The cool morning air carried the scent of incense and aged parchment as I stepped away from the Celestial Tribunal, its towering presence casting long shadows over the village streets. The sky, a blend of pale gold and soft violet, signaled the fading dawn.
Pulling my cloak tighter, I moved westward, past merchants setting up, priests in prayer, and travelers departing. None of it mattered. My destination lay beyond.
Last night, buried in the historic archives, I found mention of an ancient runic temple—abandoned yet still bearing traces of celestial energy. The markings hinted at Solviel, the spirit I sought. By lantern light, I memorized the path. Now, with only my resolve and the whispers of the wind, I followed it.
The village's cobbled streets gave way to dirt roads, gnarled roots, and overgrown grass. The untouched western outskirts stood frozen in time, ruins crumbling beneath the weight of history. Twisting branches arched overhead, shadows thickening as if unseen eyes watched from within. The air grew heavy—I was close.
Exhaling, I pressed on, thoughts drifting to Ezekiel. He had left the morning before, seeking his own spirit contract. Knowing him, he had thrown himself into danger without hesitation. Yet, he hadn't returned.
I didn't doubt him. Ezekiel thrived in adversity, always pushing forward. But something about his departure felt different. That quiet, determined look in his eyes lingered in my mind.
I tightened my grip on my cloak. "Try not to get yourself killed, idiot," I muttered, knowing he wouldn't hear. Maybe I was just restless. Maybe I hated not knowing.
Shoving the thought aside, I focused ahead. Beyond the dense thicket, the runic temple emerged—its weathered stone walls standing as a solemn remnant of the past. A presence lingered, cold yet reverent.
I had found it.
And now, it was time to see if Solviel would answer my call.
The temple loomed ahead, its ancient stone walls cracked and entwined with vines, nature slowly reclaiming what was once sacred. Even in daylight, an eerie stillness clung to the air, as if the past still whispered within the ruins.
I climbed the moss-covered steps, boots pressing into the damp earth. Setting my bag against a broken pillar, I took stock—water, rations, and silver-etched charms, tools of the celestial order. They wouldn't help in a fight, but if Solviel's trial involved guiding lost souls, they might serve as a medium.
Unsheathing my dagger, I traced the celestial inscriptions along its blade—a precaution. Spirits, even those of honor, could be unpredictable.
I allowed myself a brief rest, stretching sore muscles as my gaze wandered over the ruins. Sunlight kissed the faded celestial runes, their meanings eroded by time. Once a sanctuary where mortals and spirits met in reverence, now a forgotten relic.
I closed my eyes, letting the weight of the place settle over me. Somewhere within these ruins, Solviel waited. And if I was to earn its recognition, I had to prove myself worthy.
My mind drifted to the night I first learned of Solviel's trials—researching by candlelight in the Celestial Tribunal's archives. Among centuries-old records, a fragmented passage caught my eye:
"Solviel, the Guiding Radiance, heeds only those who walk the path of solace. To seek its contract, one must stand before the echoes of the lost, bear witness to their suffering, and grant them the peace denied in life."
Unlike most spirits that demanded strength, Solviel tested something deeper—resolve. It was not about power, but the willingness to carry the burdens of the forgotten.
That was why I had come.
I had spent nights cross-referencing maps and temple records, searching for Solviel's last known presence. Eventually, I found mention of an abandoned celestial shrine in the village's western outskirts—a place where lost souls once gathered, seeking rest but never finding it.
If Solviel lingered anywhere, it was here.
I opened my eyes, staring at the crumbling temple entrance. There was no turning back. Solviel's trial awaited.
Stepping deeper inside, my gaze landed on a massive door at the far end of the temple hall—wrapped in rusted chains, its ancient markings pulsing faintly in response to my presence. A barrier.
I ran my fingers over the cold iron links, sensing an unnatural weight—not just physical, but magical, meant to seal something away. Why was this door locked? The Tribunal's records never mentioned a sealed chamber in Solviel's shrine.
For a brief moment, doubt flickered. But if Solviel's trial was about guiding lost souls, then those beyond this door had never been granted peace. If I hesitated now, I was unworthy of this contract.
