The darkness shifted, swirling like ink dropped in water. Vale's breath hitched as the void began to take shape, transforming into a strange, surreal landscape. His heart pounded in his chest, a storm of fear and anticipation.
"What the fu—" he began, but the words died on his lips as the ground solidified beneath his feet.
The Trial had begun.
The chamber Vale found himself in was unlike anything he had heard in the stories of the trials.
It was not a sprawling battlefield nor a simulation of Earth with other challengers.
Instead, it was barren, endless, and eerily silent. His breath echoed faintly, the only sound accompanying him. The usual camaraderie and competition of the trials were absent, leaving him utterly alone.
"This isn't normal," he muttered, his voice trembling. "Trials are supposed to be… grounded, right? People working together or fighting… not… this."
A sudden shift in the air drew his attention. Five mirrors materialized before him, each hovering above the ground, radiating a distinct colour: red, blue, black, gold. They were ethereal, their glow faint but commanding. As he approached, the crimson mirror surged forward, coming to rest directly in front of him.
It seemed alive, pulsing like a beating heart.
A voice boomed in his mind, ancient and resonant:
["Step forward, Whisperer. The path to understanding begins with confrontation."]
Vale's stomach churned. "What the hell does that mean?"
The voice didn't answer. The crimson mirror's glow intensified, drawing him closer until he could see his own reflection, twisted and contorted by the undulating surface.
Without realizing it, his hand reached out, and the moment his fingers touched the glass, the world warped around him.
Vale landed hard on the ground. He blinked, disoriented, as the crimson light of the wasteland bled into view.
The air was suffocating, heavy with ash and the acrid scent of smoke. Ruined structures loomed in the distance, jagged and broken like scars on the land.
"Where am I?" he whispered, his voice almost lost in the desolation.
A roar broke through the silence. He turned to see a scene from his past—the alley where he had been beaten and robbed.
His younger self lay crumpled on the ground as faceless attackers kicked and jeered, their laughter echoing like thunder.
"No," Vale murmured, stepping toward the scene. "No, stop it!"
But his cries did nothing. The memory played on, unyielding.
Then it shifted, morphing into a vision of Rue.
She lay lifeless, her body surrounded by the chaos of a raid. The image was burned into his soul, a wound that never healed.
His fists clenched. His body trembled. The pain and helplessness gave way to a searing rage, raw and uncontrollable.
I wasn't strong enough to save her. I wasn't strong enough to fight back. If only I had been stronger!
The ground cracked beneath his feet as his anger built. The air grew hotter, the world feeding on his fury.
"Is this what you want?" he screamed into the void. "For me to lose myself in this?"
A shadowy figure emerged, a twisted reflection of him. It radiated an aura of unbridled rage, its eyes blazing like coals.
The figure lunged at him, and Vale had no choice but to fight.
The battle was relentless.
Every blow Vale landed only seemed to make the figure stronger, and every hit he took stoked the fire of his anger. He felt himself slipping, losing control.
Why am I fighting this? Why am I letting it control me?
He staggered back, his body bruised and bloodied. The shadow loomed over him, poised to strike.
"Stop," Vale whispered. His voice broke as tears streamed down his face. "Just… stop."
The shadow hesitated. Its form flickered, as if uncertain.
For the first time, Vale allowed himself to see past his anger. He looked deeper, into the pain and fear that fuelled it.
"I get it now," he said, his voice steadier. "Anger isn't just rage. It's pain. It's fear. But it doesn't have to define me."
The shadow dissolved into the air, and the crimson hue of the wasteland faded. The red mirror appeared before him, its surface calm and reflective.
Vale was thrust back into the void, collapsing to his knees.
His chest heaved as he gasped for air, the adrenaline fading and leaving him drained.
"Why?" he shouted into the emptiness, his voice raw. "Why do I have to go through this?"
The void offered no answer.
He sat there for what felt like an eternity, his head in his hands.
Is this what the trials are? Not monsters, not riddles, but my own damn demons?
Slowly, he forced himself to his feet. Every muscle ached, but he refused to stay down. He looked toward the next mirror, glowing blue with an icy light.
"For Rue," he muttered. "I'll keep going. For her."
Vale found himself standing in a field under a gray, overcast sky.
The world was silent, save for the soft rustling of the wind through wilted grass.
In the distance, a figure sat by a small gravestone. The moment he saw her, his breath caught in his throat.
"Rue?" His voice broke, and he started running toward her, but the field stretched endlessly before him.
No matter how fast or how far he ran, the distance between them never closed.
His legs buckled, and he collapsed to his knees.
"Please!" he screamed. "Let me see her!"
The figure by the gravestone faded, replaced by the hollow emptiness of the field. Before he could process it, the scene shifted.
Vale was in their old home now. The room was dimly lit, and a younger version of himself sat in the corner while Rue cried on the floor. Her small shoulders shook with the force of her sobs, her voice raw with grief.
He remembered this moment vividly. Their parents had just died, and Rue had crumbled under the weight of their loss. And what had he done? Nothing.
He stood frozen, watching himself turn away from her, unable to bear her pain. The guilt hit him like a tidal wave.
"Why didn't I comfort her?" Vale whispered, his voice shaking. "Why didn't I hold her, tell her it was going to be okay?"
The younger version of himself disappeared, leaving only Rue, sobbing in the corner. Vale knelt beside her, but when he reached out, his hand passed through her like she was made of mist.
"Rue…" he murmured. "I'm so sorry."
Her sobs grew louder, echoing in his mind as the scene dissolved again.
He was kneeling now, Rue's lifeless body cradled in his arms.
The chaos of the raid surrounded him, the acrid stench of smoke and blood filling the air.
"Rue…" His voice cracked as he held her close. Her face was peaceful, almost as if she were sleeping, but her body was cold and limp.
He sat there for what felt like an eternity, rocking her gently as tears streamed down his face. The weight of his grief pressed down on him, suffocating and unrelenting.
Time blurred. Hours turned into a day, then another. He didn't move. The world around him seemed frozen, trapped in an endless loop of sorrow.
"Why?" he whispered, his voice hoarse from crying. "Why her? Why not me?"
Memories of Rue flooded his mind—her laugh, her stubborn determination, the way she had always looked out for him even when he didn't deserve it. Every memory was a dagger to his heart, cutting deeper with each passing moment.