The air was suffocating, thick with the scent of earth and stone, as though the Trial itself breathed.

The walls seemed to pulse in time with Auren's heartbeat, a constant reminder that nothing here was ever truly complete. Not even the world itself.

His heart thudded painfully against his chest, each beat a insistent drum. The golden light swirled around him, casting dancing shadows on the uneven floor.

The presence of the souls was unmistakable. They hovered in the air, not seen but felt, a thousand voices trapped in the silence, whispers fading before he could understand them.

Auren wondered if they could still feel the pulse of life in their bones, the weight of time passing them by. Could they see him now? Hear him?

He gripped the bloodstained cloth in his hand, the fabric still warm from his father’s blood. It was his anchor, his last tether to the world he'd lost.

But now, even that felt heavier—unsettling.

"Is this the price of power?" he murmured, his voice barely rising above a whisper. His words vanished into the thick air, swallowed whole by the Trial's silence. A suffocating silence that pressed against him, as if the Trial itself was waiting for him to answer.

Auren swallowed hard, blinking against the weight of it all. I need to pass. I need strength. I need to be more than this.

But the hunger for power, the gnawing need to take vengeance for his father, suddenly felt like a trap. Was it enough? Was it worth it?

He saw Hadric Valthorne’s face again, that sneer. He saw his father’s blood staining the ground.

Would it be enough? To stand before him?

His eyes snapped shut, his pulse thrumming in his temples, and for a moment, there was only darkness. But then—something shifted.

His eyes opened, and the world around him bent and twisted. The Trial itself seemed to reach for him, as though pulling him inside of it. His skin prickled with the sensation of something deep and ancient moving through him.

And then, just at the edge of his vision, a golden mark appeared. It flickered into existence, a jagged ring of light, burning itself into his gaze like a brand.

His breath hitched. This was it. This was the moment he’d been waiting for.

Reaching up, Auren touched his face. The smooth stone before him shimmered with an almost liquid gleam. He saw it—himself—his reflection flickering in and out, like a broken mirror. His eyes—those golden eyes—pulsed with the same mark that now burned at the edges of his vision.

But as he gazed deeper into the mirror, something shifted. His face flickered—others slipped into his reflection. Faces unknown. Strangers. Their forms shifting, ephemeral, as though they had never fully existed at all.

He blinked, clearing his mind. The world steadied, but the emptiness remained.

Is this what they meant? The Trial wasn’t just about power. It was about something else. Something else entirely.

The air felt colder now, heavier with the weight of their watchful eyes. The Trial was no longer silent. A pressure built against his chest—a warning, an invitation.

And then—movement.

A figure appeared, emerging from the shadows like a nightmare given form. Its shape warped as if it were pulled from another moment in time, not quite here, not quite now. It was an echo—a ghost of something lost.

Auren instinctively stepped back, his pulse quickening, unsure if it was friend or foe. His hands clenched into fists, ready.

But the figure spoke.

"You seek to become more, Auren of Veltharion," it said. Its voice wasn't one, but many—a thousand voices layered together, each one broken, distant. "You wish to claim power, but at what cost?"

Auren's breath caught. His heart hammered in his chest. What cost?

"I’ll pay whatever it takes," Auren shot back, voice steady despite the trembling doubt creeping in. "I want this strength."

The echo laughed—hollow, empty. The sound echoed, mocking, as if it had already heard this plea a thousand times before. "Then prove it."

The air distorted. The figure lunged.

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Auren barely reacted in time. The figure moved with unnatural grace, every part of it a twisted reflection of something he couldn't understand. It wasn't just a warrior—it was a question, a test. His pulse thudded louder in his ears, his body screaming to strike first, to end this now.

"Why?" the figure demanded, its voice slicing through him like cold steel. "Why do you seek power, boy? To avenge your father? To fill the hole inside you with vengeance? You think power will heal you?"

Auren stilled, a chill creeping up his spine. Why? Why did he need power? Was it only for revenge? To reclaim what had been lost?

The echo pressed on, its eyes voids, pulling at his very soul. "You think this power will fix everything. You think it will heal you, save others. But it won’t. It can’t." It took a step closer. "Power doesn’t bring back the dead. It doesn't protect. You’ll never be what you were before."

Auren’s chest tightened. His hands shook at his sides. The echo’s words dug deep, echoing the doubts he'd buried for so long.

But then—something else sparked in his chest. Rhett. The boy twisted by the same forces that had stolen everything from Auren. What if Seline was next? What if the same dark hand reached for her?

Auren gritted his teeth. "I can't bring my father back," he said, his voice rough, but steady. "But there are still people who need saving. Rhett needs saving. I can’t let this happen to anyone else."

