The air changed the moment we crossed the threshold. The sky above shimmered with emerald light, and the scent of earth and growing things filled my lungs. Leaves the size of sails drifted lazily in the air, flowers bloomed and withered in seconds, and rivers twisted and curled like ribbons of liquid jade. This was Auraya's realm, a place of life, growth, and endless possibility—but also danger hidden beneath beauty.
Lysara's presence beside me was a constant reminder: even the fallen still bore wisdom, and even gods could be guides—or warnings.
"The goddess watches," she said softly. "She tests not strength, but the heart. She asks: what are you willing to give, and what are you willing to lose?"
Before us, the realm split into two paths. On the left, a field of brilliant flowers, each glowing with life's essence. The fragment of Auraya hovered above them, radiating green light and whispering of unimaginable power. On the right, a grove of sickly trees, their roots entwined around villagers trapped and struggling to escape. Their faces twisted in fear, reaching out for help.
The choice was clear: claim the fragment for myself, gaining power that would strengthen all the others—but at the cost of lives dependent on my mercy—or save the villagers, sacrificing the fragment and potentially weakening myself for trials yet to come.
The Shattered Sky pulsed against my chest, each fragment vibrating with anticipation. Thyrrion's flame urged courage and dominance. Selmyra's water reminded me of reflection and moral clarity. Nyxion's shadow whispered doubt and temptation. And the crystal of clarity—my anchor—pressed against my mind: see truth, act wisely.
I could feel the weight of every choice I had made so far. The Labyrinth, the shadow trials, mercy in Auraya's realm—they had all led to this moment. And I understood, suddenly, the lesson Lysara had whispered: fragments give power, yes—but they also demand understanding, judgment, and restraint.
I stepped toward the grove. The roots writhed violently, but I did not falter. The shards in my hands pulsed, and I summoned their combined power. Flame ignited the roots, but did not destroy them—only loosened them. Water softened the soil, unraveling the entanglement. Clarity guided my hands, showing the weak points and where life was trapped. And shadow allowed me to see deceptive growths hiding lethal thorns.
The villagers collapsed to the ground, gasping, free from their binds. The fragment hovered above the grove, flickering in frustration, as if sensing my refusal to claim it. Yet I did not reach for it. I had learned the weight of power. Mercy now mattered more than strength.
Auraya's voice resonated through the grove, warm yet commanding: "You have chosen life over ambition, mercy over greed. Few mortals would endure as you have, bearing fragments without succumbing to their temptation. You honor the balance that even gods sometimes forget."
I felt a shift in the air. The fragment dissolved into the earth, infusing the grove with renewed life, healing both soil and spirit. My chest tightened—not from exhaustion, but from the growing awareness that every fragment I held carried consequences far beyond my understanding.
Lysara's wings fluttered faintly, her light stronger. "You endure, Eryndor. You make choices that matter. But remember this: mercy carries weight too. What you save must be protected. What you spare may still perish if the next trial tests you too harshly. The path grows darker, even as the world blooms."
I nodded, my hands still pulsing with the combined fragments. I was stronger than before—but I was also burdened, not just by power, but by responsibility, by the lives intertwined with my decisions, and by the knowledge that every choice could shape not only my destiny, but the fate of realms themselves.
Ahead, the next fractured realm shimmered, darker, colder, promising trials yet unseen. The gods waited, and I could sense the subtle weight of their expectations—and their judgment.
I had survived fire, water, labyrinth, shadow, and the trial of life. But the Shattered Sky whispered in warning: the cost of fragments was only beginning to reveal itself.
I was Eryndor, bearer of the Shattered Sky, mortal and bridge between realms. And the Age of Gods was far from over.