The swirling gate behind them collapsed with a hollow thrum as Roger, Aria, and Kai stepped into Floor Twelve. The world around them reassembled into something alien: vast crimson stone hallways, softly pulsing with runes etched into the very bedrock. The scent of burnt cedar and lightning lingered in the air like a warning. Above them, there was no sky—just the endless ceiling of crimson archways that stretched far beyond vision in every direction. The oppressive silence gnawed at their nerves.
"Where are we?" Aria asked, stepping lightly onto a crimson-tiled path that floated over a blackened void.
"A trial floor," Kai murmured, already tracing the closest rune embedded into the wall. His eyes glinted as he deciphered a few strokes. "This one... it feels like judgment. Like it's watching us. Measuring us."
Before anyone could respond, a hum echoed from deep within the floor. Runes flashed beneath their feet, and the path split into three separate bridges, each glowing with a unique hue—amber, indigo, and violet.
Roger's temporal orb pulsed with tension in his hand. "It's separating us," he growled, stepping toward Kai, but the floor reacted instantly.
Too late to react. Each bridge surged with energy, flaring and collapsing behind them as they were pulled in different directions. There was no time for a plan or goodbye.
They were alone.
Roger – The Trial of Insight
Roger stumbled forward as his bridge shifted into a narrow stone corridor, glowing with faint blue light. At the far end loomed a massive iron door inscribed with unfamiliar runes. It stayed sealed until he neared it.
A voice echoed in his mind:
"You lead them. But do you understand them?"
Roger scowled. "Of course I do."
"Then prove it."
The door creaked open. Inside, three stone pedestals held masks—one with Kai's face, one with Aria's, and one that was blank.
A riddle blazed across the air:
"One hides pain with logic. One masks truth with sharpness. One is still forming. Choose the one who sees you best."
Roger clenched his fists. "Kai. He's stepped up when I faltered. I trust him to see me."
He touched the Kai mask.
It glowed—then shattered.
The next door opened.
Six more doors awaited. Each presented riddles and memories, asking Roger to analyze not his strength, but his insight into the people he led. He relived Kai's quiet resolve, Aria's guarded strength, the silent pressure of command. The trial stretched on, forcing him to confront the choices he made in battle, the times he pushed too hard, or said too little.
Some doors made him hesitate. One asked him to name Aria's greatest fear. Another asked what Kai would sacrifice first—his mind, body, or heart. Roger's answers were not always immediate, and the doors did not forgive wrong guesses. At one point, he was struck by a wave of agony as the walls themselves bled heat when he named the wrong mask.
The questions grew more complex: "Would Aria forgive betrayal?", "What would Kai hide even from himself?" Each required more than just memory—it demanded empathy, trust, and reflection. Roger found himself pacing, gripping his fists until they ached.
He remembered the quiet moments. Aria's gaze lingering after victory. Kai's nervous laughter when he tried to hide his fears. Roger began to answer not from logic, but from heart. That made the difference.
One question made him stop entirely: "What do you fear most about leading?"
He answered, softly: "Failing them."
At the end of the corridor, he stood before a tall mirror. It did not reflect his fire or size—but Kai and Aria behind him, smiling.
"You lead best when you listen."
The mirror shattered. He stepped forward, wiser.
Aria – The Trial of Burden
Fog embraced Aria's bridge, muting color and sound until she emerged into a cracked theater stage bathed in ghost-light. A thousand mannequin spectators filled the seats, blank and unmoving. Above them, strings swayed in the unseen wind.
Then her own voice echoed from the mist:
"You survive by hiding. What happens when the world sees you?"
The mannequins stood. Each wore a version of her mask, whispering accusations:
"You couldn't save him." "You're nothing without your tricks." "You're scared of the light."
Her hands trembled. Her mist blade hissed into being.
"I have bled in silence. I've survived the dark, but I'm not afraid of the light."
She slashed the strings. With every cut, a mask dropped, revealing a familiar face—a mentor, a lost sibling, a child she once saved. Each nodded, then faded into mist.
The whispers grew louder before they died altogether. The mannequins collapsed.
Then came the final figure—a version of herself, untouched by shadow, eyes clear and sharp.
"You could be more," it said. "If you let them see."
Aria stepped forward. "I already am. Because I let them in."
The illusion shattered. She walked on, steadier than before.
Kai – The Trial of Self
Kai's bridge became a chamber of turning gears and suspended runes. A soft ticking echoed like a heart. He stepped forward—then the floor vanished.
He fell.
And landed in his childhood home. Empty. Dusty. Cold.
His father's voice sounded behind him:
"Still hiding behind blueprints and ink? Thought you could escape weakness by becoming clever?"
His father's figure emerged—made of golden fog, eyes void.
"Knowledge doesn't make you worth loving."
Kai's heart pounded. He activated his bracer. Runic symbols flared. The illusion fractured—but it didn't vanish.
Instead, a second figure appeared—his younger self, curled into a ball beside a dismantled rune circuit.
"I don't want to be alone again," the child said. "They'll leave you too. Just like he did."
Kai kneeled beside him. "They won't. Because this time, I won't push them away. I'll fight. I'll stay."
The gears slowed. Light enveloped the room. The child version of him smiled before fading.
Kai rose, pulse steady, back straighter than before.
They emerged into a chamber shaped like a triangle. Cool, white fire flickered in its center, casting reflections across rune-covered walls. The room breathed with quiet pressure. Even without speaking, they knew they had all changed.
Kai was first to speak, voice distant. "That wasn't about strength."
Roger nodded, "It was about why we lead, why we fight."
"And who we fight for," Aria added, brushing a streak of ash from her brow.
They sat by the flame, not in a rush, taking time to just exist together. The bond between them had deepened—no longer just companions, but something more. A family forged in pain and understanding.
A pedestal rose in the center, holding a single golden rune.
They touched it together.
"Trial Passed: Insight and Flame."
A new gate opened at the chamber's edge, crackling with gentle light.
Behind them, the room faded like ash in the wind.
Ahead lay Floor Thirteen.
None of them looked back.