The tunnel beyond the Gate of Silent Fire stretched into an abyss untouched by time or memory. Its walls pulsed faintly with lines of amber light, not quite runes, not quite veins—more like the breath of something ancient, asleep beneath the world's skin. Aelric stepped forward with slow, deliberate pace, the echoes of his footsteps swallowed before they could reach back to him.
Behind him, the gate had closed without sound. No wind, no reverberation—just the seamless quiet of a place that had been waiting. Liora and Thalin flanked him, their silence not born of fear, but reverence. Even Nyara, luminous with celestial threads along her sleek form, moved cautiously.
"The Trial of Stars," Thalin murmured, breaking the hush, "is not a test of power. It's a mirror."
"A mirror of what?" Liora asked.
"Of self," Thalin said. "Of truths buried deeper than flame."
They passed beneath arches made of obsidian bone—at least they seemed like bone. Rib-like formations curved overhead in intervals, casting distorted shadows that moved when no one did. The path sloped downward, and as they descended, the heat changed. It did not burn—it weighed. Like a presence resting upon their shoulders, testing their endurance not with pain, but with pressure.
Aelric felt the Starforged sigil at his chest stir, reacting to something ahead.
"The lantern," he whispered, though he wasn't sure where the word had come from.
Thalin glanced at him. "You saw it in the vision, didn't you? The one from the Mirror Sky."
Aelric nodded slowly. "I didn't understand what it meant. But I do now. There's something ahead—some beacon, buried at the heart of this place."
As they turned a final bend, the tunnel opened.
What lay before them was not a chamber, but a chasm—an immense subterranean cathedral carved from the bones of stars. Pillars of translucent crystal rose in staggered spirals, arching toward an unseen ceiling. Suspended in the center of the void was the Lantern Below: a floating, cage-like construct of starmetal, within which flickered a pale, almost sentient flame.
Its light did not illuminate. It revealed.
When Aelric stepped forward, his reflection formed in the air around him—not one, but many. Dozens of versions of himself—angrier, more fearful, arrogant, broken, hopeful—rippled like silver phantoms in the periphery of the Lantern's light. His breath caught.
"What is this?" Liora asked, her eyes locked on her own fractured echoes, each haunted by battles never fought, words never spoken, choices never made.
"The Trial begins," Thalin said, bowing his head. "Now the stars remember us."
The Lantern flared.
The Weighing of Echoes
Aelric was alone.
One moment his companions stood beside him. The next, the ground was gone, and he hovered in a pale, undefined space filled with floating shards of glass. Each shard showed a different version of his life—moments twisted by doubt and despair. He saw himself as a tyrant, crowned in fire. He saw himself as a corpse on the battlefield, unmourned. He saw himself walking away from the Spire, never answering the call.
"Do you regret?" asked a voice—not his, not the stars'. Something older. It didn't accuse; it observed.
"No," Aelric said, but the word felt weak.
The shards spun faster. One flew toward him, slamming into his chest—and in an instant, he was living it.
He stood at the edge of Brindlewood, watching the village burn. He had failed. He hadn't risen when the stars called. He had run.
Smoke choked the air. Screams tore through the sky. And in the center of the village square, Nyara lay slain beneath Morvath's blade.
Aelric screamed.
Then he was back—in the pale space, on his knees.
"That could have been," the voice whispered. "Had you chosen comfort. Had you denied purpose."
Aelric stood.
"But I didn't," he growled.
Another shard struck him—another vision. Then another. And another.
Each memory carved away a piece of his doubt, his shame, his fear. Until, slowly, what remained was not perfect, but true.
The reflections faded. The voice receded.
And the Lantern burned bright.
The Return
Aelric awoke at the base of the chasm, breath ragged. The Lantern hovered above, now dimmed, its task complete.
Liora was nearby, emerging from her own test, face pale and eyes wide. She met his gaze and nodded.
"It showed me… everything I hated about myself," she whispered. "And it asked if I still believed I was worth saving."
"And what did you say?"
"I didn't say anything," she said. "I stood."
Thalin joined them last, leaning heavily on his staff.
"I saw the Spire fall," he murmured. "I saw every mistake I've made as a scholar. But knowledge… knowledge isn't infallibility. It's choosing to try again."
They stood together beneath the Lantern's quiet glow—changed, honed.
The Trial of Stars had begun in silence, but now it gave them its first gift: clarity.
As they ascended the spiral steps carved into the crystal walls, the path opened into a narrow passage where stars winked in and out of stone. They moved forward—not hurried, not hesitant.
Then the whisper came again.
Not from within. From without.
A call.
No words, just urgency.
A World Stirred
When they emerged from the underground cathedral, it was into night.
Real night—not the dreamlike fog of the mirrored realms, nor the hollow shadow of the Gate's depths.
The real sky stretched overhead, vast and filled with unfamiliar constellations.
They stood on a plateau of shimmering rock, surrounded by plains dusted with silver ash. In the distance, monolithic structures loomed—ancient cities that had never been charted, shaped like towers twisted into the shape of reaching hands.
"This isn't Eldoria," Liora said slowly.
"No," Thalin said. "This is beyond it. A realm lost… or cast away."
Nyara's fur bristled. "We are in the domain of the Starless Kings."
Aelric turned to her. "Who are they?"
"They were the first to betray the stars," she said. "Exiled, their names erased from song and sky. But their power never faded. They dwell in the places between realms."
Aelric looked to the horizon.
Something stirred in the dark beyond the towers.
A presence vast and watching.
"We were meant to come here," he said. "The Trial isn't over. It's only begun."
The Coming of the Starless Host
A shadow passed overhead—a shape too vast to be called a beast, too solid to be cloud, yet too ephemeral to be stone or flame.
And in the far distance, as if responding to some unseen beacon, lights flickered in the cities of the exiles. Not fire. Not life.
Summoning.
Thalin's voice was a whisper of dread. "They know he's awakened. The Starless Kings know."
Liora gripped her weapon.
Aelric stood tall, shoulders squared beneath a sky that had forgotten mercy.
"This journey," he said, "is not about survival. It's about restoration. And we're not alone anymore."
They turned from the plateau, stepping into the ghost-cities of the forsaken, not knowing if they'd return. Not caring.
The stars above no longer watched.
But deep within Aelric, something had begun to burn.
~to be continued