[Thou hast triumphed in thy third trial!]

[Thy final trial shalt commence immediately!]

With a step through a door of golden light, white envelops all that I can see. Streaks of color carry me towards the next place once more. I thought, perhaps in ignorance, that this feeling would inevitably grow easier after experiencing it so many times -- but it hasn't. I feel as if I am caught up in a great current, swept along a predetermined path.

As it always does, the movement grinds to a halt, and the white light and the colors wither up and fade from my sight.

All around me there is inky black nothing, save for a single door. It's made of weathered wood and has a brass knob. There's nothing present to indicate what lies beyond it, but I know immediately that I must pass through it.

[Thou'rt come to the End/Periphery/Denouement, where the Imprint/Echo/Fragment lies in wait]

[Claim the right to thine Inheritance/Path/Power]

The text on the window flashes, a few of the words switching out for others, as if the intents can't be conveyed through one alone. It sends something of a chill down my spine -- never have I seen it act up to this extent, not since entering this series of trials. It's crackling and flickering like embers, in a way that makes me feel as if it's on the cusp of breaking down.

The end has come, and I must continue -- even if the alert was suspiciously vague.

A hesitant hand reaches out towards the doorknob. Gripping, and turning. The hinge creaks as the door opens with a push, and the room beyond is laid bare for me to see.

My eyes fail to focus on any of the details, any of the furnishing or the decor, any of the architecture or the materials. There is only one thing in this room that catches my eye, one person.

W-... Wait...

A woman sits at a table not far from the door, a steaming cup held by both of her hands -- grasped with the tenderness that one might hold a fine jewel. Her eyes are closed, and the small smile on her face betrays the slightest hints of crow's feet beside her eyes. There are no other signs of wrinkles on her smooth skin, and not a single speck of white within her raven black hair. Atop her head is the same hat as my own.

In spite of her age, that is.

"Sybil." Her voice is the same as I remember it being -- the same as when we last spoke. It's almost frightening how much different it is to the voice I heard before, the voice she spoke in as a child. As my master, she speaks with a light tone. It's airy, like the sea breeze.

Just her speaking my name aloud is enough to conjure a torrent of emotions deep within my gut. I know that she's gone, I know that she's died. And yet, before me I see the one who dug me out from the prison I made for myself, the one who saved me and allowed me to live.

I pull my hat down tighter on my head, "Master."

Her lips curve up even further, her teeth catching the faint lantern light. A small chuckle escapes her, "We both know you needn't stick to addressing me like that." With a hand, she gestures towards a chair on the opposite end of the table, closer to the door I came in, "Have a seat, please. It's time we talked."

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I bring myself fully through the room's threshold, stepping towards the table. Every other trial immediately explained what goal would need to be accomplished. As it stands, I'm in the dark on what will be required of me. Regardless, I pull the chair back away from the table and take a seat, slowly scooting back. Whatever this is about, it clearly has something to do with the trial.

She sets her cup down on a small saucer, and then looks over at me with those kind eyes. As far as I can tell, she's the same as she ever was, "Want anything to drink, Sybil? I know I was absolutely parched after getting this far in."

I blink at her a couple of times, "T-to drink..?"

"Mmhm. It looks like I have that authority right now, at the very least. Does anything at all strike your fancy?"

Some water does sound pleasant, but it's hardly my first concern. "Please explain something first, Master."

She raises an eyebrow, "Mmh?"

"You..." 'are supposed to be dead' isn't exactly sending the right message, is it? "You died, didn't you?"

She nods, "That this is happening at all is proof of that much."

"S-so, how are you speaking with me? Are you... Real?"

Her fingers tap on the table and she mutters to herself, "Cider, I should think." A moment later, she claps her hands together lightly. Small bits of energy crackle out and make their way across the table. They gather together, moving and swirling like a vortex before finally coalescing into a solid object: a tall glass filled just below the brim with an amber liquid.

"Wait, please..."

"Yes, it's true." She takes another sip from her cup, only to set it back down, "I'm a specter -- just the shreds and scraps of what remained. In the same vein, though, I'm more than just a figment."

"T-then... What are you doing here, exactly? What is all of this?"

A grin overtakes her, teeth bared as she stares at me, "You've come after my spot, Sybil! Dead or not, it's my role to determine whether you're fit for the position." With a huff, she leans towards me, pointing at the full glass, "But the trial comes later. For now, drink!"

I wrap a hand around the glass, its surface chilled and already gathering a fine mist. I eye it for a moment, and then glance over in her direction. Any questions I have are pushed down -- she's asked me to drink, so I will. I bring my lips to the edge of the glass, sipping its contents.

The liquid burns a tiny bit on my tongue, in a way that isn't quite painful. The taste is sweet, though. To my mind, it feels like some combination between beer and wine. I can pick up the taste of apples, but perhaps only because she had mentioned the word 'cider.' Before now, I'd never had it.

"So, Sybil, how long has it been since we last spoke?"

I lower my glass, looking over at her as I begin to think over the time that's passed.

Ah... Two years, at least.

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Far to the west of Gallwold, we had taken up residence in a small village's inn. It was there that we had stayed ever since a few months prior -- which made it the longest amount of time that we had spent in one place during my time with her. While staying there, my master taught me the most complicated spell I would learn from her: [Transmutation].

The last day that I saw her was just like any other, and I spent a great deal of it with my hands hovering just above a small piece of parchment.

I was tasked with making it more resistant to tearing, through casting [Transmutation]. To that end, I spent the day draining my mana while trying to infuse it within the sheet, only to rest afterwards to restore it and try again.

The process was grueling and painful, and made me grow more accustomed to the feeling of losing mana than any other bout of training she threw my way.

The inn room's door creaked as it was opened, breaking my firm concentration, and I heard the footsteps of my master as she entered. She lingered there for a moment, only closing the door as soon as I decided to finally glance over in her direction. I'll never forget how serious her expression looked at that time, in stark contrast to her typical, more lackadaisical one.

"Sybil, I… Need to discuss something with you."