The chamber sealed behind them with a sound like a closing lung.
For a breath the light held steady, pale gold spilling across the obsidian floor. Then the glow fractured into a storm of shapes—walls rising, ground shifting, the world rearranging itself into a vast circular arena.
No message appeared. No countdown. The Spire simply began.
A low tremor rolled through the stone. Rifts opened in spirals, spewing heat and shards of glassy rock. Alex grabbed Lyra's arm and yanked her back just as the ridge under her feet collapsed into molten dark.
"Move!" Peter's voice cut through the roar. His shadow rose behind him, splitting into a dozen spears that drove into the ground, anchoring new footholds. Aurora's light mirrored the move from the opposite side, her brilliance knitting a bridge of radiance between chasms.
For a moment, they almost looked synchronized—light and shadow, perfect symmetry.
Then the illusions came.
Figures stepped from the smoke: blurred at first, then sharpened into faces they knew.
Old friends.
Family.
People from Earth.
Amanda's breath caught. "Mom?"
The illusion tilted its head, gentle, curious. Then its skin flickered, revealing something hollow beneath—eyes like empty code, mouth whispering in static.
Lyra loosed an arrow of frost through it. The thing shattered into dust and light. But more followed, each born from a memory. The Spire was digging through them, dragging up anything it could use.
Jason's reflection came next—another him, calm and cold, sword steady.
"You never deserved the Fragment," the double said in his exact voice.
Jason swung first. Steel met steel, sparks bleeding into the haze. Every hit felt heavier than the last, like the Spire was learning his rhythm.
Across the field, Aurora fought her own echo—one made entirely of light. It moved like perfection, flawless and merciless. Every strike she blocked sent pain running up her arms.
Alex's heart hammered as the Crimson Core responded to the chaos. He felt it thrum beneath his ribs, whispering for control, for blood. He forced his breathing slow. Not this time.
The ground lurched again. Pillars collapsed, heat rising in waves. They were being separated.
"Stay together!" he shouted.
The world answered with a quake that swallowed the command whole.
---
Alex and Aurora landed on one side of the arena, Lyra and Peter on another, Jason and Amanda at the far end.
The air itself changed texture—thick, humming, filled with a metallic taste. Their systems flickered, unreadable strings of data stuttering at the edge of vision.
> [Trial Protocol … Integrity Test]
The words faded before they finished rendering.
Aurora knelt, light spilling from her palms to form a shield. "It's testing coordination," she said between breaths. "Not power. Unity."
Alex nodded, jaw tight. "Then we finish it together."
He slammed his fist into the ground. The Core pulsed outward, red energy forming arcs that linked with Aurora's light. Across the arena, Lyra caught the pulse—her arrows lit up in crimson-blue, shadow and frost combining into a rain of glowing shards.
Peter's laugh echoed from somewhere unseen. "That's more like it!" His shadow surged, weaving through the battlefield like a living net, dragging enemies into the blast zone.
The illusions screamed, then burst into trails of static and memory.
One by one, they began to fall.
---
On the far end, Amanda stumbled. A fragment of crystal had lodged in her side—not deep, but enough to stagger her. Jason caught her before she hit the ground, pressing his palm against the wound.
"Stay with me," he murmured. "You promised."
Her smile was weak but sure. "Guess we're both terrible at keeping those."
A column of flame rose between them and the others, cutting them off. Jason lifted his sword, blue light tracing his arm like lightning veins.
The air howled. The illusion of his other self returned, stepping out of the fire. "You can't protect them," it said. "You couldn't protect anyone."
Jason didn't argue. He just fought. Every swing carried guilt, every block, regret. When he finally broke through, the false image cracked into smoke—and he stood panting over it, shoulders shaking, sword trembling.
He didn't realize Amanda had crawled closer, hand reaching for his.
He helped her up. For the first time since they met, no words passed between them—just that single look that said we made it through.
---
On Alex's side, the trial reached its crescendo. The Spire itself began to move, the walls closing in, the ceiling descending in a storm of crystal shards.
"Down!" Aurora shouted. She unleashed her full light, flooding the chamber. Peter's shadows curved to shield them, blending light and dark into something neither could summon alone. Lyra's arrows cut open air pockets between the collapsing debris, buying seconds that felt like eternity.
When the last shockwave hit, Alex threw the Crimson Core's energy upward—red meeting gold, shadow, frost, and blue. The combined blast cracked the descending ceiling apart, a blossom of color and sound.
Then—silence.
The light dimmed. The illusions dissolved.
The ground steadied beneath them, now smooth and still. The heat faded to calm air that tasted faintly of rain.
They were all standing again—barely—but alive.
---
The Spire spoke at last, its voice rolling through their systems like a cold wind:
> [Trial Complete. Integrity Maintained.]
[Bond Stability: Restored.]
The text blinked out, leaving them in the hush that follows near-death.
Aurora sagged to her knees, breathing hard. Peter sank beside her, running a hand over his arms where burns glowed faintly. Lyra sat against a wall, eyes half-closed, muttering, "Never want to see my past self again."
Jason helped Amanda sit. She winced but smiled when she caught Alex's gaze across the field.
Alex nodded once—nothing grand, just that quiet agreement between survivors.
Aurora looked up at the others. "It wanted to see if we'd break apart."
"We didn't," Peter said.
"Not yet," Lyra added, and even managed a small grin.
Alex glanced toward the center of the arena where the Spire's heart pulsed again, slower this time—like approval.
Whatever this place was, it hadn't meant to kill them outright. It wanted to forge them.
He stood, the Crimson Core flickering steady light through his chest.
"Then let's not waste the lesson."
They began to move again, bruised and limping, the echo of their shared heartbeat matching the Spire's own. For the first time, it felt less like a prison and more like a mirror.
As they left the chamber, Aurora whispered, "We're still human, right?"
Alex didn't answer. He just reached out a hand, and the others took it. Their palms were trembling, but connected.
The Spire's light faded behind them—content, for now.