Aelric stepped through the archway of pale stone, and the world blinked.
The silence that followed was not empty—it was a silence filled with the weight of memory. Beneath his boots, the ground had changed. The timeworn stones of the Temple Beneath Time gave way to a smooth, star-flecked surface, like walking upon the night sky itself. A faint breeze moved through the space, carrying the scent of dust and old fire.
Above him, constellations shifted in unnatural patterns, spiraling like living things across a firmament that was not the sky he knew. The space around him was no longer bound to time in any familiar sense. It was as though the world had folded inward.
Behind him, the doorway had vanished.
He was alone.
Aelric tightened his grip on the blade at his side—the sword gifted by Saelin, its runes faintly aglow with emberlight. The quiet here was oppressive, but it did not frighten him. Not yet.
He walked.
Time slipped strange in this place. He could not say if he walked for moments or hours, but with every step, the air grew thicker with presence. Not menace, not quite. Just... attention.
Then came the voice.
"You seek the Stars, and yet you fear their light."
Aelric stopped.
It was not a voice he recognized, but it was familiar all the same—like hearing a thought before it's fully formed. It echoed from the void around him, and within him.
"I fear nothing," Aelric said aloud, though his voice sounded small in the vastness.
A figure appeared ahead, cloaked in shifting dusk. No footsteps, no sound. Just the subtle shimmer of form taking shape.
It was a mirror of himself.
Same face, same eyes—but older. Hardened. Scarred in ways Aelric was not. The reflection's gaze bore into him with solemn fury.
"You fear yourself," it said.
A Trial of Flame and Reflection
Without warning, the air ignited. A circle of fire blossomed around Aelric, separating him from his shadow-twin. The ground cracked, and memories surged from the fissures.
He saw his mother's face in the flames—smiling, then screaming. He saw the orphaned children of Brindlewood, crying as their homes were razed. He saw Liora falling to her knees in battle, bleeding, calling his name.
"Do you carry their hopes," the mirror-Aelric asked, stepping forward, "or do you flee from their weight?"
Aelric gritted his teeth. "I carry them."
The flame surged higher.
"Then why do you hesitate to lead?"
Aelric charged forward, blade drawn, but the figure vanished, replaced by another.
This time it was Thalin, cloaked in the robes of the Order—but his face was twisted in sorrow. "You will fail him," he said. "You will fail them all."
The world bent again.
Aelric was no longer in the cosmic void. He stood now in the ruins of Brindlewood, its streets flooded with shadow. He stumbled back, smoke thick in his lungs, only to find the fires were not consuming the village—they were consuming him.
His arms were aflame. His body burned, and yet he did not scream.
"You have the flame," the first voice said again, "but the flame is not enough. What is power without purpose?"
Aelric fell to one knee.
And in the burning ash, he whispered: "To protect."
Awakening the Forgotten Flame
The illusions broke.
Aelric awoke not on stone, but on soil. Damp and dark and real. He drew in a ragged breath and looked around.
He was in a forest—not the woods of Eldoria, but something older. The trees here were gnarled and silver, glowing faintly from within. Mist drifted lazily between their trunks, and the air hummed with ancient resonance.
He stood, and something called to him.
Not a voice this time, but a pulse—a thrum in the earth, echoing in his chest like a second heartbeat.
He followed it.
There was no path, but his feet found their way.
Ahead, a clearing opened, and at its center stood a monolith. Black stone carved with spirals of starlight, pulsing in time with his own breath. As Aelric stepped forward, his sword vibrated, resonating with the relic.
And then he saw them—figures emerging from the trees.
Not enemies. Not shadows.
The Starborn.
Not dead. Not gone.
But echoes. Guardians.
Tall and ageless, cloaked in robes of twilight, their eyes held galaxies. They circled the monolith and Aelric alike, silent.
Until one spoke.
"You have passed the first flame."
Aelric said nothing.
Another stepped forward, a woman with hair like silver fire. "The Mirror Sky revealed your fear. Now you must prove your resolve."
The ground shifted. Aelric felt the world tilt, and suddenly he stood within the monolith. Not a chamber. A memory.
It showed him worlds consumed by void. It showed him the cost of failure.
And then, it showed him something more:
A path.
The Endless Road Ahead
When Aelric stepped back into the clearing, he carried something new—not a weapon, not a relic, but a truth.
The Starborn had not been gods. They had been mortals who chose to rise. Chose to resist the void with all that they were.
And now it was his turn.
The monolith faded. The clearing vanished. Aelric awoke on a cold mountainside, Nyara curled beside him, stars glittering overhead.
The Trial of Stars had begun. This was only the first.
He rose, wind tugging at his cloak. Below, the valley of Yvendar lay spread like a tapestry—lush, treacherous, and filled with whispers of lost cities and forgotten power.
From the horizon, a storm approached—its clouds etched with violet lightning.
Somewhere beyond that storm waited the next trial.
And somewhere deeper still, the Voidweaver stirred.
Aelric turned to the path ahead, blade at his back, flame in his heart.
The road would not end.
But neither would he.
~to be continued