The dawn was barely a whisper on the horizon when Jorel, Jain, and Ryen gathered in the dining hall of Raven House. The usual chatter of students was muted, replaced by a heavy tension that settled over the room like a shroud. The trio ate in silence, their thoughts focused on the trial ahead. Each bite of food was mechanical, more about fueling their bodies for what was to come than satisfying any hunger.
Jorel absently poked at his plate, his mind replaying the words Serik had said the day before. The book on Displaced Physical Pain Magic had opened a new door for him, a way to harness his strength in the face of the mysterious trial ahead. But despite the small success he'd had during his practice, a gnawing uncertainty lingered in the pit of his stomach. Would it be enough?
Across the table, Ryen stared into his mug, the steam rising from it swirling in the cool morning air. His usually bright demeanor was dimmed, his face pale and drawn. "We've prepared as much as we can," he muttered, almost to himself. "Now we just have to get through it."
Jain glanced up, her eyes betraying the storm of emotions she was trying to keep at bay. "No matter what, we stick together," she said, her voice firm. "Whatever we face in there, we face it as a team."
Jorel nodded, appreciating her resolve. "Agreed. We've trained for this. We'll make it through."
They finished their meal in silence, each lost in their thoughts. As they rose to leave, Serina appeared, her expression as inscrutable as ever. She regarded them all for a moment before speaking.
"Today's new arrival trial will test more than just your physical abilities," she said quietly. "You will face challenges that go beyond the tangible. Remember what you've learned, and trust in your instincts. Not everything can be fought with strength alone."
Serina gave a slight nod, then turned and walked away, leaving them to their thoughts.
The trial grounds were a stark contrast to the rest of the E&R campus. The once-familiar training fields had been transformed into something dark and foreboding, an otherworldly landscape that seemed to pulse with malevolence. The sky was a deep, oppressive gray, and a cold wind cut through the air, carrying with it the scent of decay.
The students gathered in a wide circle, their faces pale as they looked around at the twisted environment. Ahead of them, a massive iron gate loomed, its surface etched with ancient runes that seemed to shimmer with a faint, eerie light.
An instructor, a tall, gaunt man with hollow eyes and a permanent sneer, stepped forward. His voice was harsh and grating as he addressed the group.
"Welcome to the second trial," he began, his tone devoid of warmth. "Today, you will be tested not only on your physical endurance but on your mental resilience. The challenges you will face are designed to break you, to expose your deepest fears and weaknesses. Those who survive will move on. Those who do not… well, we'll see."
Jorel exchanged a glance with Jain and Ryen, all three of them steeling themselves for what was to come. The instructor's words had done nothing to ease their nerves, but they had expected nothing less. This was E&R, after all.
"The trial consists of three stages," the instructor continued. "Each stage will test a different aspect of your mental fortitude. You will not be given specific instructions—figure it out as you go. And remember, failure is not an option."
With a wave of his hand, the instructor signaled for the iron gate to be opened. It creaked slowly, the sound echoing across the field like a death knell. Beyond the gate, the students could see the first challenge—a sprawling, fog-covered graveyard that seemed to stretch into eternity.
"You may begin," the instructor said simply, stepping aside.
There was no time for hesitation. The students began to move forward, their expressions grim as they stepped through the gate and into the graveyard. Jorel led the way, Jain and Ryen close behind him. As soon as they crossed the threshold, the air grew thick and heavy, the fog swirling around them like a living thing.
The graveyard was eerily silent, the only sound the soft crunch of gravel underfoot. Ancient tombstones jutted from the ground at odd angles, their surfaces worn and cracked with age. The fog clung to the ground, obscuring their path and giving the impression that they were walking on air.
Jain shivered, pulling her cloak tighter around her. "This place feels… wrong."
Jorel nodded, his senses on high alert. "Stay close. We don't know what we're dealing with yet."
They moved cautiously through the graveyard, the fog making it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead. The further they went, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. It was as if the graveyard itself was alive, watching them, waiting for the right moment to strike.
And then, the whispers began.
At first, they were barely audible, a soft murmuring that seemed to come from all directions. But as the trio continued to walk, the whispers grew louder, more distinct. They were not just random noises—they were words, sentences, spoken in a thousand different voices.
"Failure…"
"You're worthless…"
"They'll abandon you…"
The whispers were relentless, drilling into their minds like a thousand tiny needles. Jain's steps faltered, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She pressed her hands to her ears, trying to block out the voices, but it was no use—they were inside her head.
"Jain!" Jorel called out, his voice cutting through the fog. "Don't listen to them! It's just a trick!"
