Just one trial remains.
Lucien stood still in the quiet, echoing void, his thoughts tangled in the memories of the first trial. His heart hadn't fully steadied since then—not after seeing her. His mother, Elira Vaelor. She had spoken to him, touched his cheek, smiled through her weakness. Even now, her voice seemed to linger in his mind, calm like the sea, infinite like the stars.
"My little star… shine, even in the dark."
Her final blessing before her soul had vanished into the light had felt too real to dismiss as illusion. His heart burned with longing and confusion. Was that truly her? Could souls linger, even after death?
Was it really you, Mother?
Time passed in that silent space. How long, he couldn't tell. It might've been seconds or an eternity. Then, as if his soul stirred before his lips, Lucien whispered into the void:
"I am ready."
The darkness answered.
It pulled him, like a tide made of shadows, and his vision blurred. The nothingness around him began to morph, and for a moment, Lucien felt weightless—suspended in the space between memories and something more.
Then came the light.
A gentle glow broke through the dark, and the world rearranged itself once more.
Wooden floors. A warm hearth. The scent of fresh bread and something sweet in the air. Toys scattered across the living room. A large glass window let in the golden afternoon sun. A modern house, cozy, alive.
Lucien's breath hitched.
He knew this place. The soft beige curtains, the little potted plants along the windowsill, the creaking floorboard near the entrance. His throat went dry.
"No…"
This was his home. The home from his previous life.
Before the transmigration.
Before the fire.
Before everything turned to ash.
A tiny giggle broke the silence.
Lucien turned, and there—racing through the hallway barefoot—was a small boy, no older than five. He had messy black hair, lively eyes that shimmered with innocence, and wore a superhero cape made from a kitchen towel. He ran around the room laughing, pretending to fly.
"Mom! Look! I'm gonna save the world!" the boy declared.
From the kitchen, a beautiful woman with soft chestnut hair and a gentle smile stepped out, wiping her hands with a cloth. "Oh? Our little hero is back at it again," she said, laughing as she scooped the child into her arms and kissed his cheeks.
A man followed—tall, fit, and wearing rectangular glasses. He carried a tray of cookies in one hand. "He's your son all right. Got your drama."
The woman chuckled. "You love it."
"I do."
Lucien could hardly breathe.
That's… me.
That's Dad… and Mom.
He felt a lump build in his throat. The warmth, the smiles, the little gestures of love—they hit harder than any blade could. These were moments he'd buried so deep, he thought he could never find them again. The illusion—or memory—wrapped around him like a cruel embrace.
The boy ran out the door after a butterfly, barefoot and carefree. His mother called out: "Just for a few minutes, okay? And stay close!"
"Okay!" the boy yelled, chasing the insect with happy shrieks.
Lucien followed.
The wind was light outside. The sun shimmered over the small backyard, and the little boy twirled under it, laughing. The world felt whole.
Then the air changed.
A sharp scent. Smoke.
The boy turned. Lucien turned with him.
Flames.
The house was ablaze.
Orange and crimson danced across the windows. The smoke billowed upward like a black storm. Screams—his mother's scream—ripped through the air.
The boy ran. Lucien did too, though he knew he couldn't reach them.
"Mom!" the child cried.
"DAD!"
But the flames roared louder.
The door was hot. The glass shattered. The child tried to go in, but something—someone—pulled him back. A neighbor, maybe. But all the boy did was scream and scream and scream as he watched the only world he knew turn to ash.
Lucien collapsed to his knees beside the child—his younger self—and whispered with tear-streaked eyes:
"I'm sorry… I couldn't save you."
But the memory was merciless.
And just as the last ember faded into ash—
The world changed again.
---
Now he stood in a laboratory.
Sterile white lights, shelves filled with equipment, wires and blueprints scattered across desks. Machines hummed. In the center of it all stood a man—young, sharp-eyed, clad in a white lab coat.
Lucien blinked. It's me… before everything.
His black hair was neatly combed, his face clean, unscarred. His posture showed quiet confidence. Lucien watched as the man scribbled notes, ran diagnostics, and adjusted a sleek metallic prototype.
Then the door opened.
She walked in.
Her hair was dyed a vibrant cherry red, tied up in a messy bun, with goggles resting on her head. She wore a loose hoodie over jeans and carried a cup of steaming coffee.
"You're overworking again," she said, handing him the cup.
