The months in the forest had begun to feel endless. Dorothy's muscles had strengthened, her endurance had grown, but still, an unsettling impatience gnawed at her. Arden's training was relentless—every day, he pushed her harder, sharpening her skills in combat, survival, and endurance. But despite all of this, there was still one question lingering in her mind: When will the trial come?
Arden had mentioned it when she first arrived. "The trial will come when you're ready," he'd said. But what did that mean? What exactly was the trial? She had asked him about it several times, but his responses were always vague, always cryptic. The trial seemed to be a shadow on the horizon—always there, but never close enough to touch.
At first, Dorothy had accepted his words. She wasn't ready yet. But now, as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, her patience wore thin. She could feel it—something restless and primal stirring inside her, urging her forward. I'm ready, she thought. She had trained endlessly, honed her skills, but still... nothing.
What am I waiting for?
Frustration began to claw at her. The quiet nights by the fire had become long, drawn-out hours of contemplation. What was holding her back? Why hadn't the trial happened yet? What was she waiting for? The questions echoed louder and louder until they seemed to consume her every thought.
It was late one evening, as the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind the trees, that the thought struck her like a bolt of lightning. The air in the forest had grown cooler, the sounds of the night settling in. Arden was deep in meditation by the fire, his breathing steady and rhythmic. His presence beside her felt calm, grounding even, but it only made her feel more restless. She couldn't sit still any longer.
I can't wait anymore.
That night, as the campfire flickered in the dark, Dorothy made her decision. Arden slept, unaware of her movements. She slipped quietly from the camp, her heart pounding in her chest as she disappeared into the dense forest, her thoughts sharp and determined. She couldn't wait for the trial to come to her. If she was to face it, she would seek it out herself.
The path to the shrine was familiar now, though the forest seemed more ominous under the cloak of night. The air grew thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint rustle of unseen creatures moving between the trees. The further she went, the more the forest seemed to close in around her, like the trees themselves were watching her every step.
Finally, the shrine appeared before her, standing in stark contrast to the wildness of the forest. Its stone was ancient and covered in thick vines, glowing faintly with runes that shimmered as she approached. The air around it felt charged, as if the very ground here held secrets that had been buried for centuries. Her heart pounded in her chest. She had come this far; there was no turning back now.
She pressed a hand against the door, the stone cold beneath her fingertips, and with a deep breath, she pushed it open. The door creaked, its ancient hinges groaning, and as it opened, a chilling gust of wind rushed past her, carrying whispers she couldn't understand. The air seemed to shift in the chamber, colder, denser, as if something watched her from the shadows.
Inside, the shrine stretched out before her, its chamber vast and dark, lit only by the faint glow of the runes. Twelve massive stone doors lined the walls, each adorned with intricate carvings—depicting struggles, trials, and challenges. But one door stood out above the rest. It glowed brighter than the others, its runes pulsing with an eerie rhythm, calling to her. The symbol etched into the door was the reflection of a young woman—her reflection, but distorted, standing before a cracked mirror.
Dorothy's breath caught in her throat. The reflection felt wrong. It felt like something beyond her, something she couldn't control.
Am I ready for this?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice that seemed to come from everywhere, a soft whisper that swirled in the shadows. Do you really think you're ready?
Without thinking, she pressed her hands to the door, and with a sudden shift, the door creaked open. Darkness poured out like smoke, swallowing the light. The air grew colder, and the whispering wind began to roar, tugging at her hair and clothes as though it wanted to pull her inside.
Dorothy stepped through, her pulse racing as the door slammed shut behind her. The world around her dissolved, and she found herself in a vast, endless void. Her footsteps echoed, sharp and hollow against the nothingness. There was no ground beneath her feet, no sky above—just an infinite blackness, stretching out in every direction.
Suddenly, a single beam of light pierced the void, illuminating her like a spotlight. Shadows stretched across the endless blackness, twisted and unyielding. Before her, a mirror began to materialize, slowly taking form in the darkness. It was a large, imposing thing, framed in dark, ancient stone. Its surface gleamed with unnatural sharpness, reflecting her own image, but with an eerie clarity that sent a chill down her spine.
