The room stood still, the remnants of the battle hanging in the air like a thick fog. Kael's breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling from the intense strain of wielding the Oathbreaker Blade. The echoes of the creature's dark laughter still rang in his ears, and its mocking face lingered at the edges of his vision, a constant reminder of the path he had chosen.
The creature—the hollow reflection of himself—had vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind only the shattered remains of the trial. Kael stood alone in the chamber, the weight of the blade in his hand a silent testament to the battle he had just fought.
You are not me.
He repeated the thought in his mind, again and again, as though trying to convince himself. The blade hummed in his grasp, its power coiling around his soul like a serpent. Every inch of his body ached, the toll of the battle already beginning to take its toll. Yet, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of triumph. He had faced the manifestation of his darkest self, and he had overcome it—at least for now.
But the victory felt hollow, as if the blade was already urging him forward, toward the next test, the next challenge. Kael knew that this trial was only the beginning.
The Keeper will expect more.
Kael's mind raced as he turned away from the center of the room, his footsteps echoing off the cold stone floor. There was no time to linger on his success. The blade had chosen him, and now he had to prove himself worthy of it. The Keeper's words still echoed in his thoughts, each one a reminder of the heavy price he would pay for power.
Power without control is destruction.
The words were etched into Kael's mind, as if the Keeper had known that Kael would need constant reminders. The very thought of losing control, of falling into the same abyss as the creature, filled him with a quiet dread. Kael could feel the blade's call deep inside him, a growing hunger that threatened to consume him if he let his guard down.
With each passing second, the weight of the blade grew heavier, pressing down on him like a physical force. He could sense the blade's influence creeping through his thoughts, planting seeds of doubt, whispering temptations into his mind.
Why fight it?
You are the chosen one. You are destined for greatness. Why not take what is yours?
The voice of the blade was calm, soothing even, but Kael knew that beneath its soft words lay a dangerous promise. He had been chosen, yes. But at what cost? The blade would demand more from him, and he knew it. The longer he wielded it, the more it would shape him into something unrecognizable, something monstrous.
And yet, he could not let go. The sword was a part of him now, its power thrumming through his very veins. To relinquish it would be to abandon his only chance at achieving his goals—to save Sylara, to protect his world, to take vengeance on those who had wronged him.
He stopped in front of a stone door, the walls now adorned with strange, arcane symbols that pulsed with a faint light. The door was open, and beyond it lay another passage, a narrow corridor that seemed to stretch endlessly. He could feel the weight of something else lurking within it—another trial, another test. The Keeper was waiting for him, as he always did, but Kael knew better than to think he was alone in this journey.
The Keeper had set the path, but Kael had to walk it alone.
The Next Trial
Kael stepped into the passage, his footsteps echoing in the emptiness. The stone walls on either side were covered in moss, and the faint glow of the symbols seemed to guide him, their light flickering in the darkness like beacons. The air was cool and thick with the scent of damp stone, the silence almost suffocating. He didn't know how far he had walked, but the further he went, the more oppressive the silence became.
And then, he heard it.
A whisper, low and guttural, slithering through the air like a serpent. The sound was familiar, though he couldn't place where he had heard it before. It was a voice, deep and ancient, but distorted, as though it had been twisted by time itself.
Kael…
The whisper echoed through the corridor, growing louder, more insistent. Kael stopped, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of the Oathbreaker Blade. The blade hummed in response, as if it, too, had heard the voice.
You cannot escape your fate, Kael.
The voice was everywhere now, surrounding him, filling his mind with a sense of dread. Kael's heart pounded in his chest as the pressure in the air intensified. He could feel the blade growing heavier in his grip, its dark energy pulling at him, urging him to give in.
And then, out of the darkness, something moved. A shadow, indistinct at first, but slowly taking shape—a figure emerging from the blackness, its form tall and imposing. Kael's breath caught in his throat as the figure stepped into the dim light.
It was a woman. Her features were beautiful, but cold—like a marble statue, frozen in time. Her eyes, dark as the void, locked onto his with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. She was dressed in dark armor, her long black hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of night.
"You have come far, Kael," she said, her voice smooth and haunting, like the wind whispering through a graveyard. "But you cannot outrun your destiny."
Kael's fingers tightened around the blade. "Who are you?"
"I am the first trial," she replied, her gaze never wavering. "I am the one who will show you what you are truly capable of. You think the Oathbreaker Blade will make you powerful, but it will only make you hollow. You will lose yourself, just as I lost myself."
Her words rang in Kael's ears, and for a moment, he felt a pang of doubt. He had already seen what the blade could do—what it could turn him into. Could he truly withstand it?
The woman's smile was cruel, and her eyes shimmered with the promise of something darker. "I was once like you," she continued. "I was once a warrior with a purpose. But the blade took that from me. It consumed me, just as it will consume you. And now, I am its servant, bound to the blade forever."
Kael's stomach churned, but he stood tall. He would not let her words—nor the blade's whispers—take root in his mind. "I'm not like you."
The woman's expression hardened. "We are all alike, Kael. The blade does not distinguish between us. It will turn you into something unrecognizable. And when it's done with you, you will be like me—lost to the darkness, bound to the blade's will."
Kael shook his head. "I will not lose myself."
"You say that now," she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. "But the blade's calling is strong, Kael. You cannot fight it forever."
The shadows around her seemed to deepen, and the woman raised her hand. The air grew colder, and Kael could feel the oppressive weight of her presence bearing down on him. The blade hummed in response, the dark energy it held filling his veins.
Let her words guide you. Give in to the blade.
Kael fought to push the voice out of his mind. He was not like her. He would not become her. He would resist.
But as the woman took a step toward him, her eyes glinting with malice, Kael knew this trial was far from over. The blade had already shown him glimpses of what it could make him—a hollow shell of a man, consumed by power. And now, it seemed that he was about to face the truth of that transformation.
End of Chapter 13