Vesper stood firm as the dragon's voice echoed across the plateau, reverberating through her very bones. The weight of its presence bore down upon her, yet she did not waver.
"I will not waste time on one who cannot withstand a trial of the mind," the dragon intoned, its eyes narrowing with unreadable scrutiny. "You may wield your blades with skill, but a warrior is not tested by steel alone. The mind is a battlefield of its own."
A cold wind swept across the plateau, carrying with it a silence heavier than any roar of battle. Vesper's pulse quickened, but she forced herself to remain still. Her entire life had been shaped by discipline, by relentless training to master her weapons, her body, her instincts. But the mind?
That was something far less predictable.
"Tell me what I must do," she said, her voice steady despite the uncertainty creeping at the edges of her resolve.
The dragon tilted its great head, regarding her with something akin to amusement—or was it curiosity? "You are eager. That is good." The ground trembled slightly beneath her feet as its wings shifted. "This trial will force you to confront what lurks beneath your strength. It will unravel your fears, your truths—every piece of yourself you refuse to see."
Vesper swallowed hard, but her chin lifted. "I will not break."
The dragon let out a deep, rumbling chuckle, ancient and knowing. "We shall see."
With a single exhalation, it breathed forth a shimmering veil of mist, thick and silver like liquid moonlight. The world around Vesper warped, twisting at the edges. Shadows bled from the corners of her vision, and the plateau beneath her feet faded into an endless expanse of mist and darkness.
Then, the whispers began.
Soft at first, like echoes in a distant cave. But they grew, slithering into her mind, curling around her thoughts like creeping vines.
"You will never be more than your father's shadow."
Vesper flinched, the voice striking something deep within her. She turned sharply, her daggers instinctively appearing in her hands—but there was nothing. Only mist, shifting like a living thing.
Then, out of the fog, a figure emerged.
Duke Lindell.
Her breath caught. He stood tall, just as she remembered—broad-shouldered, his armor polished, his eyes sharp. But something was wrong. His expression, normally filled with warmth and pride, was cold, unreadable.
"Father?" she whispered.
His gaze bore into her, and when he spoke, his voice was a blade. "Why do you fight, Vesper?"
She clenched her jaw. "To prove myself. To protect our kingdom. To uphold our name."
Her father took a step closer, the mist curling at his feet. "Is that truly why?" His voice was laced with something sharp—doubt. "Or do you fight because you fear being forgotten? Because without a sword in your hand, you are nothing?"
Vesper's grip on her daggers tightened. "That's not true."
The mist thickened. From it, more figures emerged. Shadows of herself—versions of Vesper with hollow eyes, voices laced with venom.
"You are not worthy."
"You are a child chasing ghosts."
"You think you are strong, but you are afraid—afraid of being nothing without your father's name."
"No!" Vesper stepped back, shaking her head. The whispers coiled tighter, suffocating. She had fought battles against foes three times her size, endured grueling days without rest. But this… this was something different.
"You see now," her father said, his voice quiet but powerful. "Strength is not enough if your mind crumbles beneath its weight."
A cold sweat broke along her back. This was not real. She knew that. But her heart clenched as doubt curled around her like a phantom's embrace. Was that why she fought? Was she nothing without her father's legacy?
The shadows circled closer. Vesper's breath came fast.
"You will never be enough."
A flicker of rage sparked in her chest. "Enough," she snarled, raising her daggers. "I am Vesper Lindell. I am not my father's shadow—I am more than my name!"
The air around her pulsed. The shadows recoiled, their forms flickering like dying embers. The mist trembled as if sensing her defiance.
Vesper took a step forward. "I fight because I choose to. I fight because I am worthy—not because of my father, but because of who I am."
The shadows screamed, a cacophony of anguish and fury. The mist exploded outward, the force nearly knocking her off balance. And then—
Silence.
Vesper gasped, her knees threatening to buckle. The plateau reformed beneath her feet, the world snapping back into focus. The whispers had vanished, the figures gone. Only the dragon remained, watching her with piercing, knowing eyes.
She straightened, chest heaving, but unbroken.
The dragon inclined its head slightly. "You have faced your mind's weight and endured." A pause. "Few do."
Vesper exhaled slowly. "That was…" She swallowed, steeling herself. "More difficult than any battle I've fought."
The dragon's gaze softened—just slightly. "Because steel does not question you. Your mind does."
Vesper tightened her grip on her daggers before sliding them back into their sheathes. "What's next?"
The dragon's wings unfurled, casting massive shadows across the plateau.
"The next trial will test your heart. Prepare yourself, Vesper Lindell. Your journey is only beginning."