The cavern was silent now, save for the faint hum resonating from the broken pedestal where the shard had once floated. Kieran lay sprawled against the frost-laden ground, his lungs heavy, each breath cutting through him like shards of glass. His hands trembled, frost weaving and dissipating sporadically at his fingertips as if the magic itself was too drained to stabilize.
Pain knifed through his ribs. He rested one bloodied palm against his side, feeling the sticky, sluggish pulse of the long-untreated claw wound from the mire of earlier trials. Every pulse was a reminder of how close he'd come to dying, how often his body had been pushed beyond its limit, clawing through pain and panic to survive in this merciless world.
He stared at the fractured pedestal, and a thought slipped bitterly into his mind. Did I survive this trial? Or did I just lose anyway?
It didn't feel like victory. His body was a wreck, battered and broken, and his mind felt no better. The frost that had poured out of him, that had surged uncontrollably against the shard, seemed quieter now, curling faintly in his chest like a beast exhausted but still lurking. Yet this silence was volatile, bearing the weight of everything that action had unlocked inside him.
It started slowly, creeping into his awareness like fog. He didn't realize he'd clenched his fists until the memories hit. Not his memories. No, these were different. They sank in deeper, sharper than wounds, drawing his breath short as they pierced his mind one by one.
He could see a boy standing on the edge of a churning sea, the waves crashing viciously against jagged rocks. The sky above was dark but not storming, lit by two crescents of unnaturally pale moons. The boy's face, shadowed by the hood pulled snug against his head, turned toward someone whose image was blurred. Kieran felt the ache in this moment, foreign but real, a longing so deep it threatened to swallow him whole.
The scene twisted, wrenching into something harsher. Whispers echoed now, laced with venom. Trust shattered like glass echoing through his mind. Words leapt out of flickering memories, disjointed and painful. "I believed in you." A voice, bitter and broken. "You're the one who failed. Don't make this about me." He hated how the words hit him in the ribs. No… not him. Ezren.
The name was a rush, a fire behind his eyes. The boy who had once stood here, whose body he now wore like armor that didn't quite fit… Ezra? No. Ezren Virellan. The name was heavy in his throat, coiled tightly with everything it contained.
Ezren's memories didn't ask for permission to flood in. One moment, Kieran was lying on the cavern floor, bloodied but alive. The next, his mind was ripped open by Ezren's entire life crashing through him all at once.
He saw joy first. A family gathered around a fire, their faces warm with laughter. A small girl tugging Ezren's sleeve, asking about the stars. A man's hand ruffling his hair, the gruff, protective voice telling him to "stand tall, boy; you're already destined for greatness."
Then it shifted. It always shifted.
Blood on that same floor where laughter had once bloomed. A woman's face, pale beneath a shock of auburn hair matted with mud and blood. Kieran couldn't focus on the details before it swept by, replaced by grief so strong it almost pulled him under.
And love. It hit next, cutting through every other memory like fire in a winter storm. A name, soft but jagged, echoed through Ezren's soul. This love was raw, furious. Kieran felt warmth and aching hope deep in his chest, took the sensation as his own, until the face of the woman drifted into view.
Amara.
His body jerked violently against the phantom name. No, it couldn't be her. But the smile was too similar, the warmth too vivid. It wasn't her, not really. Yet the resemblance between Ezren's memories and Kieran's life back in that sterile hospital room was undeniable. His chest squeezed, a visceral anguish he hadn't prepared for, as cracks formed between where Ezren ended and Kieran began.
More chaos tore forward, dragging Kieran through fragments of Ezren's unraveling.
The figure of the Silver Paragon rose, her visage as brilliant and famous as the book's illustrations had made her. But here, in this memory, the light of her presence was cruel. Betrayal stained the pages of Ezren's life, her face burned into his mind alongside her whispered promise. "I'll fix this, Ezren," followed by the dagger buried deep.
None of this was in the novel. Not this past, nor her connection to Ezren. Not the person he'd loved or the family Ezren had mourned. None of this fit the crafted world in Kieran's memory.
His teeth clenched fiercely, the frost beneath him growing jagged and vicious as his emotions churned chaotically. More cracks formed between what he once knew and what he had become.
Kieran wanted to push it all away. The betrayals, the warmth, the grief… all of it was too much, too weighty. But Ezren's name was etched now, carved into his mind along with everything it carried.
And the magic… he couldn't ignore what it whispered now. What had once surged wildly, beyond his understanding, felt different. The frost was only the beginning, a fraction of what Ezren had carried. Kieran could feel the edges of other forms cradled in the well of magic deep inside him, their surfaces fire, shadow, and light.
Ezren's potential was vast, limitless. And it was a curse. Kieran could feel it in every moment Ezren had suffered to maintain control, to wield such immeasurable power. Now, it rested in him—for better or worse.
The cavern sighed around him, like it was growing impatient.
The Trial had not been meant for all students. Kieran knew that now. Whatever this was had been tailored to hurt, to push him into the deepest corners of self-doubt and anguish. The monsters… he'd read about them before, hadn't he? But nothing had mentioned their claws, or the scent of blood mixed with molten ash, or the taste of raw fear when their eyes burned through him. The novel had spared him that truth. The Trial had not.
He pushed himself up slowly, every movement wrenching his wounds open further, blood seeping beneath his shirt. His burned shoulder roared with pain as he put weight on it, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to sink back down.
With trembling hands, Kieran staggered toward what remained of the pedestal. The frost at his feet carried him forward, guiding him even now, as if Ezren's shadow lingered. The fractured pieces of the shard fluttered faintly in the air before him, glimmers of soft light that no longer pulsed with malice.
"What am I supposed to do now?" Kieran whispered, his voice raw and cracked. He didn't expect an answer.
But the shard's broken fragments answered anyway. They swept toward him, twisting and reforming mid-air until they resolved into a faint, flickering figure. It wasn't a full person, barely even a shape. It hovered there, a voice that spoke not with words but with feeling.
You are not Ezren.
Kieran's jaw clenched hard. He had no response in his throat because every word in his mind felt clumsy and too small next to the truth. He wasn't Ezren. But he also wasn't just Kieran anymore.
The hope, the grief, the power… the voice continued. …they were never meant to undo you. They were meant to bind you.
The light began to dull, the glow of the shards ebbing once more.
Kieran stepped forward, something in him snapping, a hybrid of determination and fury somewhere deep inside. "I don't want to bind it!" he spat. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for any of this!" His voice cracked against the weight of that truth, his breath fogging faintly between his trembling hands.
The shards remained silent, yet their stillness felt like an answer.
Kieran's breaths came slower now, rough pulls of air that sent sharp spasms through his chest. He stared at the fragments as though their transparency might betray some deeper secret, but they offered nothing more.
His frost settled at last, weaving itself back into his core reluctantly, leaving only the sensation of isolation in its wake. He felt cold, exposed in his own skin, a canvas painted with Ezren's memories and scars that didn't quite match.
And yet, the path ahead opened suddenly. The frost receded further, peeling back layers of the labyrinth as the exit presented itself beyond the fading shards. His role in this trial had ended.
Kieran stood there for what felt like hours, staring at the opening with both relief and hesitation locked in his shattered chest. At last, with heavy limbs and heavier thoughts, he limped forward. Every step was agony. Every step was necessary.
When he finally stepped through the threshold, the frosty air behind him melted into nothingness. He emerged changed. There was no ceremony, no triumph or chorus of approval. Just stillness. Complete and crushing. He was no longer Kieran. He was still Ezren. He wasn't either of them.
For now, he walked the edge of that uncertainty.