The gate shuddered before him like a living thing, dark oil rippling down its edges. It hummed in a low, distorted tone—like the groan of something ancient and aware. Kairis stood before it, his clothes torn, his body still aching despite the system's restoration. His breath came slow. Controlled.
He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers.
Each battle left something behind—not just power or scars, but fragments of understanding. Kaelthar had forced him to think like a tactician. To analyze, adapt, anticipate. And now, his instincts felt sharper. The rhythm of this dungeon—the pulse of the void—beat in his chest like a second heart.
"Veloria…" he whispered, glancing at the gate. "The cunning one."
He'd read her name in the fragments the system sometimes displayed between trials. Veloria, second in command in Lucien Dreamveil's absence. Cunning, adaptive, merciless. If Kaelthar was the mind of the void, Veloria was its guile—its chaos given form.
The gate opened with a sigh, pulling him in.
The air shifted.
He stepped into a new world—a field of silver grass beneath a lilac sky. The air shimmered faintly, and the scent of flowers filled his lungs. It was… beautiful. Too beautiful.
And that was the first warning.
Kairis tensed, his senses extending outward, trying to feel the gravitational distortion around him. Nothing. Just stillness.
He took a step forward, boots pressing into the grass—and the ground laughed.
A soft, melodic sound. Feminine. Mocking.
"Ah… the child of gravity finally arrives."
The world flickered, and the scenery dissolved into shards of glass.
Behind the illusion, reality revealed itself—a sprawling labyrinth of mirrors and veiled corridors. Floating glass panes hovered in the air, each reflecting distorted versions of Kairis—some older, some bloodied, some smiling with madness.
From the reflections, she emerged.
Veloria.
Her figure was slender, draped in a gown of flowing obsidian that bled into mist. Her hair shimmered like ink, and her eyes were a burning violet hue that flickered between warmth and cruelty. She smiled softly, her voice echoing like silk torn by wind.
"You've done well to come this far," she said, circling him slowly. "Veythar's brute strength, Thariel's silence, Alyth's storm, Kaelthar's mind… and yet you still stand."
Her smile widened. "But strength and strategy mean nothing here. This is a realm of perception."
Kairis said nothing. His sword hummed faintly, gravity rippling around its edge.
Veloria's fingers brushed the nearest mirror, and instantly, a thousand versions of her stepped out—each real, each false, each whispering in a different tone.
"You fight your enemies well," one said.
"You fight your fear better," murmured another.
"But can you fight yourself?"
The mirrors shattered.
He barely saw the first strike.
A dagger flashed past his cheek, cutting deep enough to draw blood. He spun, sword raised, only to meet another Veloria slashing from behind. Then another. And another.
Every time his blade connected, it met flesh—yet none of them fell. Each wound sealed instantly, their bodies collapsing into smoke and reappearing elsewhere.
His heartbeat quickened. Illusions. No, not just illusions—reflections given form.
He clenched his jaw and whispered, "Gravity Pulse."
The air warped outward, bending the space around him. The ground cracked under the pressure, and several copies dissolved instantly. But others remained, unfazed.
"Your power distorts reality," one of them said, standing calmly amid the storm. "But I distort truth. Which of us do you think wins that battle?"
Kairis leapt forward, ignoring her words.
His sword met resistance—steel against steel. The real Veloria? No… her eyes flickered, and the ground beneath him shattered into mirror shards, sucking him downward.
He fell through layers of reflection—his own screaming face repeating infinitely.
Then silence.
He landed on cold stone. The air was dark, silent, thick with a strange pulse. His surroundings had changed again.
He was in a throne room now—massive, decayed, and lit by pale blue torches. At the far end sat Veloria once more, watching him.
"You adapt faster than most," she said softly. "Kaelthar's lesson lingers in you. But the void doesn't reward reason—it rewards instinct."
She raised her hand. The torches extinguished. Darkness swallowed everything.
Then came the whispers.
Countless voices—his voice, Kaelthar's, Elyra's, Kaiyara's—filling his ears with doubt.
"You failed them."
"You'll die again."
"You're nothing but a pawn."
"She doesn't love you."
"You'll never escape this world."
Kairis clutched his head, stumbling backward. His gravity flared uncontrollably, crushing the floor beneath him.
"SHUT UP!" he roared.
The void pulsed once, then fell silent again.
Veloria's voice drifted through the dark, calm and unshaken. "You think gravity makes you powerful? You think it gives you control?"
The floor fractured again—revealing beneath it a reflection of himself, eyes wide and twisted with despair.
"Control is an illusion, Kairis. The moment you believe you control the void… the void controls you."
She appeared again—suddenly, inches from him—dagger drawn.
Kairis blocked, barely, their blades sparking in the dim light.
The fight became a blur of motion—steel against shadow, step against step. Veloria moved with elegance that mocked precision, her form bending, twisting, appearing behind him, above him, within his shadow.
Every strike felt real. Every cut bled. But he couldn't tell what was illusion and what wasn't.
He remembered Kaelthar's voice: Strategy is eternal.
He closed his eyes.
He stopped seeing—and started feeling.
The gravity threads he'd once used against Kaelthar spread outward again, unseen lines connecting everything in the room—the mirrors, the air, the very vibration of Veloria's steps.
And then—there. A ripple. The real one.
Kairis turned sharply, swinging his blade not where she stood—but where she'd move next.
The sword met flesh.
Veloria's eyes widened for the first time, violet light spilling from the wound.
She smiled faintly, even as her form began to fade.
"Good…" she whispered. "You've learned not to trust your eyes. Perhaps you'll survive the next."
Her body disintegrated into violet mist, absorbed into the dungeon itself.
The torches reignited one by one. The mirrors cracked and crumbled into dust.
A faint chime echoed in the void.
[Trial Complete: Veloria — Mistress of Deception]
[Synchronization: 27%]
[System Interference: Null. System remains locked.]
[Reward: ??? Hidden.]
Kairis dropped to one knee, exhaustion flooding him. His hand trembled as he wiped the blood from his jaw.
"No system assistance," he murmured. "No crutch. Just instinct."
He looked up at the ceiling, where the reflection of his parents' faces shimmered briefly before fading away.
"I'm not done yet."
The next gate appeared ahead—its light colder, darker, heavier.
He could feel it. The air around it bent differently.
Seraphyx.
The sixth trial. The angel of illusions and destruction.
And beyond that, only one remained.
Malthior.
The true test of everything he'd become.
Kairis stood, his shadow flickering in the dim light. His voice was low, but steady.
"Lucien Dreamveil," he said into the dark. "If you're watching—keep your eyes open."
He smirked faintly, turning toward the gate. "Because I'm done dying."
And with that, he stepped forward into the light.