
He knows.
The golden sky above him flickers. A shadow appears, shifting in form—sometimes a serpent, sometimes a mirror with his face.
The Trial (in his own voice):
"You're clever, Noan. Too clever to be fooled.
But here's a question…
If you know everything is fake… why do you still feel so hollow?
Why do you need it to be real, even while calling it a lie?"
Noan (murmuring):
"Because…
Knowing it's fake doesn't stop the craving.
Because I wanted this. Deep down, I wanted the admiration, the praise…
And now that it's here, I despise it…
Not because it's false—but because I know I don't deserve it…"
The Trial (in a whisper):
"Then who decides what you deserve, Noan?"
"Your regret… or your resolve?"
Noan closes his eyes.
He exhales.
And whispers back:
Noan:
"I'll earn it.
The real one.
Even if I have to walk through every false dream to get there."
And with that—
The applause fades.
---
Klexis' Trial — The Dream That Kills
Klexis wakes in sunlight, in a world that feels like a memory perfected.
There is no war. No Corruption Force.
Elexis is noble.
Traxis is proud.
Merina… is in his arms.
The air smells like peace.
The sky has no shadow.
Klexis (softly):
"This… this is everything I ever wanted. A life where I didn't mess up…
Where I wasn't born to replace a legacy… but to live it."
He walks through the golden halls of Xis Manor.
Elexis claps him on the back, saying "I'm proud of you, nephew."
Traxis ruffles his hair like old times.
Merina laughs, radiant.
But then—
He notices the portrait on the wall:
A different Klexis.
The original.
Dead.
And suddenly, the dream flickers.
Klexis (to himself, eyes dimming):
"I'm not this Klexis… I replaced him.
I'm not the one in these people's memories.
I'm the one who survived."
The sky begins to tremble, cracks running through perfection.
Klexis (to the illusion):
"You're beautiful… but you're not mine.
This world belongs to the Klexis who never failed.
I… I did."
He turns to Merina—she starts to cry, reaching for him.
But he steps back.
Klexis (softly):
"I'll earn your smile in the real world…
Even if you never give it to me again."
And the world—
melts into stardust.
---
Back in the Metaphysical Tunnel...
The three of them breathe.
Sweat on their brows.
Scars of truth across their hearts.
But they stood.
They spoke.
But
And a big but...
Klexis trial was a troll, a calm before the storm... because the trial knows, this isn't really what's going inside the mind of Klexis...
He was taken, swept to the....
The Colosseum of Constant Truth – a grand, infinite chamber of reflective glass and glowing runes. The wind is silent. Klexis stands alone. In front of him, the three orbs float mid-air, humming with quiet intensity. A voice, neither cruel nor kind, speaks with neutral authority:]
---
Voice of the Colosseum:
"Choose, Klexis. But know... every orb is not just a path. It is a declaration of what you've become.
A mirror you cannot shatter... only embrace."
---
Klexis (whispers, eyes darting between the orbs):
"Why do I feel like each one of these is... me? Just in different fonts..."
(He chuckles, but it's a hollow laugh, a coping reflex. His face grows somber.)
Klexis (to himself):
"The red one... Uncle Elexis.
That would mean diving back into the fire that forged him...and almost melted me.
They said I'd be like him. That corruption was my inheritance.
And I believed it.
I became what they feared, just to prove them wrong.
And now that I've returned... am I supposed to fix him?
Or fix me by fixing him?"
---
He steps toward the red orb slightly. It glows warmly... almost like a pulse. But he stops.
---
Klexis (turns to greenish-yellow):
"And this... this one's for Father.
Traxis.
The War Forger. The man who stood between legacy and lunacy.
But he wanted me to choose Devia. To believe in a power I now know is flawed.
If I go to him... I admit he was right... even when he was wrong.
Is that redemption, or just loyalty in disguise?"
---
His eyes soften at the third orb. The blue one. It pulses slowly, like a heartbeat slowed by peace.
---
Klexis (almost tearful):
"Elegia...Merina...
They never asked anything from me, except to stay.
No battles. No broken truths. No deviant philosophies. Just... stay.
