Ronan didn't speak. The deeper they ventured, the more the silence grew oppressive. The light from the runes cast long shadows that shifted, despite no change in their positions.
Eventually, they reached a split in the corridor.
Two paths.
To the left, a descending stairway filled with smoke and occasional sparks. To the right, a smooth hall that seemed unnaturally still.
Before they could choose, a holographic figure flickered into view between the paths.
It was a woman—tall, cloaked in white with a crown of circuitry. Her eyes glowed with artificial warmth.
"Welcome, Heir of the Blast Core."
Ronan froze. "Who are you?"
"I am Archive-7, overseer of the final trial. Before the Core Flame can be touched, one must pass the trial of division—will, heart, and truth. You must separate."
Kael frowned. "Separate?"
"You three have walked together for too long. Power cannot be claimed in comfort. Each path leads to what you fear most."
Ronan looked to Lyra, and then to Kael. "We split up. Just for now."
Kael nodded reluctantly. "See you at the end."
Lyra hesitated longer. Her eyes lingered on Ronan. "Be careful."
"You too."
They took separate paths.
The hall beyond Sentinel Prime's chamber was vast—an ancient corridor carved from obsidian and etched with glowing runes. As Ronan, Lyra, and Kael stepped forward, the air grew warmer, heavier, as if reality itself was bending to make room for something… older.
Ronan's system pulsed again.
**[Core Flame Detected. Proximity: 3.2 km.
Warning: Prolonged exposure may trigger forced synchronization.]**
He glanced at the warning. The words *forced synchronization* sat like a boulder in his stomach. The Core Flame was no ordinary artifact. This was the power the Circle feared—sealed away, lost to time.
Kael whistled low. "This place doesn't feel abandoned. Feels like something's watching."
Lyra nodded. "I feel it too. Not eyes, exactly. Just… presence."
Ronan descended into the smoky stairway, each step hotter than the last. Soon, flames danced along the walls—controlled, but alive. His system's warnings became more frequent.
*[Core Sync Rising: 67%... 69%... 72%...]*
At the bottom, he entered a dome-shaped chamber. In the center, suspended in midair, was a flickering sphere of golden-red light—the Core Flame.
And beneath it… a figure.
His own face.
But twisted—older, colder, eyes burning with rage.
"Welcome, Ronan," the other version said. "You came looking for power. But are you willing to see what it makes you become?"
Ronan stepped closer to the Core Flame, but his eyes remained fixed on the twisted version of himself.
"You're not real," Ronan said.
"I'm more real than you want to admit," the double replied, walking in a slow circle. "I'm the Ronan you become if you keep following this path. The one who chooses power over people. Purpose over heart."
Ronan clenched his fists. "That's not who I am."
"Not yet." The twisted Ronan raised a hand, and the fire in the chamber surged. "But the Core doesn't just give power—it magnifies what's inside. And inside you… is anger. Fear. A thirst to never be weak again."
Flames erupted around them. Ronan's system buzzed in his ears.
*[Core Sync: 81%]*
"Stop trying to scare me," Ronan said. "I'm not afraid of becoming strong."
"No. But you should be afraid of what you'll lose."
With a roar, the double lunged at him, their fists colliding with explosive force. Ronan flew back against the chamber wall, but landed on his feet.
"Bring it, then," he growled.
They clashed again—blast against blast, flame against flame. Ronan's attacks were driven by resolve. But his double fought with fury, with the cruel precision of someone who'd already given in.
The system buzzed again.
*[Sync at 88% — Unstable]*
Each time their fists met, the Core Flame pulsed brighter. Ronan felt it crawling into his mind, dragging thoughts to the surface—memories of being mocked, of failure, of helplessness.
"Remember when they laughed at you?" his double hissed. "When you cried, and no one came? When your father died, and they called you cursed?"
Ronan's breath caught.
"Don't pretend you don't want revenge."
"I want justice."
"They're the same thing. You just haven't admitted it yet."
Ronan faltered. A blast caught him square in the chest, knocking him to the floor. His ears rang. The flame above him pulsed.
*[Sync: 91%]*
The double stood over him. "You could end it all. Take the Core Flame. Burn them. Become the Judge they fear."
Ronan looked up—at the twisted version of himself, and then at the flame.
Then he whispered, "No."