Tightening my grip on my blade, I raised it high and struck. Divine light flared along the edge, severing the corroded metal in a single, decisive slash.
The final link fell—
A surge of cold air rushed past me.
The temple shifted. Its walls melted into a vast void, the ruins swallowed by darkness. Heavy air pressed against my skin as whispers rose from all directions.
I turned sharply, but the temple was gone.
Instead, I stood in a field of gray mist, shadowed figures lingering in the distance. The sky stretched above—endless, colorless, neither light nor dark.
A place beyond the waking world.
The trial had begun.
And I was not alone.
A hollow silence filled the mist-laden expanse. Shadowed figures swayed like dying embers, their forms barely distinct. I took a step, and the ground rippled—neither solid nor air, but something in between.
Then, a whisper. Too close.
"Why did you leave me?"
I turned, but nothing was there. The mist shifted, forming a lone figure—a woman, her face blurred, her form dissolving into the void.
"You swore to return… yet you never did."
More voices followed, overlapping in grief, anger, despair.
"You could have saved me.""I called for you.""You didn't come."
They surrounded me, lost souls burdened by regret, trapped in their final moments. I steadied my breath. Solviel does not test strength but the soul itself.
I met the woman's hollow gaze. "You seek closure, but the past cannot be changed. It's time to move forward."
"Move forward?" she echoed. "How, when all I have known is waiting?"
I knelt, voice steady. "Then let me help you. What is it you still seek?"
She hesitated. The mist wavered. A moment of recognition.
"I… waited for someone. But they never came. I was alone."
Her words pressed against my chest—this was not a battle of blades, but understanding.
"Then let this be your farewell. Release yourself from waiting. Find peace, not in what was lost, but in what lies beyond."
She lifted her gaze, no longer resisting. The mist unraveled, figures dissolving one by one.
The first trial was complete.
Then, I blinked—
A suffocating heat engulfed me. Smoke burned my lungs, the crackling of flames roared in my ears. Around me, a village lay in smoldering ruin, charred homes reduced to skeletal frames. Embers drifted like fireflies, yet there was no beauty.
Only destruction.
A broken cry pierced the air.
I turned sharply.
Through the smoke, villagers stumbled—soot-stained, wounded, desperate. Some ran, others fell. The lifeless ones lay still, eyes empty.
"Help us."
A woman crawled toward me, trembling, reaching. "Please, save them."
Before I could act, shadows loomed overhead. Soldiers emerged from the smoke, bloodied weapons raised. The screams that followed tore through the air.
A massacre.
Pain stabbed through my skull—visions of this village, untouched by fire. A memory? No, an illusion.
"Why must you watch?"
A child stood behind me, no older than ten, eyes empty.
"You stand here, but do nothing."
The flames flickered violently. The screams grew distant, warped, pulling me into the past.
This trial was not about witnessing suffering—it was about choice.
I had always acted, always fought. But if this was an illusion, did saving them mean anything? Was I acting for them—or for myself?
The child's gaze remained steady.
"You cannot save the dead," he murmured. "But you can guide them."
Understanding clicked into place.
I knelt beside the woman. "Your fight is over."
Tears welled in her eyes. "No—my son, my home—"
"You've done all you could. You don't have to suffer anymore."
Light spread from my palm as I touched her forehead. Resistance faded into relief. She dissolved into shimmering dust.
One by one, I did the same for the others. As the last soul faded, the flames dimmed, the village fell silent.
The child smiled—soft, at peace. "Guide us to rest, not to fight."
With that, he vanished.
I exhaled.
When I blinked, I was back in the ruins. The chained door stood before me—its bindings cracked.
The trial was complete.
Then i blinked.
In that instant, the ruins dissolved.
I was no longer in the temple.
The world had shifted—smoke coiled through the air, thick with the acrid scent of burning wood and something worse. Around me, the kingdom lay in ruin, its remnants swallowed by flames that flickered like dying embers. Shadows stretched long against the charred ground, where bodies lay still, silent witnesses to a story already told.
