They left the valley before dawn.
Mist clung to the ground like a thin blanket, and the ruins slowly disappeared behind them as they followed an old stone road that led toward the distant towers. Vryllos Belyx did not follow—but Kael felt the dragon's presence remain, like a steady weight at his back.
Watching. Remembering.
Ravik stretched as they walked. "So," he said, "where exactly are we going?"
Solaryn pointed ahead. "To a place called Letharyn Gate."
Orin frowned. "Never heard of it."
"Most haven't," Solaryn replied. "It appears only when it is needed."
Kael glanced at her. "Needed for what?"
She met his eyes. "For judgment."
The road grew narrower as the sun rose. Broken statues lined the path—figures worn smooth by time, their faces erased. Some held swords. Others held books. A few held nothing at all.
Kael slowed. "Who were they?"
"Those who came before," Solaryn said. "Some passed. Some didn't."
Ravik grimaced. "Encouraging."
As they reached the end of the road, the air shifted.
The world seemed to fold inward, and suddenly a massive archway stood before them—tall, pale stone etched with faint gold lines. Beyond it lay nothing but white mist.
Orin tightened his grip on his spear. "That's the gate?"
Solaryn nodded. "Letharyn Gate."
Kael stepped closer. The symbols on the arch glowed brighter as he approached.
A voice echoed—not loud, not soft, but everywhere.
Only the Witness may enter.
Ravik opened his mouth to protest.
Kael raised a hand. "It's alright."
He turned to his companions. "I'll be back."
Ravik frowned. "That's what everyone says."
Solaryn stepped forward. "This trial is not about survival," she said gently. "It is about truth."
Kael nodded, then stepped through the gate.
The mist swallowed him whole.
He stood in a wide, empty field under a pale sky. No sun. No wind. Just stillness.
In the distance, a small figure sat on a stone.
As Kael approached, the figure looked up.
It was a child.
The boy couldn't have been more than ten years old, wearing simple clothes, his knees scraped, his hands dirty. His eyes were familiar.
Too familiar.
Kael stopped. "Who are you?"
The boy tilted his head. "You know."
Kael's chest tightened. "No."
The boy stood. "I'm you. Before the running. Before the fighting."
The world shifted.
Suddenly Kael saw memories around them—moments he had buried deep. Hunger. Fear. Loss. Choices made because there were no good ones.
"You left me behind," the boy said quietly.
Kael shook his head. "I survived."
"Yes," the boy replied. "But you stopped listening."
The ground trembled.
A second figure appeared—tall, armored, eyes glowing cold.
Another Kael.
This one wore a crown of light and shadow.
"You hesitate," the crowned version said. "That is weakness."
Kael felt his heart race. "You're not me."
"I am what you could become," the figure replied. "If you stop caring."
The child stepped between them. "And I am what he loses if he does."
The sky darkened.
Choose, the voice of the Gate said.
Strength without mercy… or mercy without strength.
Kael looked at both versions of himself.
Then he stepped forward—and lowered his sword.
"I choose neither," he said. "I carry both."
The crowned figure laughed—then shattered like glass.
The child smiled faintly—and faded like mist.
The field dissolved.
Kael stepped back through the gate.
Ravik grabbed his shoulder instantly. "You're back."
Orin let out a breath. "You were gone longer than you think."
Solaryn studied Kael closely. "What did you see?"
Kael looked at the gate as it faded into nothing.
"Myself," he said. "All of me."
The ground shook gently—once.
Far away, unseen forces took notice.
The first trial had been passed.
And the second was already forming.
The world does not test you to see if you are strong.
It tests you to see who you will protect.