The Pilgrim's Path – Trial of Heart
The path narrowed into a ravine, its walls carved with ancient runes glowing faintly blue. The air grew heavy, thick with a silence that pressed against the skin. Soldiers shifted uneasily, but Aelion felt the pull deep in his chest—this was no ordinary stretch of road.
At the ravine's center, a stone altar rose from the ground, covered in vines. Carved into it were the words:
> To walk forward, you must surrender what you fear most to lose.
Kaelen's hand instinctively brushed his sword hilt. "It's a trial," he muttered. "A divine one."
Aelion approached, his throat dry. "A trial of heart. It demands more than steel."
The altar flared with light, and before Aelion's eyes, illusions swirled to life. His sister appeared, standing in chains. His father lay dying, crown shattered at his feet. But worst of all—Kaelen knelt, blood seeping from a wound in his chest, eyes closing as though death had already claimed him.
Aelion staggered. "No… not him."
The runes pulsed, and a voice filled the ravine: One life must be spoken. One truth must be confessed. Only then shall the path open.
Kaelen stepped forward, placing himself beside Aelion. "It's a test," he said firmly. "They want you to admit what matters most." His eyes softened. "Say it. Whatever it is—say it, and don't hold back."
Aelion's hands trembled. Around them, the soldiers looked on, holding their breath.
Finally, he cried out, voice breaking: "It is him! Kaelen! If I lose him, nothing else matters. Not the crown, not the prophecy—nothing!"
The illusions wavered, then dissolved into light. The runes blazed, the altar sinking back into the earth. The trial had been answered.
Kaelen reached for Aelion's hand, their fingers brushing in front of the stunned soldiers. His voice was low, meant for Aelion alone. "You've said it now. No prophecy can take that away."
---
In the Capital – The Whispering Spies
Far from the ravine, Varros leaned over a map in his private chambers, candles flickering around him. A hooded man knelt before him, silent and still.
"They march deeper into the Pilgrim's Path," Varros said, eyes glittering. "The trials will test their hearts—but steel and sorcery alone will not break the prince. He has his guardian."
His lips twisted into a cold smile. "So we shall break the guardian instead."
From the shadows, three spies stepped forward. Each was cloaked, their faces obscured, but their reputations were carved in whispers—masters of infiltration, lies, and blades dipped in poison.
"You will enter their camp," Varros ordered. "Stir fear, sow doubt, and if the chance arises… remove the bodyguard. Quietly. Without him, the prince will crumble."
The spies bowed, vanishing into the dark like wraiths.
---
On the Road
That night, the camp was restless. Though the trial had been passed, unease lingered. Aelion sat with Kaelen, exhaustion tugging at his bones.
But beyond the firelight, shadows moved—watching, waiting. The first seeds of Varros's treachery had reached them.
The prophecy stirred again. The question was no longer only about destiny—it was about survival.