The silence inside the colossal skull pressed in from all sides. It wasn't the silence of peace—it was the stillness before a scream, a hush before something shatters. Asari's eyes locked onto the illusory form of his mother. She didn't move, only stared with a gaze that once paralyzed him as a child.
"I buried this," he murmured.
"You never truly do," the voice replied—not hers, but the Trial itself, using her image. "This is where all things come to be remembered, whether you want to or not."
Asari's jaw clenched. He could feel the trial reaching deeper, trying to peel back the layers he had sealed shut over the years. His memories weren't just events—they were scars. His mother's disappointment. The shame of being cast aside. The loneliness he swallowed like water.
Aicha wheeled beside him, her eyes scanning the dim chamber. The glow of the runes reflected in her dark irises. "This isn't just some illusion. It's trying to break us down."
"No," Asari said. "It's trying to show us what still controls us."
As if responding to his words, the bones around them trembled. A gust of air swept through the space. Another memory bloomed before them—this time not Asari's, but Aicha's.
She gasped.
A lavish hallway appeared. Gold-framed paintings. Velvet carpet. Velvet lies. Two men stood in the scene—one in uniform, the other in a sharp suit. One was her father. The other, the man who pushed her down the stairs.
"No..." she whispered, fists clenching in her lap.
The suited man sneered at her illusionary younger self. "You're a mistake. Just another political tool."
Aicha's chest rose and fell. Her eyes glossed over, not from tears—but rage. Deep and unresolved.
Asari stepped forward and sliced through the illusion with a flash of his glaive. It shattered into glassy fragments that never hit the ground.
"This trial wants us to relive our pain," he muttered. "But it won't get the satisfaction."
The Trial didn't speak back. It shifted again.
Now, they were in a forest—lush, green, swaying. Asari frowned. This was...
"The day I met you," Aicha whispered, looking around. "When I first saw you, surrounded by bodies... and still calm."
He remembered now. The scene was quiet, yet bathed in the aftertaste of violence. A young Asari sat on a bloodied log, staring blankly as the sun pierced the trees. She had watched from afar, in her chair, heart pounding.
The Trial was showing them not just pain—but origin.
Suddenly, a different figure appeared in the scene—a boy, no older than ten, with the same cold eyes Asari once had. He looked up, expression unreadable.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked.
Asari frowned. "You're me."
"No," the boy said. "I'm the version of you that gave up everything. The one that killed without pause. The one that doesn't need anyone."
The image of young Asari turned his gaze to Aicha. "And I'm what you become if she dies."
Aicha inhaled sharply. "Asari..."
"I know," he said. His voice was low. "I won't let that happen."
He stepped toward the boy—but the illusion pulled back, vanishing into a swirl of light. The chamber darkened. The Trial wasn't finished.
Stone platforms emerged from the floor, each glowing with strange runes. Symbols of emotion—Fear. Guilt. Anger. Love. Hatred.
"You must choose," the Trial whispered. "What controls you most?"
Aicha looked at him. "What will you pick?"
Asari didn't answer immediately. His eyes passed over each platform.
Fear—the terror of losing control.
Guilt—for all he'd done, and failed to do.
Anger—a steady fire in his blood.
Love—complicated, unspoken.
Hatred—the only constant he'd always understood.
He took a step forward.
Then another.
And chose... Silence.
The platforms shook. A sixth platform, previously hidden, rose from the center.
Void.
The others disappeared instantly.
"You have denied all," the Trial said. "You have chosen the path of nothing."
Asari stood firm. "I don't want to be ruled by emotion. I want to master it."
Aicha wheeled beside him and nodded. "Then we do this together."
The bones began to glow. Not just the room—they all did. Every rib, every arching spine. The illusion of memory burned away. From the ashes, something floated down.
A shard.
Black and silver. Pulsing with an energy foreign to the continent.
Asari reached out.
The shard snapped into his chest, right beside the Stone of Gluttony. It pulsed, once. Then went still.
Trial of Memory – Completed.
Reward: Shard of Null Emotion.
Asari staggered slightly, eyes wide. His heart didn't race. His blood didn't stir.
He felt... nothing.
Aicha looked worried. "Asari? Are you alright?"
He blinked. Then exhaled. "This is different. But I'm fine."
The exit of the skull lit up behind them. A path revealed itself—stone steps leading deeper into Velmara.
And deeper into fate.