The stone platform beneath their feet rumbled, the radiant glyphs that had marked their victory flickering before fading into the abyss below. The first stage of the Trial of Ascension was over. They had survived the illusions, the fangs of phantoms, and the crushing weight of their own fears.
But survival in the first trial meant nothing—because the path ahead was darker.
"Still breathing, aren't you?" Callen groaned, resting his back against the wall. His robes were torn, his blade nicked from overuse, but there was a glint of pride in his eyes.
Lyra, silent as ever, wrapped a bandage around her arm, her gaze fixed on the runes slowly appearing on the opposite wall. They weren't idle marks—they were instructions. A warning.
> The First Test: Confront the Echoes of Your Past.
The Second Test: Descend into the Forgotten Depths.
Reinhardt's heart thumped. He remembered this part—vividly. The Forgotten Depths weren't just another dungeon floor. They were the grave of countless aspirants, buried in silence and shadows.
Elira broke the silence, stepping closer to him. Her voice was softer than the arrogance she once used to shield herself.
"So… you knew, didn't you? That it wasn't over."
Reinhardt met her gaze. Her eyes weren't mocking this time—they were searching.
"I've been here before," he admitted, words weighing heavy. "And I know what's waiting. This next stage isn't about strength alone. It's about trust. If we falter even once, we'll be swallowed whole."
Elira's lips parted slightly, but she said nothing. Instead, she nodded, her hand tightening around her spear.
The chamber groaned, walls splitting apart to reveal a staircase spiraling downward. A cold mist rose, carrying with it a sound—a whispering chorus that seemed to gnaw at their very thoughts.
"Don't listen too long," Reinhardt warned. "That's how it begins. The Depths speak, and if you answer, you never come back."
Darius scoffed, though his usual arrogance carried a forced edge. "Whispers won't break me." But even as he said it, Reinhardt noticed the faint tremor in his hand.
They began their descent. Step by step, the light of the surface faded until only the faint glow of enchanted stones lit their path. Shadows clung to the walls like living things. The air grew heavier, thick with the scent of damp earth and something older—something restless.
Lyra suddenly froze. "Did you hear that?"
From the darkness, faint figures began to take form. Not monsters. Not illusions. Something worse.
"Elira…" Reinhardt's voice was sharp. "Don't look at them."
Because what emerged from the shadows were not faceless enemies—but familiar ones. Figures from their pasts. A brother lost. A mother forgotten. A rival who should've been dead. Each one a piece of the life they thought buried.
And among them, Reinhardt saw it—himself.
A broken version of Reinhardt, the one who had failed, the one who had died alone, reaching out with bloodied hands.
Elira gasped, her voice trembling. "What… what is this place?"
Reinhardt clenched his fists. "This… is where the Depths try to break you. By showing you everything you couldn't save."
The whispers grew louder, pressing against their ears, tempting them to listen. To answer.
Callen dropped to one knee, struggling. Darius's prideful expression cracked, his teeth grinding as a familiar face emerged before him.
Reinhardt knew this was only the beginning.
The second trial had begun.