The Solaris Crucible shuddered violently as the final glyph was claimed, its intricate labyrinth groaning under the strain of its own unraveling energy. The radiant platform beneath the Crimson Glyph team trembled, breaking apart into fleeting motes of light that dissolved into the endless abyss below.
Lux stood tall despite her exhaustion, her whip crackling softly in her hand, the faint glow of their collected glyphs shimmering above their heads like a constellation. By some miracle, they had made it. They had survived.
Merir sheathed his blade and let out a soft breath, his posture calm but clearly tired. Their team's shields and weapons dimmed, the tension in the air easing slightly as the Crucible's challenges faded. This wasn't triumph, exactly—it hadn't felt like a win. But they were standing where so many others had fallen, standing together where the chaos had tried to tear them apart.
The glowing glyph in the center of the platform flared brightly one final time before dissipating into a rain of golden light, marking the trial's completion.
It was over.
Fallon—relieved and drenched in sweat—leaned against his shield, his voice trembling as he muttered, "I can't believe we did it."
One of the other teammates nodded in agreement, too breathless to say anything. Both cast wary glances toward Lux and Merir, clearly unsure if the fragile cooperation between the siblings would hold now that the battle had ended.
But to everyone's surprise, Lux didn't speak first. She didn't bark orders or assert her dominance. Instead, she turned to Merir, her sharp blue eyes meeting his steady hazel gaze.
"You fought well," she said, her voice quiet and even.
Merir blinked, clearly caught off guard by the unexpected compliment. That faint tilt of his head—the smallest flicker of surprise—was all the reaction she got, but it was enough.
Lux could tell he didn't trust her words fully, and that was fine. She wouldn't have believed herself six hours ago either. But still, she had meant it. She couldn't deny it anymore. Her younger brother had proven himself in every way the Crucible could demand.
Perhaps... perhaps he wasn't the useless shadow she had convinced herself he was for years.
"...You too," Merir replied simply, though his voice carried a sincerity that made Lux's chest tighten slightly.
The glowing archway ahead shimmered and shifted, signaling the return pathway out of the Solaris Crucible. The team followed it cautiously, their footsteps silent against the glowing platforms as they crossed into a new chamber, its radiant floor spanning outward into a much larger, circular space.
They weren't alone.
The Golden Glyph team stood across the chamber, their glyph markings glowing faintly in the air above them. Unsurprisingly, Kael Solaris stood at their center, unscathed and confident in his victory. His team stood behind him, far more composed than Lux's exhausted group.
Kael's amber eyes scanned the Crimson Glyph team as they entered, narrowing briefly on Lux, then shifting slowly to Merir.
"Well," Kael said, breaking the silence as his voice echoed across the chamber. "You're still here. That's unexpected."
"Nice to see you too, Kael," Lux shot back, though her usual sharpness had lost much of its venom.
Merir said nothing, as always. He simply met Kael's gaze with quiet defiance, the faint flicker in his hazel eyes sending the message his silence did not: I'm not a shadow anymore.
Kael studied his younger brother for a little longer, as though measuring something he couldn't quite define. Finally, he gave a small, faintly dismissive nod and turned away.
From the observation platform far above, Lord Cael Solaris watched everything with his usual inscrutable expression. The grandmaster of the Solaris family stood at the forefront of the dais, his golden armor glinting in the glowing light reflected from below.
The other nobles and elders gathered around him murmured among themselves, their attention split between the glowing projection of the two surviving teams and the silent figure of Lord Cael himself.
"It seems both teams have performed well," one elder offered carefully, studying the hovering glyph scores that had been recorded during the trial.
Cael nodded faintly but said nothing. His golden eyes swept across the projection, lingering first on Kael, who stood resplendent with his team like the leader everyone had always expected him to be.
Then his gaze shifted, locking onto Merir.
Of all his children, Merir had always been the most puzzling. Not the strongest, nor the most disciplined. He had been overlooked, underestimated, ignored—and, Cael had often thought, for good reason. Yet here he was, not just surviving the Crucible but standing. Even beside Lux, who had spent years turning her disdain for him into an art form, Merir had proven something in this trial that Cael hadn't expected.
"Your thoughts, Lord Cael?" one of the elders asked cautiously, noticing the long silence.
Cael straightened, his commanding presence silencing the low conversations immediately. "The Crucible has revealed much," he said carefully, his rumbling voice carrying a weight that no one questioned.
"Kael remains exemplary," he continued, his tone as steady as stone but not entirely without warmth. "He has shown us the strength and precision expected of a leader."
The elder nodded, his expression satisfied. But when Cael's gaze shifted back to Merir, the elder visibly stiffened.
"And Merir Solaris," Cael added, his voice sharper now, cutting through the air like a blade. "The one we overlooked for so long."
Several nobles blinked in surprise, and even Kael's seemingly invincible calm faltered slightly at the mention of his younger brother.
Cael's lips twitched—not into a smile, but something close, something thoughtful. "He has not disappointed."
Hours after the teams were dismissed, the Solaris family estate had grown quiet again. The echoes of the trial were still fresh in everyone's minds, but the labyrinthine halls of the estate brought a calm familiarity.
Lux sat in one of the outer courtyards, gazing up at the fading light as dusk painted the sky in hues of deep orange and crimson. She could still feel the tension of the Crucible in her body, the ache of muscles pushed to their limits. But beneath that, there was something else—a strange, unfamiliar weight in her chest.
She was thinking about Merir again.
She hated how much space he occupied in her thoughts now, how the image of him fighting alongside her—quiet, steady, more capable than she had ever allowed herself to believe—burned in her memory.
"Lux."
The voice startled her, but she didn't flinch. She turned to see Merir standing a few feet away, his hazel eyes calm but searching.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. He nodded faintly toward the empty bench beside her, and—after a brief hesitation—she gestured for him to sit.
The silence between them wasn't as sharp as it used to be. It was still heavy, still filled with unsaid things. But there was a tentative peace in it now, like a fractured bond easing slowly under the weight of time.
"I'm not saying we're fine after this," Lux said quietly, her gaze fixed on the horizon.
"I wouldn't expect you to," Merir replied evenly, his tone soft but without bitterness.
"But," she added, glancing at him hesitantly, "I think we could… try. To be better."
Merir tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he nodded. "That's all I've ever wanted."
The sun dipped below the horizon, and for the first time in years, neither of them felt like they were standing in shadow.