Dorothy stepped forward, drawn to the mirror, her reflection staring back at her with unnerving intensity. Her heart pounded as she gazed into the depths of her own eyes, but something was wrong. The reflection began to twist—her eyes darkened, and a cruel, mocking smile spread across the figure's face. It was her, but not entirely. The figure stepped out of the mirror, a living shadow of Dorothy, stronger, fiercer, colder.
"Do you think you're ready for this?" the shadow taunted, its voice a low, mocking rasp. It circled her, its presence suffocating. "You're too soft. Too afraid. Too weak."
"I'm not afraid of you," Dorothy replied, her voice trembling more than she wanted to admit. She straightened, trying to stand tall in the face of this dark reflection.
The shadow's lips curled into a grin, twisted and cruel. "You don't even know what you are, do you? All this training, all this effort, and you still don't understand the truth about yourself."
Dorothy flinched, her breath hitching. "I—I don't care what you think," she stammered. "I'll figure it out on my own."
The shadow's laughter echoed, cold and mocking. "Figure it out? You think you'll ever figure it out? You are nothing, a child chasing a fate too big for you. Do you really think you're destined for greatness? You're a fraud—just a girl pretending to be something she's not."
Dorothy's heart pounded, but the anger and determination in her rose. "I am who I am," she said firmly. "And I'm not backing down."
The shadow lunged at her, its form a blur, but Dorothy reacted instinctively. She raised her arms, and as the shadow collided with her, she felt something explode inside her—emotions, memories, all the pain, fear, and frustration she had buried for so long surged to the surface.
"You'll never be strong enough," the shadow hissed, its voice like poison in her mind. "You'll never survive the trial. You'll never figure out who you are. You know why?" It leaned closer, its breath cold and suffocating. "Because you're nothing. A nameless girl, chasing a fate too great for you."
Dorothy's knees buckled, and she fell to the ground, the weight of the shadow's words pressing on her chest like a physical force. The mirror above her seemed to shimmer, darkening, consuming her.
"No," she whispered, weakly at first, then louder, "I will not be broken."
With a scream, Dorothy forced herself to her feet, the fiery determination inside her igniting. Her hands crackled with the faintest spark of her celestial power—an energy she had kept locked away. The shadow recoiled, its form flickering, but Dorothy refused to back down.
With one final push, she lunged toward the shadow, her hand outstretched. A burst of blinding light erupted from her palm, enveloping the shadow in a torrent of energy. The darkness screamed, but the light consumed it entirely.
The world around her twisted and vanished, the echo of the shadow's mocking laughter fading as the light overtook everything.
Dorothy jolted awake, gasping for air, her body trembling as she sat at the base of the shrine steps. The door to the trial chamber was sealed once again, its runes dark and lifeless.
Arden stood a few paces away, his arms crossed, his sharp gaze boring into her. His expression remained unreadable, but there was a weight to his silence.
"You thought you were ready," he said, his voice calm but firm.
Dorothy opened her mouth to speak, but her throat was dry. Her voice failed her as she tried to process what had just happened.
"You're not the first to fail," Arden continued, stepping closer. "And you won't be the last. The Trial of Overcoming Oneself isn't about strength. It's about facing what's inside you—the parts you try to hide."
Tears welled in Dorothy's eyes, but she quickly wiped them
away. "I thought I could do it," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"You thought wrong," Arden replied. "But failure is a teacher, too. Now you know what you're up against."
He extended his hand to help her up. Dorothy hesitated for a moment, then took it, her grip weak and trembling.
"Come on," Arden said. "There's someone you need to meet. Kael can teach you what I can't."
As they walked away from the shrine, the weight of her failure pressed down on her. The shadow's words echoed in her mind, each one a sharp sting. But beneath the pain, there was something more—something unbroken, something that refused to yield.