"Have you brought me my crown?"
Era froze, her breath catching as if tangled in a hunter's snare. The air seemed to still, heavy with an unspoken threat, and even the dim torches lining the chamber flickered uncertainly.
Shit.Shit.Shit.
She cast a wary glance toward Phoros, whose grotesque throne of bones loomed like a grim mountain. His pale, unblinking gaze bore down upon her, cold as moonlight upon frost. She wondered fleetingly if her mortal remains might soon join the grisly architecture beneath him.
"I… no?" she ventured, her voice wobbling between defiance and dread, like a bird trembling on the edge of flight.
Phoros' eyes narrowed, their pale light hardening like tempered steel. He leaned forward, the weight of his massive frame causing the throne to groan beneath him. Shadows deepened, drawing inward like wolves encircling their prey.
"So," he intoned, his voice low and terrible, "you have brought me nothing." His words rumbled like distant thunder, and even the marrow of the skeletons seemed to quail.
Era raised her hands in a frantic bid for peace. Words tumbled from her lips, unbidden and unchecked. "Wait—no! I didn't say that!" she protested. "In fact, I thought long and hard about it! You, mighty Phoros, are rich beyond measure—gold, jewels, treasures without end. Why clutter your hoard with a mere crown? And a rusted one at that? Instead, I bring you… this!"
She withdrew the necklace from her pouch with a theatrical flourish, its gemstone catching what little light remained in the chamber. The faint glimmer danced across the vaulted ceiling like ghostly fireflies. She offered it up with a hopeful, slightly manic grin.
Phoros tilted his head, the expression not unlike a vulture considering whether its meal was worth the trouble. One pale hand, thick with sinew, tapped idly against the skull armrest of his throne.
He's deciding whether to flay me alive or eat me whole, Era thought grimly.
Finally, Phoros spoke, his voice as cold and unreadable as a glacier. "Why," he asked, "have you brought me this?"
The question hung in the air, sharp as a drawn blade. Era hesitated, the space between truth and deception narrowing by the second. She opened her mouth, only to snap it shut when Phoros emitted a low, bone-rattling growl.
"Do not waste my time with lies, mortal," he warned. "Speak truly, or begone." The weight of his command fell upon her, crushing as an avalanche.
Era swallowed hard, her resolve crumbling. "Honestly?" she said, her voice small. "I—I chose it to free Lysara. She—well, she's someone I met during the trial. It seemed like the right thing to do. But, uh, it's still a very nice gift! Magical, even. Surely it's worth something."
The chamber darkened further, shadows coiling like serpents. Phoros loomed larger, his vast form swelling until he seemed to blot out the very walls. The air turned bitterly cold, and frost spidered along the floor, creeping toward her boots.
This is it, Era thought. I've truly fucked it up this time.
And yet—against all expectation—the storm passed. Phoros stilled, his form slowly retracting like the ebb of a tide. To her astonishment, his stony visage softened, and something that might have been a smile ghosted across his lips.
"I see." he said, his voice quiet yet resonant, as though an ancient bell had tolled deep within the earth.
Before Era could react, the impossible happened. His massive, grotesque form began to shift and shrink, his bulk folding inward like shadow yielding to dawn. The pale, corpse-like features melted away, replaced by the visage of a man. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his tawny hair glowing faintly like embers in the dark. His eyes—once cruel and unyielding—were now deep and piercing, like the endless night sky.
Era's breath caught. She knew this face.
"Cassian?" she gasped, scarcely daring to believe her eyes.
The man—Phoros, or was it Cassian?—laughed, the sound rich and warm, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. "It is I," he said, his voice unburdened of divine gravitas. "Though I doubt you expected to find me thus."
Era's thoughts stumbled over themselves like a startled herd of deer. "I don't understand," she stammered. "How… why are you…?"
Cassian—Phoros—whatever he was now—smiled, though it was tinged with weariness. "Long ago, I was a man," he revealed "A mortal, like you. It's a right of all the Gods, to experience mortal life and try to outrun their curse."