But would that be healing... or hiding?
Peace that costs purpose... is that peace at all?"
---
The orbs begin to rotate slowly, as if impatient. The Voice returns, but this time it echoes from inside his own chest.
---
Voice of the Colosseum:
"Choose, not what you owe them...
But what you owe yourself.
Only one orb can be touched. The others... vanish forever."
---
Klexis (grits his teeth, tears streaming now):
"I'm not ready...
I'm still... fractured.
Still learning what part of me is real, and what part was... installed."
(He smirks)
"Colosseum of Truth, huh? You really know how to mess a guy up."
Suddenly, he speaks—not just to himself, but to the legacy he's wrapped in.
Klexis (shouting, raw):
"Uncle! You broke because no one believed in your healing!
Father! You forged worlds but forgot your own son's questions!
And Elegia...Merina...you showed me what it feels like to be someone—not something!"
(He breathes deeply...steps forward. Toward...)
…But the scene pauses here. We don't see which orb he chooses yet.
---
Narrator Voice (a whisper across realms):
_"And so he stood...
Not at a crossroads… but at a truthstorm,
Where love bleeds into duty,
And healing sings alongside hurt.
What he chooses...
Will not just shape his fate…
But rewrite the language of legacy."_
Tutornis, the Realm of Interconnected Cultures – a surreal school-campus blending magic, tech, and cosmic memory. Noan walks through the corridors of nostalgia, reality warping gently with each step.
---
(Narrator tone, poetic & reflective)
Noan blinked… and the Colosseum of illusions dissolved like fog at dawn.
In its place, stood something more hauntingly familiar.
Tutornis.
The school of intersections. Of multiversal dreams and half-forgotten heartaches.
Where his innocence was first... negotiated.
He stood before a broken locker.
Rust from a thousand timelines peeled away as if ashamed.
And then—
He saw himself.
Bent over. Shaky hands holding a metal lunchbox.
A younger Noan, a vessel of quiet fire and bruised silence.
The moment before the bullies took it…
The moment before the world asked him to "man up" instead of speak up.
And the voice returned…
Trial Voice (soft, seductive, cruel):
> "There it is. The moment. You thought of it.
Don't lie now, little pilgrim of peace…
You thought of going back.
Go ahead. Save yourself.
Save the box.
Save the peace.
Save the illusion."
Noan stepped forward—
One foot into the past, into the lie that redemption was erasure.
But then…
He paused.
He knew this trap.
Redemption isn't denial. It's recognition.
---
Noan (quiet, to the Voice):
> "You want me to give in.
Pretend it never happened.
Rewrite the ache... and fake the peace."
Trial Voice (laughing softly):
> "I only want what you want.
That's the trick, Noan.
The test was never me—it was you. Always you."
He turned away.
Let the scene play.
Let the lunchbox fall.
Let the tears come.
Because pain, too, was truth.
And Noan… finally honored it.
---
[Scene – Behind the school building, under a floating tree where dimensions bend softly like paper cranes.]
The young Noan sat alone… sniffling, eyes red, heart cracked.
Then—
A shimmer.
A presence.
Older Noan appears—not towering, not radiant—just... real.
---
Young Noan (eyes wide):
> "W-Who... are you?"
Older Noan (kneeling down, smiling faintly):
> "Not that old... but still older.
I'm you.
From tomorrow, from ten thousand failures and five victories.
I came to say something..."
Young Noan (silent, trembling):
> "They took it again… the lunch... they always—"
Older Noan (gently):
> "I know.
I remember.
It hurt.
You thought being kind made you weak.
But it didn't.
It made you you."
Young Noan:
> "Did we… did I ever win?"
Older Noan (smiles wider, tear in his eye):
> "We did.
Not always how we expected...
But we did.
You never gave up on peace.
Even when it looked like a joke.
Even when they mocked it.
That's why I'm here.
To thank you.
You didn't lose yourself."
Young Noan starts crying again—
But this time, not from pain.
From hope.
---
Older Noan (final words before fading):
> "They called us soft.
But we were water.
We flowed.
We carved.
We became."
And like mist at sunrise—he was gone.
