The mirrored gate shimmered quietly behind them, sealing with a whisper of displaced air that seemed to swallow the faint echoes of their footsteps. In its place stretched an immense, hushed vastness—an open cathedral of stone and shadow under a sky so dark it felt like the world itself had been drained of light. Towering stone pillars rose like ancient sentinels, piercing the murky void above. Each pillar was intricately carved, veins of glowing rune-light weaving along their lengths in delicate patterns that pulsed with a slow, rhythmic glow. It was a language older than words, older than memory—primal, alive, and resonating in a way that touched something deep within the soul.
Kai took an uncertain step forward, his boots whispering against the polished stone floor. His wide eyes scanned the pillars, the glowing runes, and the weight of silence around them. "This isn't just architecture," he breathed, voice barely above a whisper. "It's… a harmonic field."
Roger's brow tightened as he observed the ambient light flickering with their presence. "Explain," he said curtly, voice carrying the weight of experience.
Kai swallowed hard, glancing at the runes as they pulsed in time with their heartbeats. "The runes… they're syncing with us. Not just reacting to movement, but emotions, maybe even thoughts. The entire chamber feels like it's alive—feeding on us, testing us."
The Director stepped calmly forward, voice low and measured. "This is the first resonance cluster. The Pit does not always test strength or skill. Sometimes, it tests self—the core of who you are."
Aria's hand drifted slowly toward the hilt of her blade, though the air held no immediate threat. Her gray eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Tests us how?"
The Director's amber gaze darkened, voice softer still. "Pain. Without illusion. Raw truth."
They moved forward cautiously through the stone forest, the vast pillars towering on all sides like ghosts carved from ancient rock. Every footstep echoed unnaturally loud in the cavernous space, as if the place was listening, waiting. The hum of the rune-lines quickened in response to their presence—flashing bright with the rhythm of their pulses, flickering in sync with the rush of adrenaline flooding their veins.
Then, without warning, the hum exploded into a sharp crescendo that vibrated through the air and rattled the very ground beneath their feet.
From the shadows between the pillars, forms began to coalesce, as if summoned from the depths of memory and stone. Figures—humanoid, yet intangible—formed from smoke, dust, and jagged shards of stone. Faces flickered into being, haunting and distorted, yet unmistakably familiar.
Their own faces.
Roger's hand moved instinctively to the orb at his belt, tightening around it. "They're… us?" His voice was rough with disbelief.
"Versions," the Director replied quietly, watching the shifting forms with unreadable eyes. "Reflections twisted by guilt, fear, regret. These are not merely enemies. They are echoes of your past—the parts of yourselves you carry but have not yet faced."
The air rippled with eerie energy as Roger's phantom stepped forward. The figure wore the face of Captain Dresner—his former commanding officer, long dead and betrayed. The copy's jagged blade rose slowly, pointing accusingly at Roger. "You left us to die."
Roger's jaw clenched tight. "No. I saved who I could."
But the phantom advanced, relentless.
Aria faced a younger version of herself—a bloodied, broken girl she barely recognized, tears streaming silently down a face that had buried pain for years. Her double moved with fluid grace and speed, wielding a sword that sang a cold, familiar song. Their blades clashed, mirrored perfectly, each strike echoing lost memories and unspoken regrets.
Kai's opponent emerged with a cruel smile—its face his own, but eyes burning gold, mouth twisted with contempt. It bore the unmistakable aura of the Director's calculating mind. "Why would he choose you?" the phantom hissed, voice like shattered glass. "You're weak. A stuttering scrap of potential wrapped in fear."
Kai's throat tightened as dread flooded his senses. He stumbled back, raising his bracer instinctively, but it flickered, unstable. "I… I'm learning," he whispered. "I will become strong."
The phantom struck with a speed Kai couldn't match. He fell hard, breath knocked out of him.
Behind him, the Director remained still, watching with calm detachment—never intervening.
Kai coughed and forced himself upright, muscles trembling. "I wasn't chosen because I'm strong now," he said, voice gaining strength. "I was chosen because I have to become strong."
Reaching to his belt, Kai pulled free a chalk sliver—a crude, worn carving tool—and with trembling hands traced a rune midair. The rune shimmered uncertainly at first, flickering like a flame caught in a breeze, then solidified into place.
