The passage was narrow—just wide enough for Asari to dash through while carrying Aicha and her chair over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. The rumble behind them grew louder, stone collapsing as the underground temple consumed itself.
Finally, light.
They burst into a chamber shaped like an upside-down tower, walls covered in carvings too precise for mortal hands. Floating torches ignited one by one, casting a cold blue light that revealed… watchers.
Not people. Not spirits.
Figures carved into the walls—dozens of them, hundreds—watching.
Their eyes glowed faintly. Some wept blood. Others smiled. Each face was different, yet somehow familiar. Aicha swallowed.
"They're… not just decoration."
"No," Asari murmured. "They're alive. Or they were."
A spiral staircase wrapped around the walls. At the center of the chamber hovered a single silver ring, suspended by nothing, rotating slowly.
Asari took a step toward it—
—and the air shivered.
A voice, layered and ancient, echoed around them.
"You walk where gods were buried."
A chill traced Aicha's spine. "Who said that?"
"We are the Watchers. We see those who come to defy fate."
Dozens of the wall-eyes turned to follow Asari. Some blinked. Some grinned.
"You carry death in your breath, boy. And yet your soul does not tremble."
Asari's voice was steady. "I don't fear death. I carry it with me."
The ring pulsed.
A thunderclap shook the chamber.
Suddenly—bodies appeared on the staircase. Warriors in rusted armor, swords still lodged in their chests. Their eyes were hollow.
Aicha gasped. "Wraiths."
"No," Asari corrected, stepping in front of her. "Echoes."
The first stepped forward. It was seven feet tall, helmetless, and had no jaw—just a tongue writhing from an open throat.
It charged.
Asari dodged the swing and struck the warrior's side. The blow passed through—but it staggered.
"They're not entirely spirit," he muttered.
Another came. Then another. A dozen. A swarm.
Asari's body blurred.
Each movement was precise. A twist here, a palm strike there. He didn't fight to kill—he fought to break memory. Every strike targeted a point where the echoes clung to life.
Flick. Snap. Twist.
One fell. Then two.
But they didn't stop coming.
Behind him, Aicha traced her fingers along the carvings. Her breath caught as she reached one that looked like her.
"…Asari," she whispered. "These aren't just watchers. They're recorders."
He deflected another sword strike with his forearm. "What?"
"They've been watching since the beginning—every person who entered this temple, every trial they faced. They remember all who tried and failed."
The silver ring in the center pulsed again. Louder. Deeper.
Suddenly, all the watchers screamed.
Images flooded the chamber.
—A man devoured by his own reflection.
—A child stabbed by shadows that whispered comfort.
—A warrior split in half by the echo of his own rage.
Each vision burned into the walls.
Asari staggered as the pressure rose. It wasn't just sound—it was memory crashing into his body.
But he stood.
"I am not them," he growled.
"No," the voice replied. "You are worse."
The silver ring cracked—then flared with dark light.
The remaining echoes fused into a single figure: a towering knight in black bone armor, eyes glowing red, blade etched with runes that bled.
Aicha stepped forward, her voice firm.
"You're not testing him. You're trying to break him."
The knight didn't speak. It lunged.
Asari met the blade barehanded.
The strike exploded into shockwaves.
Stone cracked beneath his feet. Blood trickled from his lip. But he held the blade—and pushed it back.
The knight swung again, faster than before.
Asari caught the second strike with his elbow, spun around, and slammed his heel into the knight's side.
A gust of force cracked the knight's armor.
The watcher walls screamed louder.
"ENOUGH!" Asari shouted—and leapt.
He drove both fists into the knight's head, shattering it.
The knight fell to one knee.
Asari landed behind it, panting—but victorious.
The silver ring stopped spinning.
Silence.
Then the voice whispered again.
"You may pass."
The ring floated down toward him.
"But know this: Velmara watches not with mercy… but with hunger."
Asari reached out and touched the ring.
It vanished—absorbed into his hand. A glowing sigil appeared on his wrist.
The door at the top of the spiral opened.
They had passed the final trial.