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Chapter 3: The Trial of Echoes
The deeper Elian ventured with the shadowed guide, the more oppressive the silence became. No birds sang here, no wind stirred the leaves—only the slow, heavy beat of his own heart, sharp and aching in his chest. Every step felt like wading through thick sorrow, a sea of despair that threatened to drown him.
They came to a clearing, lit only by a pale, cold moon that seemed trapped behind layers of mist. In the center stood a large, jagged stone—an altar scarred with ancient runes that pulsed faintly with a ghostly light.
The stranger stopped, voice low and grave.
"This is the Trial of Echoes. Here, the past will speak to you. Your pain will manifest, and only by facing it can you move forward."
Elian's breath caught. The pain inside him tightened like a vice. He clenched his fists, eyes fixed on the altar. "I'm ready."
The air grew thick, and shadows twisted into shapes. A woman's laughter—soft and cruel—echoed all around. Then, from the mist, she appeared.
She was beautiful and terrible, draped in flames that did not burn. Her eyes were sorrow and rage intertwined. The woman Elian had lost—the one stolen from him by fire and betrayal.
"Elian," she whispered, voice like a song laced with venom. "Why do you chase a light that was never meant for you? Why cling to hope when all is lost?"
His heart screamed, pain stabbing through him like a thousand knives. But he stepped forward, voice steady despite the agony.
"Because without hope, there is only darkness—and I refuse to be consumed."
The apparition's flames flickered, her form wavering. "Then prove it. Bear your pain, and let it forge the path ahead."
The clearing trembled as the shadows pressed closer. Elian closed his eyes, breathing deeply, letting the pain wash over him—not as a chain, but as a fire to steel his resolve.
When he opened his eyes, the woman was gone, replaced by a faint glow rising from the altar.
The path forward was no longer shrouded in doubt. The trial had begun—but so had the true journey.
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