A pulse of radiant energy burst forth, striking the phantom square in the chest. The illusion shattered in a burst of light and smoke.
The air stilled.
A nearby stone pillar glowed softly green—a sign of approval.
Roger parried his phantom's final strike with practiced precision, channeling a burst of time-warped energy from his orb. The illusion crumbled like ash.
He exhaled shakily, heart pounding.
Aria hesitated before delivering the final blow. Her double lowered its sword first, lips parting in a silent apology no one heard. Slowly, the echo faded.
More pillars flared green, their rune veins glowing in gentle acknowledgment.
The Director clapped once, slow and deliberate. "Well done."
Silence followed, heavy and thick.
---
Hours later, they gathered beneath a natural canopy of rune-carved stone, the soft green glow of the pillars dimming as the harmonic field slowed its pulse. The deep rhythmic hum faded to a near whisper, like a heartbeat settling after exertion.
Kai sat leaning against a smooth stone wall, eyes fixed on the rune he'd drawn, fingers tracing its shape in the air as if trying to memorize it forever.
"You did well," the Director said softly, approaching without sound.
Kai looked up, his expression conflicted. "I hesitated."
The Director sat beside him, cross-legged and calm. "Hesitation is human. Adaptation is why we survive."
Kai's eyes dropped. "Did you… face yourself when you first entered?"
The boy smiled faintly, his amber eyes glinting with something unreadable. "No. I didn't have a self to face."
Kai frowned, confused, but before he could press, the Director rose and walked away, leaving only the echo of that cryptic answer hanging in the heavy air.
---
The quiet stretched long into the night, the team bound by exhaustion and reflection. Each carried the invisible weight of the echoes they'd faced, their own inner battles now written into the very stone around them.
The Pit did not just test bodies. It tested souls.
And none would ever be the same again.
The others slept. Aria's breathing had settled. Kai twitched slightly in restless dreams. Even the Director, though still as a statue, had closed his eyes. But Roger couldn't rest.
The orb pulsed gently beside him. Not bright. Not alert. But… watching.
He leaned back against the cold rune stone, eyes open to the endless dark. The silence was thick, clinging to his skin like condensation, and beneath it came the hum again—not from the pillars, but from inside.
A pressure. A presence.
He exhaled. "I've faced this already."
Not all of it.
The voice wasn't his. Or rather, it was, but hollowed out, deepened by time and regret. He sat upright. His fingers reached for the orb, but it didn't activate.
A stone pillar near the camp flared blue-green, casting shifting light across the wall—and from the shadows, someone stepped forward.
Hunched. Burned. Bleeding.
Dresner.
Or the echo of him.
His face was half-gone, scorched by collapse and shrapnel. His voice was a garbled mess of memory and pain. But his eyes—those judgmental, soldier's eyes—were clear.
"You left me. You left us. Thirty-six souls, Roger."
"I couldn't save everyone."
"But you chose who mattered. Me. Your squad. The recruits. You played god."
The orb refused to respond. Roger stood, hands flexing, trying to will himself calm.
"Go away."
The echo stepped closer. Flesh peeled from his jaw like candle wax. "You don't deserve to lead. You carry death like a badge."
Roger backed away, but the runes underfoot pulsed red. A new circle formed around them, isolating the space. This wasn't a dream.
It was a challenge.
The echo lunged, blade drawn—not a real weapon, but the jagged shape of a memory: the same one Roger left behind to die with its owner.
Roger blocked with his forearm. Pain flared. The echo whispered again, inches from his face.
"Tell me their names. Say them."
He growled, shoved it back. "I remember every one."
"Then why won't you say them?"
The echo raised its blade—
—and Roger let the orb flare to life. Not as a weapon, but as a torch. Light burst from its core, and Roger shouted into it:
"Jensen. Kara. Murdoch. Dresner. Velez. Rami. Miro… all of them."
The echo hesitated.
Then cracked.
The face split like glass, pieces shattering outward. The echo screamed—not in rage, but in release. And when it finally faded into smoke, the rune circle faded too.
Roger stood alone again, breath heavy, staring at the space where the guilt had lived too long.
He wiped sweat from his brow. Sat down. The orb pulsed once—blue, this time.
Forgiveness.
But only a little.