The figure’s form wavered. The laugh that came from it was bitter, full of contempt. "You think you can stop it? You think this power will be enough? It will not heal you. Power does not bring back what you've lost. It only feeds the hunger you can't satisfy."

Auren’s heart burned with defiance. "I don't have the luxury of turning my back on those who need help. I won’t let it happen again."

The figure stepped closer, its form disintegrating into the very air itself. "Weakness is a matter of perspective," it whispered, fading like a dying flame. "Be careful. Power consumes. You will be consumed."

Auren’s chest tightened as the words hit him. The Trial had torn at his doubts, forced them to the surface. Was this worth it? Was it worth becoming something else?

The Hollow Veil pulsed around him, suffocating, but he wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not when there was even a chance—just a chance—that he could protect those he loved.

"No," Auren breathed, voice trembling with quiet fury. "I will not be consumed. I will protect them."

The figure’s laughter echoed once more, fading away. Its last words, a fading whisper in the Trial’s silence: "Then be careful. This power will break you if you're not strong enough to control it."

And then it was gone.

The Trial had ended.

Auren fell to his knees, chest tight, breath ragged. The golden light of the Hollow Veil flickered weakly around him, like a dying star. But it was done. He had passed.

And yet, the weight of the echo’s words lingered. What had he truly gained? The power, yes, but at what cost? Could he wield it without losing himself?

The silence stretched on, the world around him quiet. Auren stood, the ring upon his finger now cold, yet oddly familiar, as though it had always belonged there. The power inside him thrummed with life—silent, yet undeniable.

"You have passed," the faint, broken voice said again, barely a whisper. "The power is yours, Auren."

Auren’s fingers brushed over the ring once more, feeling the pulsing heat beneath his skin. It was real. His reflection had changed. He had changed.

The power of the Hollow Veil. To take on the form of others, to glimpse their strength, to borrow their abilities—but never fully.

It was both a gift and a curse.

And as he gazed into the dim light of the Trial’s end, Auren understood. He had crossed a line. There was no going back now.

He would become something else.

Something greater.

Or something darker.

And the world—the world—would never be the same.

Auren’s knees buckled, but he caught himself before hitting the ground. His hands pressed against the cold stone floor, grounding him as if the Trial had taken a part of him with it.

The victory felt hollow. The weight of the echo’s words gnawed at him, a constant reminder of the price he’d paid.

The Trial hadn’t just taken him to the edge of power—it had shown him what lay beneath, what would be required to wield it without being consumed.

The power was his. The Shifting Mantle had claimed him, but there was no glory in it. He could feel it, shifting beneath his skin, a strange energy that whispered, beckoned him to reach for it again. But he didn’t. Not yet.

What had he done? What had he become?

“I’ll protect them,” he whispered under his breath, as if the words could anchor him, tether him to something real. Power wasn’t just a tool. It was a weight, an unpredictable force that would demand more from him than he could imagine. And if he wasn’t careful, it would break him.

But I can’t stop now, he thought, rising to his feet. His hands still trembled, but he forced them to stillness. There’s too much at stake.

His heart ached with a hunger that wasn’t just for revenge, but for something deeper, something more urgent. Seline, Rhett… They were waiting. The world was waiting. The power was a means to an end, nothing more.

He had no choice but to use it.

No choice but to survive.

The shadows of the Trial seemed to pull back, retreating like a stormcloud dissipating at dawn. And as the last vestiges of the Hollow Veil faded into the air, the sense of being watched, of being tested, left him.

He stood alone in the silence of the chamber.

Auren looked down at his hands, now steady, though still trembling beneath the weight of his thoughts. The bloodstained cloth, the only thing that had kept him anchored to his past was still clutched in his fingers. But now, it felt lighter. Not in the sense of less weight, but in the way he felt detached from it. The tragedy of his father’s death, the vengeance that had driven him to this place, it all seemed like a distant memory now, as if he were watching someone else’s life unfold.

Was this the price?

He didn’t know. He couldn’t know.

But he would move forward.

With or without the answers.

The chamber around him began to shift. The air crackled, and the stone walls that had once seemed so solid began to twist, reforming into something else. The Trial had ended, but the world—his world—was far from finished with him. The power, the test, and the promise of what came next—that was the true beginning.

A golden light shimmered faintly in the distance. Auren didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, his boots heavy on the stone, his mind focused. One step after another.

The Trial had shown him who he could become.

Now he would find out what kind of man he was willing to be.

Outside the chamber, the world was waiting.

The sky was dark with the promise of change.

And Auren’s journey, whether toward salvation or damnation—was only just beginning.