The light rose like fire around her, devouring the crystal chamber, and Maren's pulse thundered in her ears. She had thought herself ready, had braced for whatever vision the Spire would cast upon her. But when the brilliance parted, her breath caught, and her defenses shattered.
She was standing in a library — no, the library, vast beyond measure, stretching farther than her eyes could see. Shelves towered into eternity, crammed with tomes bound in leather, crystal, and metals that pulsed with runes. Rivers of parchment streamed through the air like currents of wind. And at the heart of it, a throne of flame hovered, crowned by a blazing sigil.
Magic filled every corner, every breath, every heartbeat. She felt it surging into her veins as if the world itself had been waiting for her alone.
Her knees weakened. This was the dream she had whispered to herself as a child, the one she never confessed aloud. Knowledge without end. Power without boundary. The chance to understand everything.
The Voice of Power
"Welcome, Maren."
The voice was hers — older, richer, filled with iron confidence. From the throne of flame stepped a woman cloaked in robes of living fire, eyes burning like twin suns. It was Maren as she might have been, her hair crowned in sparks, her staff transformed into a pillar of pure light.
"You've carried scraps," the fiery Maren said, her smile both tender and cruel. "Half-remembered spells, broken relics, secrets stolen from ruins. But here? Here you could hold the whole of creation in your palm."
She gestured, and a book floated from the shelves, pages opening. Sigils writhed across the paper, alive, burning with truths too vast for human tongues. And Maren understood them. Instantly. Effortlessly.
Her heart leapt. She had clawed for scraps her entire life — bleeding, sweating, risking everything for just a fragment of knowledge. And now it was laid bare before her.
The fiery Maren stepped closer, placing a hand against her cheek. "You could surpass them all. The Spire. The Dominion. Even the gods who shaped the realms. You would be the author of reality itself."
Maren's hands trembled. The power sang to her, intoxicating.
The Temptation
The fiery Maren raised her staff, and the world shifted. She stood now above the realms — all of them. She saw the Dominion crumble into dust at a single word. She saw the Verdant Expanse bloom forever, free of corruption, at a flick of her hand. She saw her friends — Carlos, Thalor, Rina, Lys — alive, thriving, unbroken, because she had bent reality to her will.
The temptation clawed at her heart. With such power, she could heal the wounds of every land. She could erase suffering, strike down enemies before they rose, protect everyone she loved without fail.
But the fiery Maren's smile sharpened. "Of course, there is a cost. Not chains. Not crowns. Something simpler. You cannot be human and hold this. Humanity is weakness — frailty, fear, limits. To wield creation, you must shed it."
Maren froze. "Shed…?"
"You know what I mean." The fiery Maren leaned close, whispering like a lover. "You would not age. You would not falter. You would not need their voices, their doubts, their petty struggles. You would be fire eternal. Knowledge incarnate."
The Warning
For a moment, Maren's resolve crumbled. She saw herself seated on the throne of flame, infinite, invincible. She saw herself shielding her companions forever, never again fearing she might fail them.
But then, from the sea of books, a shadow stirred. A figure crawled forward — another Maren, this one skeletal, eyes hollow, skin cracked like burnt parchment. She reached out with trembling hands, clutching desperately at the hem of Maren's robes.
"Don't…" the husk rasped. "Don't give it up. Don't give us up."
The fiery Maren snarled, striking the husk aside. "That is weakness clinging to flesh. Mortality. Pain. Why endure it when you could be eternal?"
The husk dragged itself closer again, her voice breaking. "Without weakness… there's no heart. Without limits… there's no meaning."
Maren's chest ached.
She thought of Carlos, refusing the Dominion's throne. She thought of Rina, spitting in the face of golden chains. She thought of Lys, loosing the arrow that killed her own illusion of family.
And she thought of herself — not as a goddess, but as the woman who had stood by them, flawed, frightened, yet unbroken.
The Choice
The fiery Maren thrust the staff into her hands. "Take it. Become more. End suffering with a word. Or crawl back into weakness, chained to flesh that bleeds and fails."
Maren stared at the staff. The flames licked her fingers, whispering promises. With this, she could ensure her friends never suffered again. With this, she could make herself the shield that never broke.
But then she looked at her hands — scarred, calloused, trembling. Human.
She dropped the staff.
"No," she whispered. Her voice shook, but it was iron all the same. "I don't want to be fire. I don't want to be eternal. I want to be me."
The fiery Maren's eyes widened. "Fool. You'll fail them."
"Maybe," Maren said softly. "But I'll fail them as myself. Not as a flame that forgot what it means to care."
The throne blazed brighter, then cracked, splitting into shards of fire that vanished into ash. The fiery Maren screamed, her form unraveling, until only sparks remained. The skeletal husk smiled faintly before dissolving into light.
The library crumbled into dust, books vanishing like smoke, until nothing remained but darkness.
Return
Maren gasped as the crystal chamber reformed, the light of the Spire pulsing around her. She fell to her knees, trembling, tears streaking her cheeks.
Her friends rushed to her side. Carlos caught her by the shoulders, eyes searching. "Maren? What did you see?"
She shook her head, voice raw. "Power. All the power I ever wanted. And the chance to lose myself in it."
Thalor's brow furrowed. "And you refused?"
Her laugh was shaky, bitter. "I almost didn't. Gods, I almost didn't."
Rina knelt beside her, voice unusually gentle. "But you did. And that's what matters."
Lys placed a hand on Maren's arm. "If you'd chosen it, you wouldn't be you. And we need you. Not a flame."
Maren met their eyes, one by one. For the first time in years, she let her tears fall freely. She had been tempted with everything she had ever craved — knowledge, mastery, safety. And she had chosen to stay small, fragile, human.
The Spire pulsed brighter, its golden light peeling from her and coiling now around Carlos once more, as if recognizing the circle was complete. The final trial loomed.
But Maren's heart, though trembling, was steel. She had faced the fire and chosen herself.