The light of dawn bled slowly into the forest clearing, painting long shadows across the dew-soaked grass where the seventy stood in a wide circle. They had faced horrors, fought beasts no human should ever face, and emerged victorious. Yet Tashem knew the most treacherous battlefield awaited—the one hidden behind the eyes.
They had made camp near a crystal-laced spring, hoping for rest, but rest would not come. Not yet.
"You've faced the fangs and talons," Tashem addressed them, voice quiet but firm, "but now we fight the enemy you can't see. The one inside your thoughts."
A hush fell over the group. Ayla stood beside him, her hands folded in front of her, the light of understanding in her eyes.
"Gusha," she said, "is not just a brute force. He corrupts from within. He will try to own your mind before your body."
Murmurs broke out among the seventy. Some exchanged glances; others looked at the ground.
"How?" asked a man near the back, brow furrowed. "We feel strong now. How can he touch us?"
Tashem stepped forward, raising one hand. "Not all strength is of the body. He knows that. He hunts the prideful, the afraid, the jealous, the bitter. These cracks… he slips through them like smoke. You will feel him before you see him. In your doubts. In your dreams. In the whisper that turns you against your brother or sister."
He gestured to the ground, and glowing runes began to burn into the earth beneath their feet, forming a large circular emblem around the group.
"This is the ring of truth. We begin training now—not of the blade or fist, but of the soul."
The seventy looked at one another, then nodded. None spoke. They knew what they were about to face was worse than the teeth of monsters.
"Close your eyes," Tashem instructed.
As the circle pulsed with golden light, their consciousness was pulled inward, sinking into the chambers of their own minds. And then—
Darkness.
They stood alone, each within their own mental landscape. One man found himself in a battlefield strewn with bodies—his loved ones, fallen. Another saw himself before a mirror that reflected only his childhood fears. A young woman walked through a corridor of shadows where old memories whispered her unworthiness.
Gusha had found the cracks.
Within these separate realms, illusions began to speak. For some, they took the form of loved ones turned against them. For others, they were twisted versions of themselves.
"You'll never be enough," a voice hissed in one woman's ear. "They follow Tashem. Not you."
"You should be the leader," another voice urged a young man, planting seeds of pride. "You're stronger. Why should he command you?"
Jealousy, fear, anger, bitterness—each a weapon sharpened by Gusha's influence.
One of the seventy, a man named Belor, cried out aloud. In his vision, he was back in the ruins of his village, his family scorched by flames he couldn't stop. Gusha appeared before him, cloaked in smoke, offering to undo the past—if only Belor would break rank.
In the physical realm, Tashem and Ayla walked between the bodies of the meditating warriors. Some trembled. A few wept. Sweat beaded their brows as they fought their unseen enemies.
"They're in," Ayla whispered. "All of them. Can they win this?"
"They must," Tashem said. "Or we've already lost."
Back in the realm of mind, Belor clenched his fists. The vision of his dead daughter reached for him.
"It's a lie," he growled. "You're not her."
The smoke faltered. Gusha's illusion snarled.
"You are not weak," Tashem's voice echoed inside Belor's consciousness—his spirit extending to guide him. "Name the lie. Break its power."
With a yell, Belor plunged his hand into the vision of fire, and it shattered like glass. The sky above him cleared. His heart steadied.
Others began to do the same.
A woman named Seri screamed at her dark reflection until it melted into water.
A young warrior knelt and forgave himself for running from his brother's death, and the chains around his mental self broke away.
The circle in the real world pulsed brighter with each victory.
But not all were winning.
One boy, no older than sixteen, was trapped in a loop of fear. He saw his comrades turning against him, whispering behind his back, leaving him behind. Tears streamed down his face in the waking world.
Tashem knelt beside him, placing a hand on his chest.
"Let me in," he whispered.
He entered the boy's mind and found him in a shadowed room, surrounded by illusions of the seventy mocking him.
"They'll leave me," the boy sobbed. "I'm the weakest. I've always been the weakest."
Tashem stepped forward. "No. You are the stone that will not crack. Come. Stand."
The boy hesitated.
Tashem reached out and gripped his hand. "The power in you is love. Not fear. Use it."
Together, they faced the phantoms, and the room was filled with light. The illusions burned away.
The boy gasped and awoke in the physical world, Tashem's hand still on his chest.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Tashem stood and turned. Many of the seventy were waking, faces damp with tears, eyes glowing with new clarity. A few still battled, their bodies rigid, but hope had been rekindled.
Gusha, in his dark fortress, snarled.
"They resist," he growled. "But not all will win. Some minds are weaker than others."
He sent out a pulse—a final wave of mental invasion, stronger, more vile.
In the circle, two of the seventy suddenly screamed, clutching their heads. One woman began to strike the ground wildly. Another roared, eyes clouded with darkness.
"They've been breached," Ayla warned.
Tashem acted fast. He rushed to the first, the woman, who snarled like an animal.
"You are not alone," he said firmly. "Come back."
But she fought him, her mind clawing inward.
Tashem placed both hands on her head.
"In the name of the Light, I restore you."
There was a flash of brilliance—and she collapsed, weeping.
He turned to the second. The young man was levitating slightly, veins blackened.
Tashem didn't speak. He wrapped his arms around him tightly, letting pure light flow from his core.
The corruption sizzled and fled.
Slowly, the man returned, eyes clear again.
The danger passed.
All seventy slowly stood, breathing heavily. Some fell to their knees, overwhelmed by the emotional weight of what they had endured.
"You have faced the true battlefield," Tashem said, voice hoarse with emotion. "And you have conquered."
"We are whole," Ayla added, looking over them with admiration. "Not just warriors. But minds unchained."
They stood as one. Tired. But free.
And Gusha, watching from afar, scowled.
"They win for now," he muttered. "But I will break them still."
But deep in the heart of the Vale, hope burned brighter than ever.