He turned away, his gaze distant as though peering through the veils of centuries.
"Lysara," he continued, her name falling from his lips like the echo of a dirge. "She was the last hope I had for a different life. But my own fears… my pride and longing for something simpler… drove her to ruin." His jaw tightened, a shadow flickering across his features. "In my cowardice, I abandoned her when she needed me most. And Kal… Kal made sure I paid the price."
"Kal?" Era echoed, her curiosity outweighing her caution.
"Kaelith," Cassian replied, his tone heavy. "He punished me through her. To show me, I, like all the others, was bound by my fate."
Era's mind raced. The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, and though many questions burned within her, she did not reveal them. Not for fear of his reaction, but for respect. These words were for him, not for her.
Instead, she offered softly, "Lysara… she's free now."
Cassian turned to her, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he said nothing, and Era wondered if she had overstepped. But when he spoke, his voice was laced with quiet gratitude. "You have done what I could not."
Era recognised this as his admission of gratitude, and she accepted it.
"Will you see her?" she asked, lightly, her eyes cautiously flicking to his.
"No." his defiant reply came instantly.
"Can I?"
The words slipped from Era's lips uncontrolled. She was glad they had- she would like to see Lysara once more. To meet the women before the rage and fury.
The world around her shifted. The shadows of the chamber unraveled, replaced by a soft golden light. Era blinked, disoriented, and found herself standing by the shore of a vast, tranquil sea. The waves whispered against the sand, their rhythm soothing and eternal. And there, at the water's edge, stood a figure she had thought never to see again.
"Lysara," Era whispered.
The woman turned, her silhouette framed by the setting sun. Gone was the vengeful spector bound by bitterness and rage. In her place was a figure of serene beauty, her eyes clear as spring water, her smile soft and unburdened.
"Era," Lysara greeted her, her voice gentle as the tide. "You've come."
Era hesitated, uncertainty knotting her stomach. "I… I didn't expect to see you again. I wasn't sure you'd want to see me."
Lysara's smile deepened, touched with knowing. "And yet, here you are."
The former queen stepped closer, and Era could see the subtle lines of sorrow and wisdom etched into her features. She was not the woman Era had met before; Her soul was unshackled.
"I wanted to say… I'm sorry," Era said, the words spilling out in a rush. "For everything that happened to you. For killing you."
Lysara raised a hand, silencing her gently. "There is no need, child. None of us are owed an easier fate than the one we are given. What matters is what we do with it. I failed my test, the fault is my own. As for killing me, I was dead the moment I signed away my soul. You saved me." Her gaze softened. "You have shown courage, and intent, even when the path was dark. That is no small thing."
Era shifted uncomfortably, unused to such praise. She felt undeserving of her words. Courage? Era had no courage, and as for intent. Era's intentions were to survive, to pass the task.
"So… what happens now? Where will you go?" Era asked, changing the subject.
Lysara turned toward the horizon, where the sea and sky met in a blaze of gold and crimson. "I will go where all souls go when their burdens are lifted. To the place beyond grief, beyond longing. There, I will find rest."
The lump in Era's throat returned. "Will I ever see you again?"
"Perhaps," Lysara said with a faint smile. "But that is not for us to decide." She reached out, her touch feather-light against Era's cheek, warmth spread through Era's body . "You have your own journey yet to walk. Remember what you have seen here, let my mistakes be a guide for you"
"Wait," Era said suddenly, desperation rising in her chest. "You should know, It was Phoros, Cassian who sent me here. To free you."
Lysara nodded, her expression bittersweet. "Of course he did. My passing marks the end of his trial and the closing of a chapter long overdue. It is fitting, is it not? For the last tale of the God of Tragedy to end with a release from grief."
Her form began to shimmer, her edges blurring like sunlight on water. Panic rose within Era, but she forced herself to stay rooted, to let the moment pass as it must.
Lysara's parting words were a whisper, carried on the wind. " The past is a sea that musn't be crossed again. Sail forward, child, towards all that awaits you,"
And with that, she dissolved into light, leaving Era alone on the shore, her emotions conflicted. The waves lapped gently at her feet, and the sun sank lower, painting the world in hues of peace.
