Mr. Arnold's voice echoed through the chamber, calm yet carrying enough authority to cut through the heavy silence.
"Ronan, your turn now."
Ronan lifted his head. He gave a slight nod, expression steady, almost unreadable, though the faint tightening at the corner of his jaw betrayed the focus settling inside him. Without another word, he stepped forward.
The portal shimmered before him like liquid glass suspended in the air. Pale light folded and twisted across its surface, reflecting in his eyes for a brief second before he crossed through.
The moment he entered, the world vanished.
No ground shifted beneath him. No violent pull dragged him forward.
Everything simply... ceased.
Darkness stretched endlessly in every direction. Not the darkness of night, but something deeper—thicker. A void untouched by moonlight, stars, or memory. The air stood unnaturally still against his skin. No breeze brushed past him. No sound lingered. Even the sensation of time felt absent, as if seconds no longer moved.
Ronan remained motionless.
His breathing echoed too loudly in the silence. A figure slowly appeared from the darkness. She moved as though she had always been there, merely waiting to be noticed.
Long black hair drifted behind her like ink spreading through water. Her brown eyes shimmered with quiet amusement, catching fragments of invisible light. Her skin seemed almost luminous against the endless dark, and the dress wrapped around her form shimmered faintly, like starlight trapped beneath silk.
She floated closer, graceful in a way that felt wrong. "Good afternoon, Ronan." Her voice slid through the air like velvet. She raised a slender hand and traced a finger lightly along his jawline. Her skin felt cool.
Ronan did not move away. He simply watched her. "Good afternoon," he replied evenly. "So... what do I call you?"
Her lips curved. "You can call me whatever you want." The answer came too easily.
Ronan's gaze shifted around the darkness again. His instincts prickled beneath his skin. There was no scent here. No temperature. No life. Only her.
Something about the place felt manufactured. Artificial. Like a dream trying too hard to feel real. He narrowed his eyes slightly.
"What's the goal here?" he asked. "How do I complete the trial?"
She drifted closer until her lips hovered near his ear. Cool breath brushed against his skin. "There's no need to complete anything," she whispered. "I can make you stronger than anyone else." Her voice softened. "You don't have to feel sorrow anymore."
The darkness rippled. The void folded inward like disturbed water. Before Ronan could answer, the world shattered around him. Heat struck first. Smoke followed. He stood in the middle of chaos.
Flames climbed rooftops in violent waves. The scent of burning wood and scorched flesh filled his lungs. Screams tore through the air from every direction. Ash drifted downward like dying snow. His heart slammed once against his ribs. Recognition hit immediately. Willowshade. His breath caught. He saw himself. Kneeling beside a dying man.
Past Ronan pressed trembling hands against the man's chest, Aether pouring desperately through his palms. Sweat ran down his face. Blood stained his sleeves.
"Stay with me," his past self whispered hoarsely. The man gasped. His body jerked once. Then went still. The Aether faded. Past Ronan froze.
The devastation on his own face struck harder than the screams surrounding him. The memory locked in place. Everything stopped. Fire froze mid-motion. Smoke hung suspended.
The woman appeared beside him again. She lifted her hand and brushed away the tear that had escaped down Ronan's cheek before he even realised it was there.
"I can give you a skill," she murmured gently. "One that heals even those standing at death's door." Her fingers lingered against his skin. "Wouldn't that be nice?"
The world shifted again. Steel screamed against steel. The sound exploded around him. Now he stood amidst battle. Blood coated the ground beneath his boots.
Mr. Alden fought beside him, movements sharp and relentless. Across from them stood the cloaked man—violent bloodlust rolling from him in suffocating waves. Magic burst through the air. Metal collided.
Pain flashed through Ronan's body as memory forced sensation back into him. His arms ached. His ribs burned. Blood ran warm beneath torn clothing.
The woman appeared behind him once more. "I'll give you absolute power," she said softly. Her voice curled around him. "You'll never be weak again." She leaned closer. "No one will ever hurt those you love." A pause. "Unless you want them to."
The battlefield dissolved. Darkness twisted. Another memory surfaced. The cloaked man knelt before him. Ronan watched himself burn the man's core slowly. The man screamed. The sound came raw and ragged, like something being torn apart from inside.
The woman circled him. "You can punish anyone who wrongs you," she whispered. Her voice became warmer. "Isn't that justice?"
Outside the chamber, Mr. Arnold watched with narrowed eyes. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "This is new," he muttered quietly. "I never thought I'd see this kind of illusion appear so early."
Inside the trial, the world shifted again. Ronan stood in another memory. Few nobles student laughed. Mocked. The sharp cruelty of youth carried without restraint. He saw Garrick beside him. Saw himself.
The humiliation remained vivid even now—the stares, the contempt, the satisfaction in the faces of Flamecrest and Viridion's boys and girls.
The woman appeared before him. This time her smile sharpened. "Don't you hate them?" Her voice carried more insistence now. "Don't you want them to understand what they did to you?"
She tilted her head. "Show them what happens when people look down on you."
Ronan stared at the ground. The dirt beneath his feet looked real. He remained silent for several breaths. Then he lifted his eyes toward her. "How do you see my memories?"
