Mr. Arnold's voice echoed through the chamber. "Ronan, your turn now." Ronan gave a slight nod, his expression calm but resolute. Without a word, he stepped forward and entered the shimmering portal. The moment he passed through, everything changed.
Unlike the trials faced by others, Ronan wasn't transported to a battlefield or memory. Instead, he stood in an endless expanse of darkness. The air was unnaturally still. No wind. No sound. No time. From the shadows, a figure emerged, soft footsteps echoing in the void.
She was breathtaking—long black hair flowing like ink in water, brown eyes glinting with amusement, her fair skin almost luminescent in the dark. She wore an elegant, figure-hugging dress that shimmered like the night sky. She floated toward Ronan with unnatural grace, her voice silky and sweet.
"Good afternoon, Ronan," she said, slowly running a slender finger along his jawline. Ronan didn't flinch. Calmly, he replied, "Good afternoon. So… how do I call you?" The woman smiled, her lips curving playfully. "You can call me whatever you want."
Something about this place felt... off. Ronan narrowed his eyes. "This feels different from the others' trials. What's the goal here? How do I complete it?"
She leaned in, her breath cool against his ear. "There's no need to complete anything. Help me... and I'll help you. I can finish this trial for you. Make yourself stronger than anyone else. You don't have to feel sorrow anymore."
Before Ronan could respond, the darkness rippled like water, and the world around him shifted. Suddenly, he stood in a village engulfed in chaos. Fire crackled in the distance. Screams pierced the air. His heart pounded.
He recognised this place. This moment. Ronan, Orin, and Mr. Alden were frantically trying to save the villagers. In front of him, a version of himself was desperately channelling healing magic into a dying man, but it wasn't enough. The man gasped once… and then went still. Ronan—his past self—froze, guilt washing over his face.
The scenery froze. The woman stepped beside him, wiping away the single tear that rolled down his cheek. "I can give you a skill," she whispered, voice tender. "One that can heal even those at death's door. Wouldn't that be nice?"
The world shifted again before Ronan could answer. Now, he was locked in battle, side by side with Mr. Alden. They were fighting a cloaked man radiating intense bloodlust. Steel clashed. Magic flared. Ronan's arms ached, his body bleeding. The woman appeared again behind him.
"I'll help you get absolute power," she said. "You'll never be weak again. No one will be able to hurt those you love… unless you want them to." The scenery shifted once more.
Now, Ronan was interrogating the same man they had fought. Burning the core of the man slowly, methodically. The man screamed, thrashing, as if his very soul were being ripped apart.
The woman appeared yet again. "You can torture anyone who wrongs you," she said softly. "Isn't that justice?"
Outside the trial chamber, Orin clenched his fists. He looked toward Mr. Arnold.
"Sir, please… can you stop this trial? He'll regret whatever he's about to do. I know him. This… this isn't right!" Mr. Arnold's face remained stern. "Sir—!" Mr. Alaric turned, eyes sharp as daggers, silencing Orin with a single glare.
Elenor, with widened eyes, looks at the screen, and Orin thinks, "I just saw an illusion that almost crushed me from inside, did Ronan really go through this. While we are training in the Rift?"
Back inside the trial space, Ronan found himself standing once again in the past. The day he and Garrick were humiliated by the children of Flamecrest and Viridion.
The woman appeared once more, her tone more insistent. "Don't you hate them? Don't you want to teach them a lesson? Show them what happens when they mock you?"
Ronan's eyes stayed on the ground, silent. Then he looked up. "Aren't you afraid of others watching this? The instructors… my friends?"
Her smile widened, sultry and cold. "This is my domain. I decide what they see. Right now, they're seeing what I want them to."
Ronan tilted his head slightly. "Then prove it. If you really have this power, prove it. I'll ask you something. If you answer correctly, I'll help you."
She crossed her arms and tilted her head. "What do you want to know?" "You're reading my memories, right?" Ronan asked. "But you can't read my thoughts. Why?"
She blinked, surprised. Then she chuckled. "Clever. You've shut off your inner world… your original one, at least. That also cuts off your thoughts. But memories? They were still connected to your fake inner world. That's how I accessed them."
Ronan's eyes narrowed. "If my soul power were stronger, you wouldn't be able to read those either."
She nodded, almost impressed. "Correct." "Then tell me—how can I help you?" She smiled. "Use your Keen Eye. Find the seal and break it." "Alright," Ronan said.
He made a series of quick hand signs. Three clones appeared beside him in a puff of white smoke. Each one is identical to him in posture and focus. Ronan sat cross-legged while his clones spread out, activating Keen Eye. Hours passed in that void.
Eventually, the clones began marking invisible boundaries. Ronan focused, channelling his energy inward. One by one, he cut the connections between his memory and the false inner world.
The moment the link severed, the woman's eyes widened in panic. She growled and lunged toward him—but two of the clones intercepted her, grabbing her wrists in mid-air.
"Let me go!" she snarled. One clone leaned in, whispering something into her ear. Her face turned bright red, stunned into silence.
The third clone called out, "Found it! The seal's broken!" He held up a rusted, ancient sword, its blade chipped and worn.
"That's the source," the clone said. "She's a sword spirit. And… an old one." Ronan stood, brushing imaginary dust from his pants.
"Old? Then how come she acts like such an idiot?" The woman, still restrained, glared at him. "Who said I'm an idiot?" Ronan walked up to the broken sword and picked it up. "Come out. Or I'll break this thing."
No response. One clone grinned. "Boss, let's undress her. Humiliate her. Maybe then the original will come out." Ronan narrowed his eyes. "You're here to help me or entertain yourself?"
He made a hand sign. "You're grounded." "Wait, wait—!" Poof. The clone vanished in a puff of smoke. Another clone piped up. "Let's beat her." "No, let's burn her," another said, flame flickering in his palm.
The woman snarled. "What do you think I am? Some toy? And are you a god?" Ronan's eyes locked with hers.
"No. You're right. We are not a god." Her expression darkened. "But we're not saints either. We're the most dangerous species in the universe."
He grinned, flames swirling around his hand. "I should burn your core. For trying to manipulate me. For using my pain."
The outside screen froze on the frame, and the portal was also disabled. Everyone panicked. But Mr. Arnold said calmly, "Ronan is fine. Wait a few more minutes."
Inside the illusion. She backed away, realising she was cornered. "Wait! It wasn't me! Someone else told me to! I was just—!" "I'm angry," Ronan cut her off. "You know why. And you need to be punished."
As Ronan stepped closer, flames dancing in his eyes, a voice echoed through the void. "—Wait." The source of the voice hadn't revealed itself yet, but its presence was powerful.
Ronan turned toward the sound, eyes narrowing. "Who are you?"