The door loomed like an open wound at the end of the grand hall.
Simple. Silent. Blacker than shadow. It wasn't carved of wood or stone, but of something stranger, colder—like obsidian soaked in black ink and dark memories. The new Ramon stood before it, his hand inches from its surface. It radiated a gentle heat, not unlike the heartbeat he'd felt from the castle walls.
It was waiting.
He exhaled. His mind jumbled, burning with questions and confusion. Everything felt surreal and like a dream but he knew he wasn't in one. No dream was like this.
Everything was strange but somewhat familiar too.
Ramon suppressed the floating thoughts and then stepped through the door.
Suddenly the world shifted.
There was no transition, no hallway or tunnel. One step, and the castle behind him vanished.
He stood in a forest—no, a mockery of one.
The trees here were twisted monoliths of jet-black bark, leafless, their branches reaching like skeletal fingers into a sky of flickering ash. The ground was hard and cracked, pulsing faintly beneath his boots as if something ancient stirred beneath.
There was no sun. No stars. And yet a dull gray light bled through the air, casting vague shadows in impossible directions.
"Where the hell am I…?" Ramon whispered.
The wind didn't answer, but the trees did.
They whispered—not in a language, but in emotion. Grief. Fear. Shame. The echoes of souls long extinguished murmured in the bark, in the air, in the cracks beneath his feet.
It wasn't real. Or maybe it was more real than anything he'd ever known.
A trial.
He walked forward, each step deliberate, his grip tight around the black spear that had manifested beside him upon entering. It was heavier than it looked. Real. Balanced. A part of this realm.
"Probably a help from the owner of this place." Whoever it was, Ramon didn't know. But it definitely wasn't that black Shadow.
Ramon moved through the ash-lit trees, every sense alert. His breath came slow, but his heart pounded like a war drum. He could feel something watching. Many things.
And then—
A breath that wasn't his.
It rose like fog, black and shapeless at first. Smoke gathered into a form, vaguely humanoid but wrong—limbs too long, head too low, posture hunched like a starved dog. Two slits of glowing white blinked open where its eyes should have been.
It smelled of scorched paper and rusted steel. Of forgotten prayers.
Ramon froze.
The thing twitched. No—shivered, as if vibrating between worlds. Then it lunged.
Fast.
Ramon dodged left on instinct, the monster's claws scraping through air where his throat had just been. He rolled, spear up, and jabbed.
His body was moving in instinct built by the previous Ramon through blood ,sweat and tears and now it was helpful for the new one. Otherwise, he would have been helpless in fights with the almost non existent experience in fighting.
The weapon connected—almost. The tip met smoke, passed through—then suddenly bit into something solid. A shriek, high and glassy, split the silence.
The thing reeled back, writhing, its form splintering like broken shadow. Then it reformed.
It grinned. Not with a mouth, but with its entire presence.
"You're not real," Ramon growled, sweat on his brow. "You're just… smoke."
The creature lunged again.
He ducked, blocked with the spear's haft—felt cold sink into his bones as its claw glanced across his arm. He hissed. The wound wasn't deep, but it burned.
Not physically—spiritually.
His mind clouded. Thoughts turned sluggish. He saw flashes—not his, but the previous Ramon's—of dying alone, of begging for strength, of being forgotten.
"No." Ramon clenched his jaw. "Not me. Not anymore!"
He swept the spear wide. The creature backed away, wary now. Circling.
This wasn't like fighting a beast. It was like fighting guilt made flesh. It moved with intention. With memory.
And Ramon knew what it was. He had seen glimpses pf it while merging with the crystal.
A Wraith of Doubt—born from the castle's own trials. From the souls who failed. Those who once stepped through this door and didn't walk back out.
"I'm not them," he said aloud, voice trembling but firm. "You don't know me."
The wraith screamed.
It came again, this time faster—form blurring like smoke and storm. Ramon barely parried the first strike. The second clipped his leg. He dropped to one knee, gasping. The pain was more than pain—it was remorse. A crushing weight that pressed against his lungs.
You're not meant for this.
You never were.
You're just a kitchen boy in a dead man's body.
Ramon roared.
He surged forward, not back.
The spear's tip met the wraith's chest—real now, solid—because in that moment, he believed it could be hurt.
He believed in himself.
The weapon tore through the creature's core. It screamed again, this time in agony, its voice warping from shriek to plea. Its form splintered—became dozens of hands, faces, voices—all begging, all weeping.
Ramon didn't stop.
He thrust again. And again.
On the final strike, he yelled, voice cracking:
"I am not the past. I am me!"
The wraith exploded into black mist and vanished.
Silence.
Ramon fell to one knee, breathing hard, hands trembling.
The forest did not cheer. The trees did not speak. But something shifted.
A warmth spread through his limbs. A faint pulse in his chest.
The pain faded. The wound closed—not healed, but absorbed, like it had been accepted by whatever force governed this place.
Above him, the gray light grew slightly brighter. The ash fell more slowly.
And before him, a black flower bloomed from the cracked earth.
Ramon reached out and touched its petals. It crumbled into motes of light—and flowed into him.
His breath caught.
His spiritual sea stirred. A ripple passed through his dantian. He felt more than muscle. Something deeper, finer.
Not Qi.
Not yet.
But… something different. Something more than just simple Qi.
He stood again.
Stronger.
Not in body.
But in self.
And as he looked into the endless black forest ahead, he no longer felt lost.
"I'll earn this power," he whispered. "Even if I have to bleed for every step."
Behind him, the forest was silent.