A single breath.
Sharp. Cold.
Elyria exhaled, standing motionless in the middle of an empty space. The air was thick, heavy with the weight of something unseen. A sensation clung to her skin—claws of heat pressing against her, even though there was no fire.
She knew what this was.
Fear.
It curled around her like invisible chains.
And then—
The world shifted.
A beautiful city.
A grand hall of marble and gilded metal.
The emblem of the kingdom of Thalindor hung high above, its banner swaying in a phantom wind.
Elyria stood in the center of it all, dressed in ceremonial robes—pristine, elegant, suffocating.
A crowd surrounded her.
No, not a crowd. An audience.
Regal men and women, their eyes sharp with expectation. Lords,Her family.
At the forefront, her father—Raymond Valcairn.
The king ,Unyielding. Watching.
And beside him—
A throne.
Empty. Waiting.
For her.
She knew this moment. Had lived it a thousand times in her nightmares.
The moment she was meant to take her place.
A place she did not want.
A place she could not refuse.
Her father spoke. His voice carried the weight of generations. "You are ready, Elyria."
The audience murmured in agreement. Their voices rang with pride.
"Our next Queen."
"She will lead the kingdom into a new era."
"She was born for this."
Her fingers curled into fists.
The throne loomed before her, its presence suffocating.
A golden cage.
She turned—to run, to refuse—
But the hall was endless.
The walls stretched infinitely, no doors, no exits. Just rows of watching eyes. Just the throne.
"No way out."
A whisper curled into her ear.
Her own voice.
"This is who you are, Elyria."
Her chest tightened.
The moment her foot moved—just a single step back—her father''s expression hardened.
The murmurs turned cold.
"A disappointment."
"A failure."
"A Valcairn who refuses her duty is no Valcairn at all."
Her breath caught.
The walls burned.
The throne grew closer, as if the world itself was forcing her down into it.
Her hands trembled.
The weight of history pressed against her back, dragging her into a future she never wanted.
She looked at her father—at the rigid lines of his face, the unspoken command in his gaze.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
She looked at the people—at their unwavering expectations, their certainty that she would obey.
She looked at the throne—golden, perfect, inescapable.
She looked at herself—trapped.
And she understood.
"This is not a throne."
Her pulse slowed.
"This is a coffin."
The weight on her shoulders became unbearable. The air turned searing hot.
And then—
Something snapped.
Elyria exhaled.
And stepped forward.
Not toward the throne.
Through it.
The illusion wavered.
Cracks spread through the golden marble.
A fissure split the walls, jagged and defiant.
The flames roared—angry, desperate to contain her.
She did not stop.
CRACK.
The throne shattered beneath her touch.
Her father''s expression did not change, but the world behind him collapsed.
The audience blurred into dust.
The walls crumbled into nothingness.
The voices—expectations, demands, doubts—all of them fell silent.
And Elyria stood alone.
Not as a Valcairn.
Not as an heir.
Not as a future Queen.
But as herself.
Just Elyria.
And for the first time—
She was free.
---
The platform returned.
Elyria gasped, sweat clinging to her skin, her breath shallow.
The trial had ended.
Her hands curled, no longer shaking.
Her body stood firm, no longer caged.
She turned her gaze upward—steady, unyielding.
The weight that had followed her all her life?
It was gone.
---
Darkness.
Heavy. Endless.
It stretched in all directions, swallowing the light.
Zoren stood in the void, his breath shallow, his fists clenched. His heart pounded, a steady war drum in his chest. The air was thick—not with heat, not with cold—just weight. An unbearable, suffocating weight.
He had been here before.
Not in body, but in dreams. In the moments between waking and sleeping, where something inside him stirred, waiting for a moment of weakness.
The ground beneath him was invisible, yet he stood.
Then—
A heartbeat.
Not his.
Another. Deep. Echoing.
And then—
Eyes.
A dozen. A hundred. Flickering open in the void, glowing a cold, violet hue.
They watched him. Studied him.
A voice rose from the darkness—his own, yet not his. A whisper of jagged edges, silk wrapped around a blade.
"You''re afraid of me, aren''t you?"
Zoren exhaled sharply, his hands flexing at his sides.
The shadows rippled.
And from the abyss, it stepped forward.
Himself.
Or rather—something that wore his shape.
A mirror image, yet wrong.
Its body wreathed in darkness, its presence vast and consuming. Its Core pulsed in its chest—a swirling black void, hungry, endless.
A perfect reflection of the part of himself he had always feared.
"I have always been here." The figure took a step forward. Shadows curled around its feet, devouring everything beneath it. "Every time you hesitate. Every time you hold back. Every time you fight to control me, I am there."
Zoren said nothing.
The figure smiled. A cruel, knowing thing.
"Why do you fight it?" It gestured to the abyss around them. "We both know the truth."
The darkness moved.
It writhed and twisted, pulling at Zoren''s limbs like living chains. Dragging him down.
His breath hitched.
"You can''t control me." The figure''s voice was a whisper, a promise. "You never could."
Zoren gritted his teeth.
The shadows tightened.
A familiar sensation.
Losing himself.
Losing control.
His body stiffened.
His mind blurred.
The weight of his own Core pressed down on him, crushing, suffocating.
The abyss whispered in his ears—familiar, comforting, inescapable.
"Let go."
The words slithered into his thoughts, tempting, poisonous.
"Let me take over."
His vision wavered.
