The River of Illusions did not flow forward.
It flowed inward.
Mist clung low over the fractured basin as Lyra caught her breath, the Phoenix Flame within her steady but alert. The river's surface—once mirror-smooth—now rippled violently, as if angered by her defiance. Cracks of light spread outward from where her reflection had shattered, crawling toward the far banks like veins of fractured glass.
Across the river, figures moved.
Not monsters.
Not illusions born purely of fear.
Her friends.
"Orion," Lyra breathed.
He stood knee-deep in the water on the opposite bank, motionless. His Sunblade was planted tip-down into the riverbed, golden light dimmed to a faint glow. The water around him reflected not one image—but many.
Each one different.
Each one wrong.
Lyra stepped forward, boots scraping against slick stone. The moment her foot touched the river's edge, the world lurched.
The mist thickened.
The sound of rushing water vanished.
And the trial deepened.
---
Orion — The Weight of Failure
Orion's reflection stared back at him with eyes hollow and dim.
Behind it, the battlefield burned.
Lyra lay broken at his feet, Phoenix Flame extinguished, crimson-and-gold hair dulled to ash. Around them, the other Celestial Warriors lay scattered—motionless, defeated.
"You were too slow," the reflection said.
Orion clenched his jaw. "This isn't real."
The reflection smiled bitterly. "Isn't it?"
The image shifted.
Another battlefield.
Another failure.
This time, Orion stood alone—Sunblade shattered, light fading as darkness swallowed the horizon. A single figure watched from afar, cloaked in endless shadow.
Nyx Tenebris.
"You were never enough," the reflection continued. "You follow her light, but when it matters—you can't protect it."
Orion's grip tightened around the hilt of his blade. Golden light flared, trembling.
"I will," he growled. "No matter the cost."
The reflection stepped closer, voice lowering. "And when the cost is your life?"
The river surged.
Water climbed Orion's legs, cold and heavy, pulling him downward. His light flickered, straining against the illusion's pressure.
Then—
A warmth.
Not sunlight.
Fire.
Crimson-and-gold light pierced the mist, reflecting across the water's surface. Orion's eyes snapped up.
Lyra stood at the river's edge, her Phoenix Flame calm and unwavering.
"Orion," she called. "Look at me. Not them."
The reflection snarled. "She'll die because of you."
Lyra stepped closer, her flame touching the water.
It didn't burn.
It cleansed.
"Orion," she said again, softer now. "You don't fight to save me alone. You fight because you choose to stand with us. With me."
The reflection cracked.
Orion exhaled slowly, grounding himself. "I'm not afraid of dying," he said. "I'm afraid of failing."
The Sunblade ignited.
Not blinding.
Focused.
Pure.
"And fear won't decide my fate."
He lifted the blade—and the reflection shattered into shards of fading light. The water receded instantly, releasing its grip.
Orion staggered—but remained standing.
Across the river, Lyra smiled faintly.
One more truth faced.
---
Elsewhere — The River Tightens Its Hold
The trial retaliated.
The mist thickened further, splitting the basin into isolated pockets of illusion. Each Celestial Warrior now stood alone—cut off from the others, trapped within their own reflection.
Emma's ice froze her own heartbeat as she faced a version of herself that had chosen power over control.
Kai's lightning spiraled wildly as he confronted the damage his recklessness could cause.
Mia stood frozen before a reflection drowning beneath her own unchecked emotions.
Rafael's winds turned against him, showing a future where his smile hid cowardice.
Sofia's vines strangled a world she failed to protect.
Nero's earth buried allies alongside enemies.
Serena's light burned too bright—blinding instead of guiding.
Kael's calm shattered under the weight of impossible responsibility.
Zane vanished into shadows that no longer obeyed him.
Seraphina stood before a darkness that did not answer her call.
The River of Illusions did not show lies.
It showed paths.
Lyra felt them all—faint tugs at her Phoenix Flame, echoes of pain and doubt rippling through the bond they shared. Her breath hitched.
"I can't fight this for them," she whispered.
The river pulsed in response.
No.
This trial was not about power.
It was about choice.
Lyra closed her eyes.
She pressed a hand to her chest, to the steady warmth of the Phoenix Flame, and let it spread—not outward in fire, but inward in connection.
Trust.
The flame answered.
Across the basin, faint lights ignited—different colors, different rhythms, but familiar.
Each Celestial Warrior began to move.
Not in unison.
But with purpose.
The River of Illusions trembled.
And for the first time since the trial began—
It began to lose control.
---
The second trial was far from over.
But the river had underestimated one thing:
They were not twelve reflections.
They were twelve wills.
Bound together by choice.