[Scene: Chamber of the Third Trial – Doors of Weight]
Vannes stared at the boy in green still panting near Gate 3.
His goggles slid down his nose. His mouth hung open.
Vannes (bewildered):
"...What is happening?"
Katrina, standing beside him, didn't even blink.
Katrina (flatly):
"The gates are heavy."
She folded her arms, eyes scanning all three paths.
Katrina:
"The old man said this trial is about strength.
This is it.
Push the gate — enter the trial."
Vannes tilted his head slowly, absorbing.
Vannes (murmured):
"I see..."
Katrina (nods, continuing):
"Gate 3 leads straight to the final trial.
So it's probably the heaviest.
Gate 1 is the normal route. That one's likely the lightest."
She didn't say "easiest."
She didn't have to.
Katrina (internal):
"But then… how did that old man open Gate 2 without even breaking a sweat?"
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
Meanwhile, one by one, candidates stepped forward.
Toward Gate 3.
Another.
Then another.
All of them failed.
Some grunted.
Some screamed.
But none of them moved the door an inch.
Eventually, a few gave up and moved to Gate 2 — hoping Trial Five might somehow be easier than Trial Four.
More struggled.
Some collapsed.
Time passed.
Near Gate 2, someone shouted in frustration:
"Go to Gate 1, dammit! You're wasting your time here!"
Most of the candidates were near Gate 2 or Gate 3.
Except—
Vannes.
Dusting off his knees. Wiping his brow.
He hadn't tried Gate 2 or Gate 3.
Still he walked toward Gate 1.
Vannes (grumbling):
"If no one's gonna be the guinea pig, guess I'll do it."
He stepped up.
Hands on the gate.
Pushed—
CREEEEAK.
A low groan of ancient hinges.
The door gave way. Just slightly.
Vannes yelped as it lurched inward.
He fell forward — stumbled through.
WHAM.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Silence.
Then someone whispered:
"...He opened it?"
Another:
"Wait, was it that easy?"
But Katrina just stared at the now-closed door.
Not surprised.
Not amused.
Just calculating.
Katrina (internal):
"First success. Gate 1. Standard path. Makes sense…"
Her eyes drifted back to Gate 2.
Back to the old man's path.
She stepped forward.
Quiet. Thoughtful.
Hands in her pockets.
Just watching for now.
[Scene: Chamber of the Third Trial – Thirty Minutes Later]
The pressure in the room had changed.
Gate 3 — once a symbol of defiance — now stood abandoned.
No one went near it anymore.
Its silence had humbled them all.
Now the crowd clustered around Gate 1 and Gate 2.
Grunts, groans, yells — the soundscape of frustration.
Some candidates had already passed, from either Gate 1 or Gate 2 .
Most were still stuck.
A few sat slumped against walls, staring at their hands like they'd betrayed them.
But away from the noise…
Two figures weren't moving.
Still. Composed.
Tylon.
Katrina.
They stood still in the vast hall — the only two who hadn't attempted Gate 3 at all.
Tylon sat, leaning against the cold stone wall behind him, one knee raised.
He exhaled slowly, then looked up — meeting Katrina's eyes.
Tylon (calmly):
"You go try it."
Katrina (without missing a beat):
"I don't take orders from strangers."
A pause.
Tylon chuckled softly.
Not insulted — entertained.
He stood.
Rolled his shoulders once.
Tylon:
"Then I'll go first."
The room didn't notice — too busy wrestling stone.
But Katrina did.
She followed him with her eyes, curious now.
Tylon approached Gate 3.
He placed both hands on the door. Gently.
Not a shove. Not a hit.
Just pressure.
A low groan echoed.
The gate… shifted.
Barely a few inches.
The first person in the room to move it.
Katrina's eyes narrowed.
Tylon didn't stop.
He stepped back.
Dropped lower — letting the strength of his legs take over.
Then—
BOOM.
A solid push.
Controlled. Focused.
The gate inched back… then opened wider… wider—
And Tylon slipped through.
No smile.
No showmanship.
Just a nod to the path ahead.
As soon as he released the door—
SLAM.
BAAM!
The sound cracked through the hall like a gunshot.
Everyone stopped.
Two candidates froze mid-push on Gates 1 and 2.
Heads turned.
Mouths opened.
One candidate even dropped to the ground in disbelief.
And Katrina?
She exhaled through her nose.
A tiny, rare smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
Katrina (quietly, to herself):
"He isn't just talk."
She cracked her knuckles.
Still calculating.
[To Be Continued…]