We woke to cold stone and silence. The fire pit had gone out sometime in the night—or perhaps it had never truly burned. The walls of the resting chamber glowed faintly, guiding our eyes toward the fourth path.
The final path.
The air was dry here. Not like before. It scraped against my throat with every breath. The earth itself felt brittle beneath our feet, cracked and worn. This part of the mountain had no pretense of mystery or beauty. It was stripped bare.
The chamber we stepped into was wide—unnaturally wide. A circular arena ringed with obsidian pillars. No walls beyond them. No roof. Just dark sky above, as if the mountain had torn open to show the heavens.
There was no voice this time.
Only the sound of chains.
Heavy ones, dragging across the floor.
In the center stood a figure—hulking, wrapped in torn cloth and iron shackles. Its body was covered in scars that glowed faintly, pulsing with red light. Its face was hidden behind a rusted iron mask. When it turned to us, the ground beneath my feet trembled.
Dan muttered, "That's not a shadow."
"It's real," So-Yeon said.
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
Because the trial had already begun.
The figure charged—not with speed, but inevitability. Like an avalanche. Its fist crashed down where I had been standing a breath earlier. The stone shattered.
I rolled, pain flaring in my side from the impact of landing. My sword was up, blocking instinctively. Dan had already engaged, his hammer slamming into the figure's shoulder. The creature didn't flinch.
So-Yeon moved like a ghost, her twin blades drawing lines of bloodless light along its arms and back. But nothing slowed it.
This wasn't a test we could win with force or movement.
It was time.
The figure didn't tire. It grew heavier, slower—but no less relentless. We had to endure. To last. To withstand.
I fought without thinking of victory. Only survival.
My sword met its blows again and again. I felt my grip weaken. My legs buckle. But I did not fall.
We adapted. Dan stopped trying to bring it down. He focused on drawing its strikes, letting it exhaust itself. So-Yeon struck only when it turned, cutting tendons, buying seconds.
And me—I stood where I was needed. Held the line.
The ember in my chest flared, not in defiance, but in quiet strength. It didn't scream. It didn't burn. It pulsed.
I breathed into it.
The figure roared, its shackles glowing brighter. It raised both fists, slamming them into the ground. The floor cracked—then crumbled.
The arena collapsed beneath us.
I fell.
Darkness swallowed everything. My ears rang. I hit something hard, rolled, and stopped.
Silence.
No enemy. No light.
Just breath.
My own.
I lay there, unsure how long. Minutes? Hours?
Then—
A glow. Soft. Warm.
The ember in my chest, responding to something below.
I stood, legs trembling. The darkness began to fade. I saw Dan, sprawled but breathing. So-Yeon crouched nearby, blade drawn, blood on her lip, watching something ahead.
The figure stood once more. Slower now. Chains dragging behind.
But it didn't move toward us.
It raised its head.
Its mask cracked. A single eye beneath it, glowing red, met mine.
Then it bowed.
And vanished into smoke.
No fanfare. No voice. No flame.
Only silence.
Then a doorway opened. Simple. Carved from mountain stone.
We passed through it together.
The mountain didn't speak. The sect elders didn't appear. But we knew.
We had endured.
The Gate had judged us.
And we had been allowed to walk forward.