They left the Hollow Sanctum at sunrise, the golden light filtering through the canopy as if the trees themselves bowed in respect. Aria walked with renewed strength in her stride, her amulet shining steadily at her collarbone. Something within her had shifted—no longer was the light a strange force she wielded; now, it felt like part of her heartbeat, guiding every step.
The map had made it clear: their next destination was the Sunken Forest of Varuun, a place whispered about in old tales as cursed, where trees grew sideways and the dead still whispered through the roots. Even Lyrien, well-versed in magic and myth, had seemed unsettled when he marked the path.
"You won't like Varuun," he had said that morning, as they set out. "It's not a place meant to be walked by the living."
Aria glanced over at him. "But we're going anyway?"
Lyrien offered a half-smile. "That's what heroes do."
Thorne muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Idiots, more like."
They traveled for four days, passing out of the Hollowwood and into low marshlands. The air grew damp, heavy with the scent of moss and stagnant water. The trees became twisted, their trunks split like gnarled fingers. Fog lay thick over the ground, muting sound and color alike.
"This is it," Lyrien said on the fifth day. "Varuun."
They stood at the edge of the forest, staring into a swamp so wide it felt like the world had drowned. Trees emerged from the water, their bark blackened, their limbs clawing skyward like they were trying to escape the very roots that bound them. An eerie blue mist hung low over everything, and the silence was absolute—no birds, no insects, not even the rustle of leaves.
"Charming," Thorne grunted, adjusting the sword on his back.
They stepped into the mire.
At first, it was just mud and fog. But the further they went, the more unnatural it became. Time felt slow, stretched. Shadows didn't move the way they should. Aria felt eyes on her, though she saw nothing.
"Don't speak unless you must," Lyrien whispered. "The forest listens."
The deeper they went, the colder it became. And stranger.
They came upon a stone path, half-sunken into the mire. Carvings lined the edges—faces frozen in agony, mouths open in eternal screams. Aria paused beside one, brushing off the moss.
"They were trapped here," she said quietly.
Lyrien nodded. "Those who failed the forest's test. They weren't strong enough to face what it showed them."
"What does it show?" Thorne asked, eyes narrowed.
"Truth."
As they continued, the fog thickened. Aria found herself walking beside a version of the forest that seemed to flicker—once whole, then drowned, then burning. The past layered over the present, like the forest couldn't decide which memory to wear.
Suddenly, Aria stopped. Ahead of them stood a figure.
It was her mother.
Not just any vision—her. Whole. Smiling. Standing beneath a great willow tree with arms wide open.
"Aria," she said, voice soft as the wind. "Come home."
Aria's heart wrenched. "This isn't real."
"Don't you want peace?" the image asked. "Don't you want to be safe again? To rest?"
Aria stepped forward—and Lyrien grabbed her wrist.
"Don't," he said. "It's not her."
Aria looked into the figure's eyes. They were wrong. Too bright. Too still. She tore her hand away and stepped back.
"No," she said. "You're not her."
The figure's smile faltered—and dissolved into mist.
The forest roared.
Fog exploded outward, revealing a clearing lit by a strange, pale light. At the center stood a massive tree—blackened and hollow, its interior glowing with sickly green light. Roots wound like serpents around the base, forming a twisted throne.
On that throne sat a creature cloaked in shadow, its form constantly shifting—half-human, half-beast, all malice.
The Guardian of Varuun.
"Bearer of light," it hissed. "Come to be judged."
The roots writhed, and the clearing filled with whispers—voices from the past, from Aria's mind. Every doubt she'd ever had echoed around her.
You're not strong enough.
You'll fail them.
You're just a blacksmith's apprentice playing hero.
Aria stepped forward, even as the whispers tore at her.
"I am a blacksmith," she said, her voice rising. "And I am afraid. But that doesn't mean I won't fight."
The amulet burned against her chest.
The creature lunged.
Light met darkness in a flash of power. The force knocked the others back as Aria stood her ground, the amulet a blazing star in the gloom. The creature screamed—a sound like metal tearing, like bones breaking. But it wasn't enough.
The creature surged again, this time plunging its claws into her chest—right where the amulet lay.
Pain shot through her, but Aria held fast. She reached deep into herself—not for anger, or fear, but for hope. The memory of her mother's laugh. Thorne's gruff care. Lyrien's unwavering belief. The village. The forge. The promise she'd made.
The amulet responded.
A shockwave of pure light exploded from her chest, blasting the creature backward. The roots shriveled. The fog peeled away like burned parchment. The black tree split open, revealing a shard of crystal—white and gleaming.
Another fragment of the Light.
Aria stumbled forward and took it.
As soon as her fingers closed around it, the forest stilled. The whispers fell silent. The fog lifted. For the first time in what felt like centuries, the sun broke through the trees.
She turned back to the others, her chest heaving, her eyes glowing faintly.
"You okay?" Thorne asked.
She nodded. "I passed."
They left the Sunken Forest behind them, its silence now peaceful, not ominous. Aria didn't speak much that day. She didn't need to.
The second trial was complete.
Two shards of the Light recovered.
And far away, in the heart of Tenebrous, the Shadow stirred.