For a long while, Era stood in silence, the enormity of the journey behind her settling into her heart. At last, she turned away from the sea, her steps firm and her resolve clear. Lysara was right. She must move forward, and the first step was discovering whether she had passed her first trial.
------
The golden light of the sea dissolved like mist as Era blinked, finding herself once more within the cold, oppressive confines of Phoros' treasury. The air was heavy, tinged with the faint metallic scent of old blood and rusted iron. The grotesque throne of bones loomed before her, and upon it sat Phoros, restored to his godly form.
Phoros regarded her silently, his bulk unmoving. The silence stretched, growing taut like a drawn bowstring. Era could hear her own breathing, uneven and shallow, as she waited for him to speak.
At last, his voice broke the stillness. It was not the rumbling wrath she had braced herself for or the kind tone of Cassian but a calm, almost detached aura that carried an air of finality.
"You have passed my trial," Phoros declared.
The words hit her like a thunderclap. Relief surged through her, her shoulders sagging as the weight of tension began to ebb. "Then…" she began hesitantly, "your blessing?"
Phoros' eyes narrowed, the pale light within them flickering coldly. "No."
The single word was a dagger to the heart. Era's stomach churned, her relief crumbling into confusion and anger. "No?" she echoed, her voice rising. "What do you mean, no? You just said I passed your trial!"
"I did," Phoros replied evenly, his tone devoid of emotion. "But you are not worthy of my blessing."
The calm dismissal ignited something within her—a spark of fury that flared into flame. "Not worthy?" she repeated, incredulous. "What does that even mean? I risked my life! I freed Lysara! I did what you asked!"
Phoros leaned forward slightly, his immense form casting her in shadow. The chill of his presence seeped into her very bones.
"No, I asked you retrieve me an object that was taken from me. If you were worthy of my blessing, you would have brought the Crown that was taken from me by Ragar. Or taken the fire opal for yourself. That is what it means to be ambitious. That is what it means to have greed." he spat.
"Instead, you brought me, relief. You decided to free Lysara. You did not do as I asked. You do not have the markings of one suitable to wield my power." his last sentence, was said with less ferocity, but it cut deeper then the rest.
Era had failed, she would be put through this all again. She would have to suffer again.
"That's ridiculous!" she snapped, her voice shaking with frustration. This was what she earned for her effort? Rejection!
Phoros' gaze remained steady, unyielding. "It is not a matter of goodness or effort. My blessing is not a prize for valour or cunning. It is a bond, an unbreakable chain. To receive it is to be bound to my domain, to bear the weight of all my titles."
He paused, his expression inscrutable. "You, Era, are not suited to that fate."
Era struggled to process his words, the fire of her anger fading into a cold ember of bewilderment. This didn't make any sense. There was something more to his words she was missing.
Why did it feel as though he was sparing her?
Era stared at him, her mind spinning. Part of her wanted to scream, to rail against the injustice of it all. But another part of her—deeper, quieter— accepted his words.
"What happens now?" she asked, her voice subdued, her will broken.
Phoros gestured, a languid wave of his hand. "Now, you are free to go. Your task is complete."
"Just like that?" Era said, bitterness creeping into her tone.
"Just like that," Phoros confirmed, his pale eyes gleaming with a faint, inscrutable light. "Take what you have learned, mortal. And sail forward."
Era stood there for a moment longer, her fists clenching and unclenching as she wrestled with her swirling emotions. At last, she turned on her heel, heading for the exit without another word. As she passed through the archway, the shadows parted before her, and she stepped out of the treasury for the last time.
Even if she couldn't yet know what he truly meant, this felt annoyingly appropriate. What good would his blessing do anyway? Good riddance. Era would be glad if she never saw his grotesque form again.
This trial had already given her much, and left more to decipher.
Era would accept this conclusion as the consequence of her own choices. She would take its lessons with her and use them to unravel the secrets of this world. She was determind
now, the next trial would be her last.
She will sail forward.