He reached into his system—not for more power, but for balance. He thought of Lyra. Kael. His mother. Of the people he still wanted to protect, not destroy.
He stood.
"I'm not you."
The fire around him shifted—grew calm. A single pulse of white light erupted from Ronan, and the double vanished in a burst of ash.
The Core Flame descended slowly, hovering before him.
And the system spoke:
**[Trial Passed. Core Flame Compatible.
Legacy Awakening — Initiated.]**
---
*Meanwhile…*
Kael stood in a maze of metal walls, pursued by whispers from voices long dead. His trial was guilt—his past as a Circle soldier.
Lyra stood before a mirror that refused to show her reflection, only the lives she couldn't save.
Each of them faced their pain.
Each emerged, changed.
---
*Back in the central chamber*
The three paths converged once more, and Ronan, Lyra, and Kael returned—worn, silent, but alive.
Ronan held the Core Flame in his palm. It had shrunk to the size of a heart, pulsing quietly.
"I passed," he said.
"So did we," Lyra whispered.
Archive-7 flickered into view again. "Then your fate is sealed. The Circle cannot stop what has begun. The Judges… are watching."
The runes around them dimmed.
Ronan closed his hand around the Core Flame.
This was only the beginning.
The Resistance base was quiet when the three returned.
Ronan stepped off the transport platform with the Core Flame still pulsing faintly in his palm. Its energy had calmed—but deep inside, he could feel its presence burning, patient… and alive.
Others noticed.
The Resistance officers glanced at him with a mix of awe and uncertainty. The room seemed to subtly shift whenever he passed. His presence felt heavier. Realer.
Lyra nudged him. "You're glowing again."
"I noticed," he muttered.
Kael crossed his arms, watching him carefully. "Whatever happened in that chamber changed you."
"I'm still me."
"Maybe," Kael replied. "But not the same version."
They gathered in the central strategy room, where the Resistance's top leaders had already received reports from Archive-7's remnants.
"According to the AI," said Director Helan, the greying woman who led the western sector, "your Core synchronization has triggered something dormant. All signs point to activity from the Circle's Judges."
Ronan tensed. "When?"
"We don't know. Days, maybe weeks. But one thing is clear—they've noticed you."
The lights dimmed as Archive-7 projected a map in holographic light—zones of red pulsing across key regions in the empire. One zone was flashing rapidly.
"Their nearest facility has gone silent," the AI said. "Likely reconfiguring or… preparing."
"Preparing for what?" Lyra asked.
Ronan already knew. "For judgment."
Silence settled over the room.
Then he spoke again. "We need to move first."
Kael raised a brow. "You want to strike?"
"No," Ronan said. "I want to *learn*. The Circle's ruled for too long by controlling the narrative. If we expose their lies—what they really are—we can turn people before the Judges arrive."
"And how do we do that?" Lyra asked.
Ronan lifted the Core Flame. "By going deeper. I saw something during my trial… visions of the Circle before they became rulers. Scientists. Builders. Archivists."
Lyra tilted her head. "You're saying they didn't start as tyrants?"
"I think they were trying to protect something. Or *someone*. But they buried the truth when it didn't serve them anymore."
Kael stepped forward. "Then we uncover it."
Helan nodded. "You have our support. Whatever this 'Legacy' is, it's bigger than just power. It's memory. History. And if you carry it, Ronan, then your story has to be told."
Ronan looked around the room. Once, he'd felt like a powerless kid—unseen, unwanted. Now, he was something more.
A beginning.
---
*Later that night…*
Ronan stood on the balcony overlooking the city. The stars above were faint, obscured by the glow of ancient satellites and the smog of industry. But they were still there—watching, like the Judges.
He didn't hear Lyra arrive, but he felt her presence.
"You good?" she asked.
"No," he said honestly. "But I will be."
They stood together in silence. Then she reached out, gently brushing her fingers against his.
"You scared me," she whispered.
"You told me that already."
"Still true."
He glanced at her, and for the first time in a long while, he let his walls fall—just enough.
"I thought I might lose myself."
"But you didn't."
"I almost did."
She leaned against his shoulder. "You came back. That's what matters."
Ronan looked at her, then down at the flame in his palm.
"I won't run anymore."
"Good," she said. "Because whatever's coming—we face it together."
And above them, hidden beyond sight, the Circle's Judges stirred.
Watching. Waiting.
The war for truth had only just begun.
---