The wind shifted.
It came not from above or across the plateau, but from beneath—a breath drawn in by the bones of the mountain, as if some ancient thing had stirred in its sleep. Aelric paused at the threshold of the arched gate they had uncovered, his fingers resting lightly against the cool obsidian edge.
Behind him, the others waited in hushed tension.
"Is it safe?" Calen asked, his voice steady but quiet. The mage's usual air of aloof confidence had been chipped away by the Trial's strangeness.
Veyla adjusted the grip on her curved spear, eyes narrowed. "No. But it never is, is it?"
Aelric didn't answer. He stepped through the arch.
The passage yawned like a throat, narrow and winding, the walls etched with starlit script that pulsed faintly beneath the stone surface—runes too old for even Thane to decipher completely. The path led them downward, spiraling into silence, until they reached the heart of the mountain.
The Labyrinth of Echoes.
It was not a maze of walls, but of sound and memory.
At first, they heard only the distant rush of subterranean rivers and the soft echo of their own footfalls. But as they ventured deeper, the labyrinth lived up to its name. Sounds began to return to them out of time—Calen's laugh repeated minutes after he had spoken, Veyla's sharp whisper playing behind them when no one spoke at all.
And then the voices changed.
"You left us to burn…" a voice murmured behind Aelric.
He turned quickly—there was nothing there.
"Aelric, are you hearing—" Calen began, but then stopped. His eyes widened. "That was my brother's voice…"
Veyla's knuckles whitened on her spear. "It's pulling from our memories."
Aelric nodded slowly. "Or from something deeper."
They continued, but with every step, the illusions thickened. The air itself began to shimmer with memory—half-solid visions of people they had lost, regrets unspoken, roads not taken. Veyla saw her fallen sisters, voices accusing. Calen stumbled as he watched the image of a burning tower, the day he abandoned his guild.
And Aelric—
He saw his mother, eyes hollow, reaching for him as fire devoured their village.
"No," he whispered. "That's not real."
But his heart faltered.
The Labyrinth was not meant to trap them with walls—it sought to bind them with what they carried.
Only Nyara walked unaffected, her feline form gliding beside them with silent defiance of the illusion. Occasionally, her fur would glow more brightly as if she were pushing back against the very weave of the labyrinth.
"We're not alone," she finally said, pausing at a crossing of stone paths. "Something walks this place. Something not born of memory."
Aelric stepped to her side. "What is it?"
"I don't know. But it's watching."
They took the left path, drawn by instinct more than logic. The route sloped downward again, the air thick with unseen tension. Lights danced on the edges of vision—celestial motes that blinked out whenever approached.
Finally, they entered a wide, circular chamber.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the memories vanished. The silence was absolute.
In the center of the stone chamber stood a figure—a tall, armored wraith of star-metal and glass, its body partially translucent, its face veiled beneath a helm like a black crescent moon. A great blade hovered behind it, unmoving, suspended by unseen force.
"What is it?" Calen whispered.
Veyla held her spear ready. "A guardian?"
The wraith's voice boomed not aloud, but directly into their minds.
"Heir of the Stars. You who bear the ember-blood. You have crossed the twilight gate and walked the paths of memory. But only one may pass."
Aelric stepped forward. "I came for the truth of who I am. For the starfire that binds our fate."
The guardian tilted its head.
"Then face what you are."
With that, the chamber changed.
Stone and time fell away, and Aelric found himself alone.
He stood in a mirrored space, infinite reflections stretching in all directions. In each mirror, he saw a different version of himself—some crowned, some bloodied, some lost, some triumphant. The reflections moved without him, each living out a fate he had not chosen.
"You seek purpose," a voice echoed—a reflection stepped forward, a version of him clad in black flame, eyes hollow. "But are you not afraid of who you might become to find it?"
Another reflection took shape—a younger Aelric, full of innocence, before the fire and the war.
"You've already changed," it whispered. "What if you've lost yourself?"
Aelric dropped to one knee, gripping his head.
Memories flooded in—of each life he might've led, each death he might've faced.
But then—he heard her voice. Liora.
"You're no boy anymore, Aelric. You carry a power few could wield—and a heart that refuses to falter."
The noise began to fall away.
Another voice—Thane's laughter in the dark, steady and grounding.
Then Veyla, shouting, fierce and defiant.
Calen's quiet resolve.
And Nyara's steady breath beside him.
Aelric stood.
"I am all of these," he said, eyes fixed on the storm of mirrors. "But I am also more. I choose my own path."
The mirrors shattered.
The chamber returned.
The guardian had knelt.
"Then you are worthy."
It extended its hand—and in it, a star-forged key. Ancient, burning with pale fire. The Key of Realms.
With it, the next gate would open.
Meanwhile, Above
As Aelric took the key, high above in the world they had left behind, trouble stirred.
In the eastern skies over the fractured archipelago of Yllarion, where stars had once fallen like tears, dark sails gathered. The Fleet of Hollow Winds had returned—those who once followed the Starborn before turning to the void.
Among them, cloaked in robes of rippling shadow, stood the Veiled Oracle. Neither man nor woman, but something older—its face hidden behind a mask of broken constellations.
"The Heir has awakened," the Oracle whispered. "Let the stars burn again. But this time—let them burn for us."
Back in the Depths
The others had rejoined Aelric, the Labyrinth's illusions dispelled.
Veyla looked at him carefully. "You've changed again."
"Maybe," he said, turning the star-key over in his hand. "Or maybe I'm just starting to become who I was always meant to be."
Nyara's ears twitched. "We should move. The Trial is not over yet."
"No," Aelric agreed. "But we're one step closer."
They ascended a final stair of light—and emerged not where they began, but somewhere far older.
A throne stood broken before them. Behind it, a vast mural of the stars—half of them darkened, as if they had died long ago.
In the center was a figure cloaked in light, reaching upward toward a flame that had no source.
Beneath it were the words:
When the heir remembers, the stars will burn anew.
Aelric touched the wall.
And for a moment—just a heartbeat—he remembered something not from this life, but from one far older.
He saw fire. And war. And a city floating in the sky.
And then it was gone.
A New Path Unfolds
As they prepared to leave the ruins of the Labyrinth, Nyara paused at the doorway.
"The Trial of Stars is not finished," she said. "It has only changed shape."
Aelric turned to her. "What do you mean?"
"There are more trials to come—but they won't be set in stone or shadow. They'll come in choices, and wars, and what you're willing to become to protect the light."
Calen groaned behind them. "More tests. Just once, I'd like a straightforward road."
Veyla smirked. "You picked the wrong heir to follow."
They laughed, but there was weariness in it.
Then the wind shifted again.
From far beyond, in the direction of the Hollow Sea, a sound echoed like a tolling bell—deep, ancient, and full of warning.
Aelric turned toward it.
"What now?" he whispered.
Nyara's eyes glinted like distant stars.
"The stars are calling. And not all of them remember mercy."
~to be continued