The silence stretched like an unbroken thread as Rohit stepped away from the crimson gate, his shoulders trembling, his fists bloodied but clenched like iron. His grin was faint, but it carried something different—something unspoken.
Ariv noticed it first. He's changed, he thought. Something happened in there.
But before he could ask, Rudraen's voice cut the air like a blade.
"Next."
Two pairs of eyes turned to Neel. He stood still, arms folded loosely, his usual calm etched on his face like stone. No tremor, no visible fear. It wasn't arrogance; it was something else—something that always made him unreadable.
The courtyard gates pulsed again, and this time, a sigil of deep silver flared to life—a crescent-shaped mark that glimmered like moonlight on steel. The temperature dropped. A strange stillness fell over the space, as if the world had exhaled and was waiting for something.
"That's yours," Rudraen said, his tone flat, his eyes lingering on Neel longer than they had on anyone else.
Neel tilted his head slightly, then without a word, started walking. His steps were measured, deliberate.
Ariv muttered under his breath. "He doesn't even flinch…"
Rohit, still catching his breath, whispered back. "Yeah. That guy… he's something else."
The silver sigil above the gate pulsed brighter, bathing Neel in cold light as he reached the threshold. He paused, glancing once over his shoulder—not at his friends, but at Rudraen. There was a question in his eyes, one he didn't voice.
And then, he stepped into the void.
---
The Trial of the Moon
The darkness that embraced Neel was unlike Rohit's suffocating wasteland. This was a silence so profound it felt alive, wrapping around him like liquid frost.
The ground beneath his feet shimmered, reflecting silver light from an endless sky. There was no sun, no stars—only a single massive moon hanging above, its glow staining everything in hues of pale blue.
Neel breathed out slowly. His breath curled into mist.
Then, the voice came—not booming, not harsh, but soft, like whispers carried by wind:
"The moon sees what the sun hides… Truth or illusion, which will you follow?"
Before Neel could respond, figures began to emerge from the silver mist—his parents. Their forms glowed faintly, faces calm, eyes tender in a way that twisted his chest.
"Neel," his mother's voice called softly. "You're safe now. Come home. Forget all this…"
His father stepped forward, placing a hand on Neel's shoulder. It felt warm—real. "This isn't your fight, son. You don't have to suffer."
For a moment, Neel froze. His composure wavered like glass under pressure. His parents—his real parents—were standing right in front of him. Every instinct screamed at him to believe, to collapse into that warmth.
But then… something shifted.
The moon above flickered, dimming for a heartbeat. In that instant, Neel caught it—the faint ripple in his father's smile, the tiny delay in his mother's blinking. Too perfect. Too practiced.
"An illusion," he said flatly. His voice sliced through the silence like ice.
The figures froze, their warmth vanishing as their forms twisted into shadows. Their voices warped, hissing:
"Then embrace the cold."
The ground beneath him shattered like glass. Neel plunged into a void of black water, its chill stabbing into his bones. The surface sealed above him, trapping him in an endless abyss.
His lungs screamed. His chest burned. But Neel didn't thrash. He didn't panic. Instead, he closed his eyes and let the cold crawl deeper.
Calm. Always calm.
The whispers returned, slithering through the water:
"Surrender. Fade. No one will remember you."
His heartbeat slowed. Darkness pressed in. For a fraction of a second, he considered letting go.
Then, something ancient stirred inside him—a pulse of silver light deep in his core. The water around him glowed faintly, ripples bending toward his body.
He opened his eyes. They weren't their usual dark hue anymore—they gleamed like fragments of the moon.
When his voice came, it was quiet but sharp as a blade:
"I don't need warmth. I don't need light. The moon is enough."
The silver glow erupted, tearing the water apart. Chains of light spiraled from his arms, slicing through the abyss like ribbons of steel. The illusions shattered. The void collapsed into dust.
And then—silence.
Neel stood alone, back on solid ground, the massive moon shining brighter than ever. Its light touched him gently, like a silent vow.
The voice returned one last time:
"You have chosen truth over comfort. You are the Lunar Veil."
---
Back Outside
The silver sigil above the third gate dimmed, and the door swung open with a hiss like wind through steel.
Neel walked out—not staggering like Rohit, not drenched in sweat. He was calm, his breathing steady. The only difference was in his eyes. For a split second, they caught the light and glowed faintly silver, like the edge of a blade under moonlight.
Ariv noticed. So did Rudraen.
But neither spoke.
Neel returned to his spot beside them, folding his arms as if nothing had happened. Ariv wanted to ask—wanted to demand—what he saw, what happened inside that gate. But Rudraen's cold voice cut through again:
"The last gate awaits."
And all eyes turned to Ariv.