She floated closer again. "I can make you strong enough so no one can invade your mind," she whispered. "No one will ever see your weakness again." Her voice pressed against him. Soft. Persistent.
The temptation didn't strike like lightning. It crept. Slowly. Quietly. Like warmth seeping into cold fingers.
His breathing grew heavier. His thoughts blurred at the edges. Something inside him loosened. The desire for strength. The exhaustion of loss. The quiet ache buried beneath years of failure.
She snapped her fingers. A crimson flame wisp materialised between them. It hovered in the darkness, flickering softly. The vision changed again. Flamecrest. Viridion. But different. Bodies lay scattered across the ground. Dead. Still. Their faces frozen in shock.
Ronan stood over them. Victorious. Untouched.
The woman's lips brushed near his ear. "Take it," she whispered. "Grab the flame." The crimson wisp drifted toward his hand. "Gain as much strength as you want."
Slowly, Ronan raised his hand. His fingers reached toward the flame. Then another memory surfaced. Willowshade again. But altered. This time, the controlled brother lay dead. Yet his sister lived. She smiled. Tears in her eyes. Grateful. Thanking him. Ronan froze.
Pain cut sharply through his chest. His breath stopped halfway. Because he remembered. That smile. That same expression. But reality had been different. She had died. She had smiled not from gratitude, but relief. Relief that suffering had ended. If she had lived… She would never have looked at him like that. The illusion had lied.
A quiet voice surfaced in his mind. Mr. Alden. "There is no shortcut to strength. You have to struggle."
Ronan's fingers tightened. Not around power. Around understanding. The flame burned against his palm. He stepped backwards. One step. Then another. A distance formed between him and the woman. His hands moved. Quick signs. Aether flowed.
Three clones burst into existence in soft clouds of white smoke. Each identical. Each carrying his posture. His awareness. Ronan lowered himself to the ground and sat cross-legged. He closed his eyes. Breathing slowed. Steady. The world sharpened.
Two clones lunged instantly. Threads of Aether burst outward, binding around the woman's arms and waist, pinning her against the darkened ground. The third clone activated Keen Eye. Its pupils sharpened unnaturally. Aether pulsed around its gaze as it scanned the illusion.
The woman snarled. "Let me go!" One clone leaned near her ear. Whispered something. Her eyes widened. A flush climbed rapidly across her face. She stared in stunned silence.
The third clone suddenly turned. "Found it!" He pointed toward an invisible distortion floating in space. "There's a seal here." He squinted. "It's complicated. More complex than the Ruins of Aerion. I doubt brute force works."
His gaze shifted toward the woman. "There may be another way to break the illusion."
She struggled against the bindings. "I'm telling you nothing."
One clone grinned. "Boss, maybe humiliation works better."
Ronan opened one eye. "You're here to help," he said flatly, "or entertain yourself?"
The clone straightened. "Fair."
Ronan made a small hand sign.
"You're grounded."
"Wait, wait—"
Poof. The clone disappeared.
Another clone crouched beside the woman. "Maybe we beat her."
"No," another said, flame flickering in his palm. "Burning seems efficient."
The woman glared at them. "What do you think I am?" she hissed. "Some toy?" Her gaze locked onto Ronan. "And are you a god?"
Ronan slowly stood. His eyes met hers. "No." He took a step closer. "You're right." His expression hardened. "We are not gods." The clones fell silent. Ronan's gaze never left hers. "But we are not saints either."
A pause.
His voice lowered. "We're the most dangerous species in the universe." Crimson flames spiraled around his hand. Heat distorted the air. The fire roared hungrily, its sound filling the darkness. His jaw tightened. "I should burn your core." Each word came slower. "For manipulating me."
He stepped closer. "For using my pain."
The woman tilted her head. Unimpressed. Almost amused. "You truly are troublesome." Her voice vibrated unnaturally through the void. "You forget where you stand." She smiled. "This is my domain." Her fingers snapped. A dry sound cracked through the air. The Aether bindings shattered instantly.
Ronan's flames vanished. Not extinguished. Smothered. As if the world itself rejected them. Pain slammed into him. His breath tore from his lungs. His vision darkened. His pupils expanded. His knees struck the ground. The impact echoed. His body collapsed sideways. Convulsions ran through him. His muscles twitched violently. Like something invisible gripped his nervous system.
"Boss!" The clones moved. They leapt backwards. Prepared to strike. Then the air hardened.
CRACK.
Invisible force crushed downward. Both clones slammed into the ground. Weight pressed onto their bodies like a mountain. Their mouths opened. No sound escaped. Shimmering strands of Aether wrapped around their jaws and chests. Binding. They struggled helplessly.
Outside the chamber, Mr. Arnold stood with his hands behind his back. No alarm crossed his face. Only quiet fascination. He adjusted his glasses.
"Wait a few more minutes," he said casually. "It has been a long time since I witnessed this particular trial." His eyes remained fixed on Ronan.
"If memory serves correctly, Alden, Alaric, and Gideon all attempted this path." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Even Roderick endured this pressure."
His gaze sharpened slightly. "Only Gideon and Roderick completed it without losing themselves."
Ronan twitched violently against the floor.
Mr. Arnold's expression remained unreadable. "Let us see what the boy is made of."