Chapter 7 – The Ashen Trial
The ruins had not ended.
Kael pressed deeper into the earth, the broken gate behind him now just a memory. The passage twisted downward like the throat of a beast, stone walls slick with moisture, the air thick and stale. Every step carried him further from the world above, further into the realm of the forgotten.
A faint glow emanated from cracks in the rock, pulsing like veins beneath the skin of the earth. It was not fire, nor the gentle shimmer of crystals—it was something older, stranger. He could feel the shard in his chest responding to it, tugging him onward like a leash.
Kael's grip tightened around the hilt of his sword. I am walking into the unknown, he thought, but turning back would mean betraying why I came here.
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At the base of the passage, the tunnel widened into a vast chamber. Its ceiling soared high above, lost in shadows. The floor was littered with fragments of statues, their faces worn smooth by centuries. A broken throne sat at the center, surrounded by a ring of black stone pillars.
Upon the throne rested a figure. Not alive, not dead—its flesh had decayed into parchment, its armor cracked and flaking. Yet Kael felt its gaze as though those hollow sockets still housed burning eyes.
The silence broke.
A voice echoed across the chamber, neither entirely spoken nor entirely imagined:
"Another intruder. Another fool who seeks what was never meant for mortal hands."
Kael forced himself to steady his breath.
"I'm not here for greed. I'm here for answers."
The figure rose. Bones creaked. Rusted chains clattered to the ground. Its height was immense, nearly twice that of a man. Black mist seeped from the cracks in its armor, coiling around the throne like serpents.
"Answers?" the voice rumbled, low and thunderous. "Then you will take the Trial. Only the worthy may hear the truth of these ruins."
The mist surged outward, forming a ring that enclosed Kael. Shadows rose from the floor, shaping themselves into vague, half-formed bodies—warriors without faces, soldiers of ash.
Kael's pulse quickened. His instinct screamed to run, but the shard within his chest pulsed violently, as though warning him: This is the path you cannot escape.
The first ash-warrior lunged.
Kael parried by instinct, steel clashing against phantom steel. The impact jarred his arm, sending vibrations into his bones. The figure dissolved into smoke upon death, but two more rose in its place.
Sweat dripped down his brow as he turned, blocking, slashing, moving. Their numbers were endless. Each strike he landed only birthed another enemy.
"Why test me with illusions?" Kael shouted, teeth gritted.
The voice answered, calm and cold:
"They are not illusions. They are memories. Each warrior fell in the war that consumed this place. To step forward, you must face their deaths… all of them."
Kael's heart sank. There were hundreds—no, thousands of shadows shifting in the mist. His sword arm ached already. He would never cut them all down by steel alone.
The shard pulsed again.
A whisper brushed the back of his mind, soft as silk:
Let me out. Use me.
His lips curled. He had resisted its pull for so long, fearing what surrender might mean. But here, against an unending tide, he felt the walls closing in.
Kael exhaled, then let the shard's power bleed into him.
Darkness spilled from his skin like smoke, wrapping his limbs. His sword glowed faintly—not with light, but with an aura of shadow that devoured the faint glow of the chamber.
He moved, and the ash-warriors fell like paper to flame. His blade carved through them effortlessly, their bodies scattering into motes that drifted upward. Power rushed through his veins, intoxicating and terrifying.
Yet with every swing, he felt something stir inside him. A hunger.
The shadows were not just dissolving. They were being devoured.
Kael realized with horror that the shard was feeding, drinking in the essence of each fallen warrior.
"No," he hissed, staggering back. His chest burned, the shard's rhythm quickening. "You won't control me!"
But the power clawed at him, urging him to strike again, to consume more. His breath came ragged, his vision darkening at the edges.
The figure on the throne watched silently, its voice like stone grinding on stone.
"You resist the shard… yet you wield it. Do you not see? You cannot separate the two."
Kael dropped to one knee, clutching his chest. The shard's hunger was a storm inside him. He felt his will slipping—until, in the haze, he remembered a voice. His sister's voice, long gone, whispering in his memory: Don't lose yourself, Kael. Hold on.
He roared, forcing himself upright. He raised his sword with both hands and drove it into the ground. Shadows burst outward in a wave, scattering the ash-warriors in a single explosion of dark light.
The chamber fell silent. The mist receded. Only the throne and its watcher remained.
The towering figure inclined its head.
"You have survived the Ashen Trial. Few ever do."
Kael's body shook, sweat soaking his tunic. He was still standing, but he felt hollow. As if a part of him had been eaten away.
"What… what are these ruins?" he demanded.
The voice grew quieter, almost mournful.
"They are the tomb of the Forgotten Legion. We fought not for glory, but to seal what should never have been born. And we failed."
Kael's throat tightened.
"Failed… against what?"
The figure's hollow eyes glowed faintly, burning with sorrow.
"You carry a piece of it inside you. The shard you hold is not a gift, but a fragment of the Abyss. It will grant you strength. It will grant you victory. But each time you wield it, it will claim more of you."
Kael's hands trembled on his sword. His heart pounded with denial.
"Then why do I still live? Why did it choose me?"
The figure stepped closer, towering above him.
"Because the Abyss does not choose. It devours. And you are already marked."
For a long moment, silence filled the chamber. Kael's breath echoed, shallow and harsh. He wanted to scream, to curse, to deny everything—but deep down, he knew the words were true.
The figure placed a gauntleted hand on the hilt of its rusted blade, then lowered its head.
"You are free to leave. But know this: the shard will draw you deeper. To fight it, you must seek the heart of the Abyss. There is no other path."
The shadows folded in upon themselves, and the throne crumbled into dust. The figure dissolved, leaving only echoes.
Kael staggered, alone again. The chamber felt heavier than before, its silence deafening. He touched his chest, where the shard pulsed faintly, almost like a heartbeat.
For the first time, he feared not the ruins, not the shadows, but himself.
He whispered, voice shaking:
"If this is my fate… then I'll carve my own ending. Not the one the Abyss wants."
And with that vow burning in his mind, Kael stepped forward into the darkness once more.