At the heart of it all stood a lone figure.
He was draped in dark armor, his presence an anomaly—untouched by fire, unshaken by the destruction around him. His sword was buried in the scorched earth, its blade darkened—not with blood, but with something deeper. Something final.
My breath remained steady, though my mind whirled.
This was not just a battlefield.
This was a question.
The warrior lifted his head. He studied me with quiet amusement, the ghost of a smile flickering at the edge of his lips.
"You've come this far."
I carefully chose to not move. "Who are you?"
A pause. Then—a knowing chuckle.
"Does it matter?" he mused. "You already understand what this is."
I narrowed my eyes. The first trial had been about guiding the lost. But this…
This was different.
This was not about the dead.
This was about the one who had made them that way.
"Is this a test of judgment?" I asked.
The warrior tilted his head, considering. "Perhaps."
I studied him carefully. There was no tension in his stance, no hunger for violence. And yet—his presence weighed on the air, thick and suffocating.
"You stand before the ruin of all things," he continued, his voice low, measured. "The remnants of those who cried for salvation, yet found none. Tell me—what do you see?"
I exhaled slowly in response. "A battlefield."
The warrior did not blink. "And the one who stands at its center?"
I did not answer.
Because i do not know.
Was he the executioner? The architect of this ruin? Or was he simply another piece, a man caught in the current of something far greater?
My hands clenched in noticeable anger. "Why did you do this?"
His expression did not change. "Because it was necessary."
I took a step forward. "Necessary? You call slaughter necessary?"
"Would it be better if I had done nothing?"
I opened my mouth— but then hesitated.
He seized the moment.
"There is a point," he said, "where mercy becomes weakness. A point where hesitation leads only to ruin." His voice did not rise, yet it carried the weight of something absolute. "I did not hesitate."
A cold feeling settled in my chest. This was no monster driven by rage or madness.
He had chosen this.
"Do you regret it?" I asked.
For the first time, something flickered in his expression. A fracture in the stillness.
Not quite regret.
But close.
"…Does it matter?" he murmured.
The answer should have been simple.
It should have been yes.
But the silence stretched on, and in its depths lay something more than simple absolution.
This trial was not about condemning him.
It was about understanding.
It was about knowing whether a man could still be guided—
Even one who had walked this far into the dark.
I closed my eyes, steadying myself. "If you sought salvation, would you accept it?"
A pause. Then, a soft chuckle.
"You ask the wrong question."
My gaze snapped back to him.
"The question," he said, "is whether salvation even exists for people like me."
I took a breath. And answered without hesitation.
"If you cannot find it yourself," I said, "then someone must be willing to show you the way."
His expression shifted, amusement fading into something unreadable. The silence stretched once more, heavier this time.
Then, softly—a whisper of a name.
"Luxielle."
My breath was caught.
The world shattered.
The burning kingdom flickered, crumbling into mist. The air shifted, the weight of the illusion lifting from my chest.
Then i was back.
The ruins of the temple stood silent around me once more. The chained door lay open before her, the air still thick with the lingering echoes of the trial.
But the name—the name—still lingered in the air.
Luxielle.
A name long buried.
A name that should not have been remembered.
I exhaled shakily.
The trial was not yet over.
The kingdom—no, the illusion of the kingdom—shuddered. Cracks formed in the sky like splintered glass, the very air trembling as reality itself threatened to shatter.
I barely had time to react before the world collapsed.
The burning kingdom dissolved into fragments of golden light, as if swallowed by an unseen force. The very ground beneath my feet crumbled away, pulling me into a weightless abyss of flickering memories.
And then—silence.
I landed softly, but the sensation was unnatural, as if i had stepped onto something that was not fully there. i steadied myself, my eyes adjusting to the dim glow around me.
The ruins of the temple were gone.
Or rather—warped.
The once-crumbling walls stood tall again, their stones untouched by time. The ancient carvings of celestial beings, long eroded in the real world, now gleamed with an eerie luminescence. The chained door i had cut open was sealed once more, as if my actions had never occurred.
But the most unsettling part was the sky.
It was the same sky as Aetherfall.