The man smiled. Lucien smiled. "Says the one who stayed up coding all night."
"Touché." She sat on the edge of the table and sipped her coffee. "When this is all over, let's run away somewhere quiet. Just us. Somewhere without tech, no shady companies, no governments breathing down our necks."
"A cabin in the mountains?"
"Exactly." Her eyes sparkled. "Promise me."
"I promise."
Lucien watched from the shadows, heart clenching.
She was his everything.
But as always in this trial, the peace didn't last.
The next day, shady men arrived—three of them. Suits, cold stares. They spoke in quiet tones, demanding something. A weapon. An experimental device capable of disabling security networks across cities. They offered money. Influence.
Lucien refused.
"This tech wasn't meant for destruction."
The air turned cold. Threats followed.
That night, Lucien's lab was raided.
He was drugged. Kidnapped.
When he awoke—
He was tied to a chair. Blood trickled down his face. The room was dark, grimy, like an abandoned basement.
Across from him, she was tied too—his love. Bruised. Breathing hard.
Her eyes widened when she saw him. "Lucien…"
He struggled against the restraints, screamed her name, cursed the men surrounding them.
One of them stepped forward. "Finish the device, or we kill her."
Lucien's eyes flared with rage. "Go to hell."
They didn't wait.
A knife. A scream.
Blood soaked the floor.
She cried out, trembling. "Lucien… don't give in…"
He tried to move, to save her, to do something, but he was powerless. All he could do was watch as they hurt her—until she grew quiet, her breath fading.
Her final words—just a whisper—
"Run to the mountains for me… okay?"
She smiled, even in pain.
Lucien screamed, truly screamed, as if his soul shattered. One of the men slashed his cheek in anger, leaving a jagged wound.
And then—
Everything faded again.
---
Lucien stood now, once more himself—the observer.
His cheek burned. His chest heaved. He was shaking, hunched over, the pain of two lifetimes crashing down upon him.
"Stop… please stop…"
His voice cracked. His heart felt like it was being ripped apart. The memories—so vivid, so real—they were him. They were his life. And in this void, there was nowhere to run.
Lucien fell to his knees.
"Why… Why show me this…?"
He gripped the floor as if it could ground him. His breaths turned ragged. For the first time, Lucien felt like he might truly break.
And then—
The voice.
Soft. Familiar.
"You can't give up,Lucien."
It echoed like a whisper through the void.
The same voice he had heard during the Aura Endurance Test.
Her.
The mysterious woman.
Lucien's trembling ceased, if only slightly. He looked up into the darkness.
"Who are you…?" he whispered.
The voice was gentle. Comforting. "You have endured much… but your pain is your fire, Lucien. Let it forge you."
A flicker of light sparked in front of him.
His breath steadied. His tears dried.
He rose slowly, still carrying the weight of the past—but now, there was something else in his eyes.
Resolve
Bonus scene
Lucien stood in a dark alley. Rain poured from above, soaking the cracked pavement. A flickering neon sign buzzed behind him. The smell of oil and smoke clung to the air. Footsteps echoed in the distance.
Lucien turned.
There he was.
One of the men—the one who had left the scar on his cheek.
A bit older now, wearing a coat, walking casually as if the past didn't stain his hands. But Lucien recognized him instantly. He could never forget those cold eyes.
Something in Lucien clicked.
He stepped forward from the shadows.
"Hey."
The man turned, annoyed. "Who—" But he didn't finish.
Lucien's fist smashed into his face with brutal precision. The man stumbled back, crashing into the wall. He reached for something in his coat—a weapon—but Lucien moved faster.
Years of training.
Years of pain.
Years of waiting.
Lucien's blade was already drawn—a gleaming arc of cold steel that slashed through the air like justice given form. He drove it into the man's thigh, pinning him to the wall.
"You remember me?" Lucien said, voice like thunder rumbling before a storm.
The man screamed in pain. "W-Wait! Please—!"
"You remember her?" Lucien snarled, grabbing his collar. "The girl you tortured? The one who smiled even while dying?"
"I—I was just following orders—!"
"And I'm delivering judgment."
The man's scream was drowned by the wind and rain, as Lucien slammed him into the wall again.
No one heard him beg.
No one stopped Lucien.
With one final movement—clean, swift, merciful in comparison—Lucien ended it.
He stood there for a moment in silence, rain running down his face like tears he no longer had.
Not vengeance.
Just closure.