The boy stepped onto the shard, and a cold tremor rippled through the void. The dim glow beneath his feet flickered erratically, its rhythm uneven and uncertain, as though it too felt the weight of what lay ahead. The hum of his chains reverberated within him, louder and more erratic than ever before. Each pulse felt like an accusation, pressing against his mind and heart.
Sylra's voice carried through the stillness, her tone measured but tinged with unease. "The Hollow Cradle's trials don't just break the body—they aim to unravel the soul. Whatever it shows you, don't let it take hold."
The master stood motionless, his eyes sharp as they pierced through the void. "Despair is the heaviest chain, boy," he said, his voice calm yet weighty. "It binds tighter than hatred and cuts deeper than fear. This shard will show you what it means to endure."
The boy nodded, his golden eyes narrowing as he faced the shard. "Let it try."
The shard pulsed once beneath him, and the void around him fractured. Shadows crept in from every direction, consuming the light until only darkness remained.
---
The Abyss of Despair
When the darkness cleared, the boy found himself standing in a barren wasteland. The ground beneath him was cracked and parched, the air heavy with the stench of decay. The sky above churned with an endless swirl of black and crimson, a storm of chaos without beginning or end. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint, anguished cries that seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere.
His golden veins flickered weakly, their light dim as though struggling to hold against the darkness. The hum of his chains was faint, almost inaudible, a ghost of its usual resonance.
"Another illusion," he muttered, his fists clenching. But the weight in his chest told him this was no ordinary trick of the Cradle.
The cries grew louder, rising from the shadows around him. Twisted figures began to emerge, their forms bent and broken, their movements slow and deliberate. Their hollow eyes glowed faintly, fixed on him as they shuffled closer. Each step they took sent a wave of cold through the air, and their voices—rasping, sorrowful—cut into his mind.
"You failed us."
"You left us to die."
"You will never be free."
---
The Faces of the Lost
The boy froze as he recognized the faces of the figures. They were the villagers from his past—the ones who had cast him out, who had rejected and feared him. But now, their faces were gaunt, their eyes lifeless, and their voices filled with pain.
"No," he whispered, his voice trembling. "You're not real."
A frail woman stepped forward, her face streaked with dirt and sorrow. Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of accusation. "You left us, boy. You turned your back when we needed you. Why?"
The boy's breath hitched as her words pierced him. "I didn't abandon anyone," he said, his voice hardening. "You abandoned me. You cast me out when I had no one."
The woman's face twisted with anguish and anger. "And yet you carry us, don't you? Every step you take is weighed down by what you couldn't save, by what you've left behind."
---
The Trial of Guilt
The ground beneath the boy cracked, jagged fissures spreading outward with every step he took. The villagers' cries rose into a cacophony, their voices blending into a relentless tide of blame. The golden veins on his arms flared erratically, their light flickering like a dying flame. The hum of his chains grew chaotic, each pulse reverberating with doubt.
"You failed us."
"You will always fail."
"You are no savior. You are nothing."
The boy fell to his knees, the weight of their words pressing down like an invisible force. The air grew colder, and the desolation of the wasteland seeped into his mind, filling it with the heaviness of despair. His vision blurred, and for a moment, the cracks in his resolve widened.
---
The Spark of Defiance
But amidst the storm of voices, a single memory emerged—a flicker of light in the darkness. It was the moment he had sworn to rise above the chains that bound him, the moment he chose defiance over submission. The memory burned brighter, a steady flame against the encroaching shadows.
"No," he said, his voice low but unwavering. He pushed himself to his feet, his golden veins blazing with renewed light. "I don't carry your burden anymore. I don't walk this path for you, or for anyone else. I walk it for myself."
The villagers froze, their hollow eyes widening as his chains roared to life. A surge of golden energy erupted from him, shattering the figures into shards of light and reducing the wasteland to nothingness. The oppressive weight lifted, and the hum of his chains steadied, their rhythm calm and resolute.
---
Emerging from the Abyss
The void returned, its silence a stark contrast to the chaos of the trial. The boy stood on the shard, his breathing heavy but steady. As the glow of the shard intensified, he stepped off it, his golden eyes calm yet burning with determination.
Sylra approached, her silver eyes scanning him carefully. "You look… lighter," she said, her voice soft but filled with curiosity.
The boy met her gaze. "I saw the weight I've been carrying," he said simply. "And I left it behind."
The master stepped forward, his expression neutral but his tone carrying a hint of approval. "Despair is a chain few can break, boy. You've done well. But the Hollow Cradle isn't finished with you yet. The next shard will cut deeper than any before it. Steel yourself."
The boy nodded, his resolve unshaken. Without another word, he turned toward the next shard, its faint glow beckoning him further into the depths of the Hollow Cradle.
---
The Shadow in the Void
As the boy walked away, a flicker of movement caught his eye. He glanced back and saw a shadow lingering at the edge of the void. Its form was indistinct, but its presence was undeniable. It watched him silently, a faint glimmer of light in its darkened gaze.
The boy turned away, his steps steady. Whatever was watching, he would face it when the time came.