The taunts echoed beyond the threshold of the sacred chamber, the voices of the "group" shifting between mockery and pleading.
"Kael, please co out! We need you to help us find the last idol fragnts," Talia’s voice called out, her tone sickeningly sweet.
"I’m tired, Kael," ca Jarek’s rough voice. "Let’s just finish this together. I’ll even let you take the glory. We’re a team, aren’t we?"
Sotis, it was softer—gentle, almost soothing. Other tis, it was shrill and desperate.
"Kael, they’re not ! I’m the real one!" Talia scread, her voice cracking. "I’m not one of them! You have to believe !"
He didn’t flinch, didn’t move.
It had been 45 days of this—day after day of incessant taunts, screams, and whispers from the creatures that mimicked the people he once thought were his companions.
At first, their words had at his sanity, each syllable like nails scraping against his skull. The fear and terror had been overwhelming. But fear could only grip a man for so long before it burned out, leaving sothing colder in its place.
Now, all Kael felt was irritation.
The mad monk, as it always did paced in erratic circles, its bony feet shuffling against the stone floor. It muttered ceaselessly, a rambling stream of words that barely ford coherent sentences.
The creature’s milky white eyes stared at nothing, its long, clawed hands twitching with every step.
He had grown used to the monk’s presence, its ramblings becoming a constant background noise in his mind.
But there had been one mont when the monk had stopped.
Kael rembered it clearly. It was the mont he had realized the truth—the mont the illusion of humanity outside the chamber shattered.
The monk had paused mid-step, its thin, hunched fra stilling as it turned to face him. For the first ti, those empty, clouded eyes seed to focus, locking onto Kael with an intensity that made his skin crawl.
Its voice, usually incoherent, had been disturbingly clear as it spoke.
"Are you mad yet?"
Kael had stared back at the monk, the whispers of the entities outside gnawing at the edges of his mind. Fear still gripped him then, but beneath it was a growing ember of sothing stronger.
He had taken a long breath before replying, his voice steady.
"No. I think it’ll take more."
The monk had grinned—a hideous, toothless smile that stretched its gaunt face unnaturally. Then it returned to its pacing, muttering once again.
Kael swung Ather’valis through the air, the blade slicing with a faint hum.
His sweat-drenched hair clung to his forehead, and salty droplets stung his eyes. He ignored the discomfort, focusing on the motion of the sword.
Over and over, he repeated the movents, his muscles burning with the effort.
He had lost count of how many swings he had perford, how many hours—days—he had spent training with the blade. His arms trembled with fatigue, but he kept going.
Hunger, thirst, bodily requirents—these things didn’t exist within the Reach Trial. It was one of the first things he had realized after entering this place. His body didn’t weaken from lack of sustenance. His only limitations were his mind and the strength of his will.
Kael saw it as an opportunity.
The entities outside the chamber—the ones that mimicked his forr companions—weren’t Ravagers. They were sothing far worse, sothing beyond natural order. If he stepped out of the chamber, they would kill him in an instant.
He had no intention of giving them the chance.
He swung his blade again, the motion fluid and precise. He had morized every contour of the weapon he could comprehend at his level, every shift in its balance.
The monk’s ramblings grew louder for a mont, then quieter again, fading into the background.
Kael’s movents slowed as he lowered the blade, his chest heaving from the exertion. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his gaze fixed on the stone floor.
Two fragnts. That was all he needed. Two more pieces of the broken idol, and he could complete the trial.
But they were out there, beyond the threshold, in the battlefield, to get them he would need to go through those... things.
Kael clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on Ather’valis. He had thought long and hard about his options, turning over every possibility in his mind.
The conclusion was always the sa.
He couldn’t rely on tricks or cunning. He couldn’t hope to outmaneuver these creatures.
If he wanted to survive—if he wanted to win—he had to be stronger.
Kael stared at the blade in his hands, the dark tal glinting faintly in the dim illumination of the chamber. He thought of the gods, of the celestial beings that had cast him into The Null in his past life.
He thought of the trial that had brought him here, the illusions that had nearly broken him.
He had grown complacent.
That was the truth of it. He had been content with his strength, with being able to overpower low-rank Ravagers and weak n. He had allowed himself to believe that was enough.
But it wasn’t.
Kael was not ant to be just another Lightforged, another challenger climbing the Reaches. He was not ant to rely survive.
He was ant to slaughter gods.
And it was ti to start acting like it.
Kael rose to his feet, the blade resting against his shoulder. The voices outside the chamber continued their relentless assault, but he paid them no mind.
They were distractions, nothing more.
Beyond the threshold, the entities whispered and scread, their twisted forms flickering in the faint light.
Kael didn’t flinch.
He was no longer afraid.
The monk paused its pacing once again, its head tilting toward Kael as if sensing the shift in his deanor.
"Are you mad yet?" it rasped, its voice like dry leaves crumbling underfoot.
Kael t the monk’s gaze, his expression cold and resolute.
"Not yet," he replied.
The monk chuckled, a dry, rasping sound that echoed through the chamber. "Good. Very good. Perhaps you will be more resilient than i had been."
With that, the monk returned to it’s ramblings and pacing.
Kael was not yet insane, but now he at least understood why the monk was.
He gripped Ather’valis tighter, and he began swinging again.
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