But even as he spoke, Jorel could feel the whispers clawing at his own mind. They were insidious, wrapping around his thoughts like a vice. He could hear the voice of his own self-doubt, the memories of past failures, the fear that he was not good enough, that he would never be good enough... but it all felt... muted? As if the emotions were all so real but only on the forefront of his mind...
Then it finally hit him as Jorel's eyes went wide with realization, "This wasn't emotional pain magic, this was real emotion."
Ryen was trembling, his hands clenched into fists as he fought to stay focused. "It's… it's like they know… they know what hurts you the most…"
Jorel gritted his teeth, shutting out the voices. He focused on the pain in his body—the dull ache of his muscles, the sting of the cuts and burns from his training. The physical pain was real, tangible, something he could control. But the whispers were different. They were real emotions made manifest, targeting the deepest parts of their psyche.
With a panicked look in is eyes Jorel looked at Ryen and Jain, "Guys, I think this is... existential pain magic."
Jorel's emotional numbness became his shield. The whispers didn't cut as deeply for him as they did for others. They were there, but they didn't have the same power over him since it was a real feeling and not the fabricated feelings drawn from emotional magic that could dig into him. He could still think clearly, still move forward.
He grabbed Jain's arm, pulling her close. "We need to keep moving! Focus on the task, not the whispers!"
Jain nodded, her eyes wide with fear- the determination draining from her eyes. She forced herself to take a deep breath, pushing the voices to the back of her mind, but she was slowly failing.
They pressed on, navigating through the fog-covered graveyard with Jorel dragging the others with all his strength. The whispers continued, growing louder and more desperate, as if they were trying to break them down, to force them to give in.
"You're a failure, Drecan…"
"They died because of you…"
"You're just like them…"
The words hit close to home, but Jorel could push them aside, focusing on the path ahead. They were getting closer to the edge of the graveyard—he could feel it. The fog was beginning to thin, the tombstones becoming fewer and farther between.
Just when it seemed like they were about to make it out, the ground beneath them began to tremble. The tombstones shook, and a low, guttural moan echoed through the graveyard.
Jain gasped, her eyes widening in horror as she saw them—shadows, dark and twisted, rising from the ground. They were human-shaped but distorted, their faces contorted in expressions of pain and suffering. These were the ghosts of the graveyard, the source of the whispers.
They moved slowly, dragging their limbs as if they were weighed down by the pain of their past lives. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, as the ghosts began to converge on the trio.
Ryen's voice was shaking. "We have to move! Now!"
But the ghosts were everywhere, surrounding them, closing in. The air was thick with the weight of their pain, the whispers filling every corner of their minds.
Jorel knew they couldn't fight them—not directly. The ghosts were not physical beings; they were manifestations of emotion through existential pain, and any attempt to attack them with physical pain magic would be futile.
But they couldn't stay here, trapped in the graveyard with the ghosts closing in on them. Jorel's mind raced as he tried to come up with a solution, his thoughts muddled by the relentless whispers.
Then he had an idea, "Maybe, maybe if I seemed broken, they would focus on me?"
"Jain, Ryen," Jorel said, his voice low and urgent. "I'm going to try something. When I give the signal, run for the exit."
They nodded, their faces pale but resolute.
With the final strands of his strength he shoved the other two forward and cried out, he slashed a gapping cut into his side and tears welled up under his eyes.
Jain and Ryen didn't hesitate. They sprinted towards the edge of the graveyard, their movements swift and determined.
He ran at the grouping of ghosts and fell flat, clawing at his head as if the whispers were physical beings. From the corner of his eye he saw the other two about to reach the threshold of the graveyard.
Jorel closed his eyes and with a burst of energy, he sent the pain outward, directing it away from his body and towards his feet propelling him forwards. The air crackled with the force of the displaced pain, and for a moment, the ghosts hesitated, their forms flickering.
The exit was in sight, a break in the fog where the path led out of the graveyard and into the next stage of the trial. The ghosts were still close, their whispers growing more frantic, but Jorel didn't let up. He forced the pain forward, running faster and faster.
They burst through the exit, the fog lifting as they left the graveyard behind. The whispers faded, the oppressive weight of the ghosts' pain lifting as they stepped into the open air.
They stood there for a moment, gasping for breath, their hearts pounding in their chests. The graveyard had taken its toll, but they had made it through.
Jain was trembling, her face pale. "That was…"
"Horrifying," Ryen finished, his voice hoarse.
Jorel nodded, his own breath ragged. "."
They looked up to see the next stage of the trial looming before them—a towering corn maze, its twisted paths disappearing into the distance. The sun was still hidden behind thick clouds, casting an eerie light over the maze.
Jorel straightened, his eyes fierce with determination. "We keep going. We can't stop now."
Jain nodded, her resolve matching his. "Let's finish this."
Together, they stepped forward, leaving the graveyard behind as they prepared to face the next challenge.