But the warmth… stayed.
And the trial?
It bowed.
Because the one who honors his scars,
Is the one who cannot be broken.
[The air is cold and silent. Tarren kneels in the center of the village square, his voice trembling.]
Tarren (voice cracking):
"I'm sorry... for everything. For being afraid. For freezing up when you needed me. I thought if I could explain—maybe you'd understand... maybe you'd forgive me."
[The silence answers with stillness. No words. Just the wind, and the shift of judgmental eyes.]
Tarren (tears streaming):
"You don't even have to say it. I get it now... You already made up your minds. I'm not even worth yelling at..."
[Suddenly, a deep guttural roar rips the sky. A monstrous screech echoes across the valley. A thick, inky tentacled beast crashes through the northern gate — the same one that nearly destroyed the village years ago.]
Villager 1 (screaming):
"It's back! The Abyss Maw! RUN!"
Villager 2:
"Where are the guards?! Someone get the sages! Call for—"
Villager 3 (whispering with venom):
"Tch… don't even look at him. That coward couldn't stop a sneeze."
[People run. Doors slam. A child cries. No one looks at Tarren. He's invisible, irrelevant… like he was never even there.]
Tarren (clutching his chest):
"...So this is what subtle rejection looks like... not a slap... not a scream... just complete erasure..."
[He stands slowly, shaking.]
Tarren (eyes wide):
"But if you think I'm weak... if you think I'm pathetic... if you think I panic and freeze... then maybe it's time I own that."
[His hands tremble, his breath quickens. His heartbeat echoes like war drums. And then—his Avia ignites. A golden-pink hue flickering with erratic pulses.]
Tarren (gritting his teeth):
"I'm done apologizing. I'm done explaining. I'm done begging for a seat at the table. I'm going to turn my panic... into power."
[He bolts forward, sprinting straight at the monster—eyes wide, fear clawing at his lungs—but not stopping.]
Tarren (screaming through panic):
"You want fear?! I got enough to fill a cathedral!! Let's DANCE, nightmare fuel!"
[The monster lets out a distorted screech. Tentacles lash forward. Tarren dives and dodges, but he's clearly panicking—breath hitching, hands twitching. The crowd watches in stunned silence.]
Villager 4 (murmuring):
"Why is he... running at it?"
Villager 1:
"He's gonna die... right?"
[One tentacle whips across his back. He gasps, almost falls—but something strange happens. His body surges with energy. The pain? Converted. The fear? Transmuted.]
Tarren (grinning through gritted teeth):
"I get stronger... the more I panic."
[He roars and delivers a flurry of punches to the beast's body. Each hit cracks through slime and bone. Every time he flinches or fears, a new wave of power explodes from him.]
Villager 3 (shocked):
"Wait… he's not weakening. He's getting faster..."
Villager 2:
"What kind of power is this…?"
[The tentacles wrap around him, squeezing. He cries out, fear overflowing.]
Tarren:
"THIS IS WHAT YOU MOCKED ME FOR?! THEN FEEL IT!"
[He explodes with an Avian Surge — a blast of glowing panic-energy that disintegrates the goo around him. He soars into the air, locking eyes with the beast's grotesque main eye.]
Tarren:
"You look scary. That's the point. So do I."
[He pulls back his fist — vibrating with unstable energy. It shakes like it might shatter.]
Tarren (shouting):
"This fist carries every moment I was scared to speak! Every time I curled up in the corner of your shadows! But now—"
[He slams the punch into the monster's eye.]
Tarren:
"I SPEAK WITH MY PANIC!"
[BOOM.]
[A shockwave ripples outward. The monster slams into the ground, convulses... then melts into black mist. Silence falls. Then… sobbing.]
Villager 1 (weeping):
"He… he did it…"
Villager 3 (softly):
"While panicking… he won…?"
Villager 4:
"Does this mean… panic isn't weakness…?"
[Tarren stands in the dust, panting, glowing with residual energy. His hands tremble still — but not from fear. From power.]
Tarren (quiet, half-laughing):
"Panic... isn't inability. It's proof I care. It's proof I'm human. And now... it's proof I can still fight."