The sky shimmered overhead, fractured and strange, as Aelric stepped beyond the mirrored veil.
Where once had been a night sky scattered with constellations now sprawled an ethereal expanse—neither day nor night, but a timeless horizon. The stars here did not twinkle; they pulsed steadily, breathing with quiet rhythm, like a heart that had not forgotten its purpose.
Nyara padded beside him, her starlit fur dimmed by the unfamiliar atmosphere, yet her voice rang clear in his mind.
"We are no longer in Eldoria."
Aelric didn't speak. He could feel it too—this was a realm apart, pulled from some forgotten layer of the world's soul. The air was thin and tasted of memory, and every step he took echoed like a question through the silence.
Ahead loomed a monolith: an impossibly tall structure of black crystal, spiraling with celestial engravings. Floating just above a platform of circular stone, the monolith emitted a quiet hum, like a song buried beneath centuries of silence. Around it, six obelisks stood at precise intervals, their tops crowned with spheres of pale fire.
Aelric approached, heart pounding. As he reached the central dais, the stars above flared once—and then the voice came.
"Heir of the Stars. You have crossed the Mirror Sky and entered the Veiled Sanctum. Here begins the Trial of Memory."
The ground beneath his feet shifted. The obelisks lit in turn, casting radial beams toward the center where Aelric stood. The crystal monolith before him shimmered, its runes blazing with ancient light. He was no longer merely standing on stone but suspended within something far greater—a place where time, identity, and fate bled together.
Suddenly, Aelric was no longer alone.
Visions of the Past
The world bent—and when it righted, Aelric found himself standing in a village. Not his own. It was older, grander—high towers of white stone, spires tipped with gold, streets laid in star-metal. People bustled past him, their eyes alight with purpose. He recognized none of them, but something in him stirred.
Then, from the crowd, stepped a boy. No older than Aelric himself, clad in light armor adorned with constellations. He bore Aelric's face—but sharper, fiercer.
And his eyes were alight with starfire.
"Do you remember, Aelric?" the boy asked, and his voice was not entirely human. "Do you remember who you were?"
Aelric opened his mouth—but before words could come, the scene shifted.
Now a battlefield.
The same boy—no, man—stood at the front of an army. The sky above was aflame with falling stars, and monstrous shadows loomed at the horizon. The boy raised a blade unlike any Aelric had seen—silver and flame intertwined, alive with the fury of the heavens.
Aelric watched, horrified and awed, as his former self led a charge into the abyss.
"You were not just chosen," the voice from the monolith echoed, now surrounding him. "You were forged. Burned by duty. Tempered by sacrifice. Remember, Aelric—remember what it means to be Starborn."
The vision exploded in light.
When he blinked again, he was back on the platform, knees buckling, breath ragged.
Nyara stood close, her golden eyes brimming with concern.
"You saw it, didn't you?" she murmured.
Aelric nodded. "My past self. The war. The blade…"
Nyara's voice grew solemn. "That blade was once yours. It is known as Astris, forged from the breath of the first falling star. It will be needed again."
The Door of Echoes
The monolith dimmed, and the ground before Aelric split open, revealing a staircase that spiraled downward into darkness. No voice prompted him this time—only the stillness of expectation.
The trial was not done.
They descended in silence. With each step, the air thickened, heavy with age. Runes carved along the walls glowed faintly as they passed, telling stories in light—of stars born and slain, of worlds uplifted and cast down.
The passage opened at last into a vast chamber beneath the surface. The Temple Beneath Time.
Here, starlight dripped from the ceiling like liquid, forming shimmering pools. At the center stood an altar—and upon it, an obsidian gate etched with celestial patterns.
Thalin stood before it.
Or at least, something wearing his form.
"Aelric," the figure greeted him. "I wondered when you'd arrive."
Aelric approached warily. "You're not him."
"No. But I remember him. Just as I remember you. Every version of you that ever was." The false Thalin smiled without warmth. "This is your final threshold."
The altar pulsed. The gate shuddered.
"You must give something," said the figure. "A truth. A wound. A memory. Something you have never told another soul."
Aelric hesitated. "What does this have to do with the Trial?"
"Everything. If you cannot face yourself, how can you face the stars?"
Aelric's fists tightened. He looked at Nyara. She nodded once—no help, only presence.
"I was afraid," Aelric said at last. "When my powers awakened. I didn't feel chosen—I felt cursed. Everyone looked at me like a savior, but I felt like a fraud. Sometimes… I still do."
Silence.
Then the gate responded.
Its runes glowed white-hot. The air crackled. The illusion of Thalin bowed and vanished into mist.
The gate opened.
The Trial Deepens
Beyond was not another room—but a sky.
Aelric stood upon a floating shard of land suspended in a void filled with constellations. Islands drifted nearby, each one hosting a statue—colossal, magnificent, each a figure clad in armor of different stars.
"Who are they?" Aelric whispered.
Nyara answered, voice reverent. "The first Starborn. Your forebears. You walk where only one has walked in an age."
Suddenly, one statue stirred.
Stone flaked away.
From it emerged a tall warrior, starlight burning from within his form. His eyes bore galaxies.
"You seek our mantle," he said. "Then face me, Aelric. Show me you are worthy."
The duel began.
Blade against blade. Magic against will. The warrior struck like a falling star—impossibly fast, devastatingly precise. Aelric parried, dodged, pushed back, his every breath a war cry.
He fought not just for his survival—but for his right to bear the legacy of the stars.
The duel lasted what felt like hours.
At last, Aelric drove the warrior back, light exploding from his sword.
The starborn warrior knelt. "You have faced memory, darkness, and yourself. Rise, Aelric, heir of the stars."
Aelric gasped for breath, sweat streaming from his brow. He felt something unlock in his spirit—a bond once lost, reforged.
The Trial of Stars was not over.
But a door had opened.
Behind him, the celestial gate opened again—this time revealing a horizon of infinite paths.
Nyara stepped beside him. "You've passed the Temple. But your journey deepens. The Trial will continue in the Sky of Echoes."
Aelric turned, and the stars before him shimmered like a promise and a threat.
As they stepped into the glowing threshold, a vision overtook Aelric once more.
A tower, impossibly high, piercing the clouds.
A figure cloaked in void, standing atop it—eyes like dying stars, watching him.
A voice echoed through space and soul.
"You awaken, little heir. But so do I."
The vision shattered. Aelric stumbled.
"What did you see?" Nyara asked.
He stared into the dark beyond the threshold. "The one who waits at the end. And the sky is not the limit."
They stepped through, into the unknown.
The Trial of Stars was only beginning.
~to be continued