The shadows dissolved, melting into the cracks of the stair like smoke vanishing into stone. Silence pressed in, heavy and suffocating.
Kaelen's chest rose and fell, his fire dimming around his hands. Lyra leaned on her sword, breath ragged but steady. The candle-bearer clutched their flame as if it were their own heartbeat, eyes wide with exhausted fear.
For a heartbeat, it seemed the storm had passed.
Then the watchers spoke again.
"Unity. A fragile weapon. Let us see how long it lasts."
The stair groaned. The air shimmered, rippling like water disturbed. The stone walls melted away, replaced by darkness so complete it swallowed even Kaelen's golden flame.
And then, the darkness gave them visions.
Kaelen froze. Before him stood Lyra—bloodied, broken, eyes burning with betrayal. Her voice was jagged as shattered glass.
"You'll fail us, Kaelen. Just like you failed your world. Every time you reach for the fire, you burn someone else to ash."
His throat tightened. "You're not real."
The shadow-Lyra sneered. "Aren't I? Or do I speak the words you bury too deep to admit?"
Lyra herself staggered backward, because before her stood a phantom Kaelen, cloaked in black flame. His voice was cruel, venom dripping from every word.
"You'll never be more than a weapon. A blade wielded, broken, and discarded. He doesn't care for you, Lyra. He only cares for the fire."
Her jaw trembled. She knew it wasn't real, but the voice hit like a strike to the heart.
The candle-bearer whimpered as their vision took shape—an endless void of darkness where their small flame sputtered and died. A whisper followed, colder than death:
"You were never enough. And when your light goes out, they'll leave you behind."
The stair shuddered as the visions pressed harder, circling them like wolves. The real Kaelen and Lyra could barely see each other, each caught in the snare of their own phantom.
Kaelen clenched his fists, his fire lashing out—but every blow he struck passed through the shadow-Lyra like smoke, the words hitting harder than any wound.
His mind screamed at him: Don't listen. But his heart wavered, raw wounds splitting open.
The watchers' voice slithered through the void.
"Flame. Blade. Candle. You are nothing but fractures waiting to shatter. Let us prove it."
The phantoms advanced.
And this time, it wasn't strength or fire or steel that could save them.
It would be trust—or they would be broken apart forever.