The chamber dissolved around Maren, and she felt herself pulled forward as though by invisible currents. The cold marble beneath her feet shifted into something different, something alive — a floor of black glass that reflected her trembling figure.
Her breath came hard, her heart still echoing with the thunder of her trial. She clutched her staff, knuckles pale, though the fear that had once ruled her no longer held the same weight. The shadows inside her whispered, but they whispered softly now. Controlled. Balanced.
Then she realized she wasn't alone.
The vast central hall of the Citadel stretched out around her like the hollow ribcage of a dead god. Pillars of obsidian twisted upward, vanishing into the ceiling lost in darkness. The air hummed, charged with power, with judgment, with expectation.
And one by one, the others appeared.
First, Lys.
The warrior staggered into the hall, blood still crusted on her cheek, her eyes sharp yet haunted. She leaned against her bow for a moment, catching her breath, then lifted her chin. When she saw Maren, something flickered across her face — relief, quickly masked with steel.
"Maren," she said, her voice hoarse but steady. "You made it."
Maren managed a weak smile. "So did you."
Lys gave a single nod, the kind warriors exchange when words are not enough.
Then Rina appeared in a flash of violet smoke.
The rogue collapsed to her knees, clutching at the mark glowing faintly on her wrist — the brand of her trial. Her smirk was gone, replaced by something rawer. She lifted her head, her eyes bloodshot, and looked at the two women before her.
For a moment she said nothing. Then, with a voice that trembled just enough to betray her, she whispered:
"I thought I'd never see you again."
Maren's heart clenched. Lys reached down, offering Rina her hand. After the briefest hesitation, Rina took it.
Next came Thalor.
The knight emerged in a blaze of light, armor scorched, his shield cracked. He stumbled forward but remained upright, dignity anchoring him even in exhaustion. His eyes scanned the chamber, searching for threats — until they landed on his companions.
Something in him softened.
He bowed his head, resting a hand on his battered shield. "The trials… they test more than strength. They test the soul. I nearly failed mine."
"But you didn't," Maren said gently.
Thalor looked at her, and for the first time since she had known him, he smiled — a tired, weathered smile that held both pain and pride.
Finally, Carlos.
The air shimmered with golden sparks, and there he was, standing tall, the Blade of Ascension still burning faintly in his grip. His eyes blazed with determination, but also with the weight of everything he had endured.
When he saw them all together — Lys, Rina, Thalor, Maren — his breath caught. For a moment, he simply stood there, as though trying to convince himself it was real.
Then he laughed, a sound filled with relief and disbelief, and strode forward.
"You're here," he said, voice shaking. "All of you."
No one answered at first. The silence of the Citadel pressed down on them, heavy and expectant. But in that silence, something greater than words filled the air: unity.
The floor beneath them trembled.
Runes flared along the obsidian pillars, filling the hall with crimson light. The Helm's voice thundered, reverberating through their bones:
"You have faced yourselves. You have survived your truths. But the Citadel does not release its champions so easily."
The floor cracked open, revealing veins of molten energy that pulsed like a beating heart. The shadows along the walls twisted into shapes — faces of the countless players who had failed before them, whispering warnings and curses.
"Now you must face one another."
The words struck them like blades.
Carlos's grip tightened on his sword. Lys drew her bow, though her hand trembled. Rina's daggers shimmered into her palms, her eyes wide with disbelief. Thalor raised his broken shield, his jaw clenched. Maren's staff glowed, though she shook her head violently.
"No," she whispered. "Not this. Not us."
But the Helm's voice was relentless.
"Unity is fragile. Trust is illusion. Prove your bond — or perish in betrayal."
The chamber darkened. A circle of fire erupted around them, sealing them in. There would be no escape.
Carlos looked at each of them, his chest heaving. He could see the conflict in their eyes — loyalty against survival, love against fear. The trials had broken them down, revealed their truths, and now the Helm demanded they turn those truths against one another.
For a heartbeat, silence hung between them.
Then Lys lowered her bow.
"No," she said firmly, her voice echoing louder than the Helm's decree. "We've bled too much, lost too much, to destroy each other now."
Thalor nodded, lowering his shield. "If this is the end, then let it be side by side."
Rina's daggers clattered to the floor. Her smirk returned, but it was shaky. "Damn it. Guess I'm sentimental after all."
Maren lifted her staff high, light flaring from its tip. "We choose our own trial."
Carlos raised the Blade of Ascension, fire dancing in his eyes. "Then we face whatever comes together."
The flames around them roared higher, and the Helm's voice shifted — not anger, but something else. Approval.
"Then let your bond be tested in fire."
The ground split open, and from the depths rose a creature of pure shadow, towering and monstrous, its eyes gleaming with malevolent hunger. The failed souls of the Citadel had taken form, coalescing into a single adversary meant to break them once and for all.
Carlos tightened his grip on the blade. His friends — his family — stood at his side, ready.
The Citadel had demanded betrayal.They had chosen unity.Now they would see if unity could survive the storm.