[Scene: Chamber of the Third Trial – Final Countdown]
A sharp static buzz broke the room's anxious rhythm.
Then—
System Voice (booming, emotionless):
"Attention: 20 minutes remain.
Failure to exit this chamber before the time limit... will result in disqualification."
No echo.
Just the quiet that came after.
The kind of quiet that could break bone.
Katrina stood near the back wall, arms still crossed, eyes now fixed.
She didn't flinch at the announcement.
Didn't even look up.
Katrina (internal, calm):
"...It's time."
The chamber shifted.
Gate 1 and Gate 2 became scenes of desperate movement.
Panic bloomed.
Candidates who had once moved with composure were now pale and clawing at stone — hands raw, voices cracking.
Others?
They just… sat.
Against the wall. On the floor.
Beaten.
People who had tried all three gates — again and again — now stared blankly at the ceiling like prisoners awaiting a verdict.
And Katrina?
She looked down.
Her left hand — flexed once.
Katrina (internal):
"The first time I'll be putting pressure on it since the fight with Alex Zoteb..."
She flexed again.
Slow. Cautious.
Katrina (internal):
"It's still healing."
The treatment cycle wasn't over.
The medication schedule Eron had written? Not complete.
But it didn't matter.
She exhaled once.
Walked forward.
Gate 3 loomed ahead — untouched since Tylon.
It stood like a silent judge.
And she?
She approached without fear.
Placed her right hand on the stone first.
Then the left.
Pain shot up her arm.
Her teeth clenched — but she didn't show it.
Katrina (internal):
"Still a damn pain…
I hope this hand remembers what strength feels like."
She began to push.
The strain hit instantly.
Her right arm responded with stability, control.
But the left?
Shaky.
Uneven.
The difference between her hands was unmistakable.
Still — she kept going.
No screams.
Just grit.
Stone groaned.
Dust stirred.
The gate moved.
Inch by inch — unevenly.
The right side yielded first.
Steady. Dominant.
The left side lagged. Sluggish. Incomplete.
Still, she didn't stop.
Her breath slowed. Muscles tightened.
Every nerve in her shoulder screamed.
Katrina (internal):
"Come on... just a little more…"
Another push.
Then—
CREEEEAAK.
The gate opened.
Enough.
Enough to step through.
One side wide and strong.
The other? Hesitant.
Unbalanced.
Just like her hands.
But it was open.
Katrina stepped forward.
Just quiet, focused power.
The moment her foot crossed the threshold.
BAAM!
The gate slammed shut behind her.
Another echo through the hall.
A second shockwave.
One more soul had crossed Gate 3.
The others turned again — wide-eyed.
One whispered, stunned:
"She… she actually did it…"
But Katrina was already gone.
Into the trial ahead.
Left hand still aching.
[To Be Continued…]