His breath came short.
His body—his very existence—felt like it was dissolving.
He was drowning in himself.
"You know what happens if you fight me."
The figure loomed closer, its eyes burning into his.
"You lose control."
"People die."
His fingers curled. His nails dug into his palms.
He saw it—
The memories.
The battles where his Core surged beyond him. The moments where his strength had turned wild, reckless, monstrous.
The fear in their eyes.
Linda.Talis.Nyssa
Their voices, distant—
"Zoren, stop!"
"You''re going too far!"
"You''re losing yourself!"
His breath shuddered.
The figure grinned wider.
"That''s right."
The abyss swirled—expanding, devouring.
"You''re not afraid of me."
"You''re afraid of what you become when you use me."
Zoren''s knees buckled.
The darkness pulled harder.
And in that moment—
He almost let go.
Just like before.
Just like always.
Just like the times when rage, fear, and power became one.
The void waited.
Hungry. Endless.
Zoren stared into it, his body trembling—on the edge of falling, the edge of surrender.
Then.
He exhaled.
A slow, steady breath.
His fingers loosened.
His stance straightened.
The darkness still pulled at him. But now—it did not move him.
He lifted his gaze.
And met the eyes of his other self.
"I''m not running anymore."
The shadows stilled.
The figure''s grin faltered.
Zoren took a step forward.
The abyss trembled.
"You think I fear losing control?" His voice was steady, cold steel against the dark.
"I do."
The figure blinked.
Zoren''s eyes burned, not with fear—but resolve.
"But I''m done letting it control me."
Another step.
The void recoiled.
The chains around him shattered, dissolving into mist.
The figure—his shadow—staggered back.
The darkness howled, twisting, writhing—breaking.
Zoren stood firm.
His Core pulsed—not wild, not rampant, not consuming—his.
The abyss split apart.
The figure of himself—his darkness—shattered.
The trial ended.
—
Zoren gasped as the platform returned.
His body was drenched in sweat. His limbs felt heavy, but his mind—clear.
He glanced down at his hands.
No trembling. No hesitation.
Just control.
He inhaled deeply.
And for the first time—
The darkness inside him felt like it belonged to him.
---
A heavy silence hung over the trial grounds. The air was thick with exhaustion, sweat, and the faintest whispers of lingering fear. The ten who had endured, who had clawed their way through the abyss of their own minds, now stood together—victors, yet shaken.
Ryan stood before them, his usual laid-back expression replaced with something unreadable. His arms were crossed, his sharp green eyes sweeping over the exhausted candidates.
Then, he grinned.
"Well, well… you all look like you just got dragged through the deepest pits of hell."
No one laughed.
Ryan''s grin widened. "That''s ''cause you did."
Some candidates tensed. Others clenched their fists, the weight of what they had just endured still pressing against them.
Aiden wiped sweat from his brow, forcing a smirk. "Could''ve made it a bit easier, don''t you think?"
Ryan shot him a look. "Easier?" His tone was amused. "You wanna be strong, don''t you?"
Aiden scowled but didn''t argue.
Ryan stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders before pointing at the group. "Listen up, all of you. The Trial of Fear wasn''t just about making you suffer. It was about seeing if you could face yourselves—and come out standing."
His gaze turned sharp.
"And you did. Barely."
A murmur ran through the group. Some shifted uncomfortably. Even the strongest among them—Zoren, Ivar, Elyria—knew they had been pushed to their limits.
Ryan let the tension hang before exhaling. "But… that''s enough talk about fear. You survived, and that means you deserve some damn recognition."
His eyes flickered with something almost dangerous.
"Because from this moment on—you are no longer just candidates. You are contenders."
A ripple went through the group.
Some straightened. Others widened their eyes. The weight of those words settled on them.
Ryan smirked. "But before we move on—let''s talk about something interesting."
He turned, gesturing toward the only one who stood completely still.
Elizabeth.
Unlike the others, she didn''t fidget. She didn''t glance around.
She just stared at Ryan, her violet eyes sharp, calculating.
Ryan chuckled. "Elizabeth."
She raised a brow.
"Fastest to clear the trial. Most stable afterward. The one who didn''t need a moment to recover."
Murmurs ran through the group. Aiden scowled. "Tch. Figures."
Elyria crossed her arms, unreadable.
Ivar exhaled through his nose, as if analyzing something.
Zoren… simply watched.
Elizabeth tilted her head. "And?"
Ryan''s smirk widened.
"And that means you get a bonus for the next trial."
Silence.
Elizabeth blinked. "…Bonus?"
Ryan nodded, cracking his knuckles. "More mental clarity. You''ll enter the next trial sharper, more focused. Your mind won''t waver as easily."
A reaction finally surfaced in Elizabeth''s eyes—just the faintest flicker of interest.
She didn''t gloat. Didn''t smirk. Just nodded.
Ryan turned back to the others.
"The rest of you? No bonus. No extra help. You''re just gonna have to deal with it."
Aiden groaned. "Yeah, yeah, we get it. She''s scary. Move on."
Ryan snorted. "Glad you''re paying attention."
He clapped his hands.
"Now, get some rest. The next trial isn''t gonna wait for you."
His grin widened.
"And trust me… it''ll make this one look like a warm-up."
The air tensed again.
The ten who remained exchanged glances. Some determined. Some wary.
But one thing was clear—
They weren''t done. Not even close.
---
To be continued.