Shade stood before the arched stone doorway, its surface etched with symbols that seemed to shift under the flickering torchlight. The air was heavy with an oppressive silence, broken only by the faint crackle of flames. The master stood a few paces behind him, his presence towering and still, like a statue carved from the shadows.
"This is no ordinary trial," the master began, his voice low and measured. "What lies within is not something I can prepare you for. The mind twists what it fears most into something… visceral. What you face will feel real. It will try to break you, expose the cracks you've buried deep. And it will succeed—because no one comes out of this unchanged."
Shade gave no response, his gaze fixed on the door. His silence seemed unshakable, yet it only deepened the master's unease. He stepped closer, his voice softening but laced with steel.
"If you truly wish to endure, to transform, you must confront it all. There is no escape once you enter. Your silence, your defiance… they will mean nothing in there."
The master's words hung in the air as Shade stepped forward. The doorway creaked open without a touch, revealing a void darker than any night. Shade walked in without hesitation, swallowed by the blackness. The door slammed shut behind him with a deafening finality.
The master lingered outside the sealed trial chamber, his arms crossed, his expression stoic. But his thoughts betrayed his calm exterior.
"He thinks he can endure anything. That silence of his… it's a shield, one he's wrapped himself in for so long he's forgotten what lies beneath. But no shield is unbreakable. No one is."
The brazier beside him hissed as the flames flickered, mirroring the turmoil he refused to acknowledge. For all his certainty, there was a kernel of doubt—a nagging question he couldn't suppress. What if Shade doesn't break?
Inside the chamber, Shade found himself standing in an all-too-familiar room. The peeling wallpaper, the faint stench of alcohol, the creak of the floorboards under his feet—it was his childhood home. He didn't need to turn to know who was sitting in the corner.
"Elias," a voice drawled, thick with malice. "You've come back."
Shade turned, his jaw tightening as he saw the specter of his father slouched in the battered armchair. The man's eyes gleamed with the same cruelty he thought he had left behind. But this wasn't just a memory. It moved, breathed, loomed larger than life.
"You think you've escaped me?" his father sneered, rising to his feet. "You're still that pathetic little boy, cowering in the dark, hoping someone will save you. No one came then, and no one's coming now."
The words cut deep, more than Shade expected. The weight of them dragged him back, back to when he was Elias—small, weak, helpless. The walls seemed to close in, the air thick with suffocating dread. His hands trembled for the first time in years.
Outside, the master paced. His unease grew with every passing moment. The trial was silent, its workings concealed from him. Yet, he could feel the weight of it, the tension thick enough to cut.
This isn't about survival, he reminded himself. It's about breaking him for his own good. If he doesn't shatter here, he'll shatter later, and the cost will be far greater.
But even as he thought this, a cold shiver ran down his spine. He couldn't ignore the question gnawing at him: What if Shade isn't like the others?
Back in the chamber, Shade's trembling stopped. He straightened, his jaw clenched as he locked eyes with the memory of his father.
"You're wrong," Shade said, his voice steady, low, and filled with venom. "I'm not that boy anymore. And you… you're nothing but a shadow."
The specter grinned, its form twisting and contorting as it loomed closer. "You can kill me a thousand times, Elias. But you can never kill the part of you that's still afraid of me. You'll never be free."
Shade's lips curled into a snarl. "I'm not Elias," he hissed. "I'll never be him again."
With a sudden roar, he lunged at the specter, his movements precise and violent. His fists connected with the shadowy form, each strike accompanied by a surge of rage. The room seemed to tremble under the force of his blows, the walls cracking, the air vibrating with the weight of his fury.
The specter laughed even as it crumbled. "You can't destroy what's already inside you," it whispered, its voice fading as its form dissolved into nothingness.
Shade stood in the blackened void, the specter of his father now gone. Yet, the oppressive presence of his childhood remained, a suffocating weight pressing down on him. His hands were clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as his mind fixated on the image of Elias-his younger self, weak and trembling in the corner.
The void shifted, and there he was. Elias. Small, fragile, and pitiful. His wide, tear-filled eyes stared back at Shade, filled with fear and helplessness. The sight ignited a fury Shade hadn't fully realized he carried.
"I hate you," Shade growled, his voice dripping with venom. The words echoed, growing louder and harsher as they reverberated through the void. "I hate you more than anything."
Elias didn't move, his form quivering as if he knew the truth behind Shade's rage. Shade stepped closer, his breathing heavy, his eyes blazing with contempt.
"You were pathetic," he snarled. "You let them control you, hurt you, break you. You sat there, waiting for someone to save you, like a coward. I'll never be you again."
Elias flinched, and Shade's fury deepened. His voice rose, the venom spilling over. "You disgust me. You're everything I loathe. Weak. Helpless. Useless."
He towered over the trembling boy, his voice dropping to a low hiss. "You're dead to me, Elias. Dead. You'll never hold me back again. I'll kill you a thousand times if I have to."
The younger self crumbled before him, like a fragile shadow dissipating into nothingness. But Shade didn't stop. He swung at the emptiness, his hatred fueling every motion. Each strike was a rejection of the past, a severing of the chains that once bound him.
When the void finally stilled, Shade stood in silence, his chest heaving. For a moment, the hatred lingered, sharp and unrelenting. But it wasn't for his father, or even the boy who had taken his place in the void.
It was for himself-what he used to be, what he could never be again.
"I'll never be you," he whispered, his voice trembling not with fear but with conviction. "I'll never be that boy again."
The void began to fade, the trial ending, but the hatred remained-a searing ember burning deep within him.
When Shade emerged from the chamber, the master's eyes widened ever so slightly. Shade's expression was unreadable, but there was a new intensity in his gaze—something raw, unrelenting, and unnerving.
The master's unease grew as he took in the hatred burning in Shade's eyes. It wasn't the defiance he had expected. It was something far darker. Something he wasn't sure even he could control.
"You didn't break," the master said, his voice betraying a hint of tension.
Shade said nothing. He walked past the master, his steps slow and deliberate, leaving a trail of quiet dread in his wake.
For the first time, the master felt a chill of fear—not for Shade, but for what he might become.