The crystalline gate shimmered as if whispering secrets to the air itself. The sigils that had glowed moments ago now pulsed in a slower rhythm, like a heartbeat counting down to something inevitable.
Vaishnavi was gone. The silence she left behind was louder than any scream.
Rudraen's gaze swept over the remaining three. His presence alone felt like a wall—unshakable, immovable. "Next," he said simply, his voice echoing through the grand courtyard.
Rohit shifted uneasily under that weight. He wasn't the type to show fear—at least, not in front of his friends—but even he couldn't keep his hands from curling into fists.
"Why her first?" Rohit muttered, almost to himself. "Why not me?"
Ariv glanced at him. "Does it matter?"
"Of course, it matters," Rohit shot back, his voice sharper than he intended. "If this is some… some kind of ranking thing—"
"It's not," Rudraen interrupted, his tone flat yet final. "The sequence doesn't decide worth. Only the gates do."
The explanation—or lack of it—did nothing to ease the tension. The glowing doors rippled again, and this time a different sigil flared to life, crimson like the heart of a forge. Its glow painted Rohit's face in an ominous hue.
"That one is yours," Rudraen said.
Rohit's throat tightened. For a heartbeat, he thought about refusing. About saying no, walking away, letting someone else go first. But deep down, he knew what would happen if he did.
He wouldn't get another chance.
With a sharp inhale, Rohit took his first step toward the crimson-lit door. The sound of his shoes against the polished floor echoed like a drumbeat in Ariv's chest. Each step was heavier than the last, as if the weight of the entire realm pressed down on his shoulders.
The sigil above the gate pulsed brighter the closer he came. Its light crawled across his skin like living fire, almost branding him with an unseen mark.
He stopped at the threshold, staring into the black void beyond the door. It wasn't just darkness—it was something that felt alive, something that pulled at the edges of his mind like cold fingers.
"Inside," Rudraen ordered.
Rohit looked back at his friends, just once. Ariv met his eyes and gave the smallest nod he could manage. Neel didn't move, didn't blink, his face unreadable as ever.
Rohit swallowed hard. "Fine," he muttered. "Let's get this over with."
And then he stepped inside.
---
The Trial of Stone
Darkness closed in on him like a living thing. For a moment, Rohit thought he had gone blind—but then a faint red glow bled into the space, spreading across what looked like an endless wasteland of shattered earth. Jagged stone spires rose from the ground, casting cruel shadows that stretched like claws.
The air was heavy. Breathing felt like dragging molten iron into his lungs.
And then, a voice. Deep, resonant, echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once:
"The strength of stone is not its weight… but its will."
Rohit spun around, searching for the source—but there was nothing. Just that voice, crawling into his mind.
A massive slab of rock materialized in front of him—so big it dwarfed even the tallest spire. Its surface shimmered with glowing runes that pulsed like veins of fire.
The voice spoke again:
"Break it. With your strength… or with your spirit."
Rohit clenched his fists. "That's it? Smash a rock? Fine by me."
He charged, slamming his fists against the slab. The pain shot up his arms like liquid fire, but he didn't stop. Strike after strike, his knuckles tore open, blood smearing across the glowing surface.
But the rock didn't even crack.
His breath came in ragged gasps. His body screamed at him to stop. But something deep inside—something older than words—kept him moving.
And then, he heard another voice. Softer. Familiar.
"Rohit… give up. You're not strong enough."
He froze. The voice wasn't his own. It sounded like… his father.
The shadows around him rippled, and a figure stepped forward—his father, standing tall, eyes cold with disappointment.
"Pathetic," the figure said. "You were never meant to hold the Stone Veil. You were never enough."
Rohit's chest tightened. His fists trembled. He wanted to scream, to fight back, but his throat was locked.
The voice returned, heavier than before:
"Will you yield… or will you endure?"
Something inside Rohit snapped—not in despair, but in defiance. He roared, his voice tearing through the silence like a storm.
"I am NOT weak!"
The ground trembled. His body surged with an energy he had never felt before—not fire, not lightning, but the weight and calm of mountains.
When his fist came down, the slab didn't just crack—it exploded into dust, the force shaking the entire wasteland.
The voice spoke one last time, now softer, almost approving:
"Endurance is strength… and strength is life."
And just like that, the darkness shattered.
---
Back Outside
The crimson sigil above the gate dimmed. The heavy door slid open with a low groan. Rohit stumbled out, drenched in sweat, his fists raw and bleeding—but his eyes burned with a fire they hadn't held before.
Ariv and Neel stared at him, questions clawing at their throats—but before they could speak, Rudraen raised a hand.
"No words," he said coldly. "Not yet."
Rohit didn't care. He didn't need words. He just looked at his friends and gave a small, crooked grin that said everything:
I made it.