"Fear fades when faced, but dissolves when understood."
The Vale changed as they walked.
Not suddenly.
Not violently.
But with the slow, inevitable shift of a dream deciding you're ready for the next scene.
Grass turned to silver dust.
Dust to shimmering fragments.
Fragments to faint strands of light that curled upward like drifting embers.
Aarav walked in the middle again, not because Arin said so, but because something in the land insisted on it. Every step he took pressed soft resonance into the ground, and the ground answered like a heartbeat syncing with his own.
Meera stuck close enough that her elbow brushed his from time to time.
Amar walked slightly ahead, hyper-alert.
The boy stayed pressed to Meera's side, one hand clutching her sleeve.
Arin followed behind Aarav—not protecting him, but witnessing him.
The Vale's horizon shifted until it formed a single colossal shape:
A mountain.
Except not a mountain.
It shimmered.
Shifted.
Changed height and angle depending on who looked at it.
Layers of light wove through its structure as though it was carved from memory, not stone.
Aarav felt the hum in his chest tighten.
"That's where he is," he whispered.
Arin walked to stand beside him. "Yes. The Hollow Echo waits at the summit. The Trial of Origin begins there."
Amar squinted. "So what's the plan? Climb that? Looks like death by altitude and bad choices."
Arin shook his head. "There is no climbing."
As if responding, the light-mountain rippled—
and a path unfolded from its base,
carving itself in real time,
spiraling up the shimmering surface.
Meera exhaled. "Okay, that's… actually beautiful. And terrifying. Mostly terrifying."
Aarav stepped forward, drawn not by curiosity but by recognition.
"This place feels familiar."
Arin nodded. "Because it is built from your memories as well. The Vale mixes your past with the world's past."
The boy tugged Aarav's sleeve. "Will the mountain hurt you?"
Aarav knelt to look him in the eyes. "It'll test me. But I'm not alone."
The boy seemed to accept that. Meera helped him back up.
Aarav rose and approached the start of the spiral path.
The moment his foot touched it—
—everything stilled.
The wind.
The drifting particles.
Even sound seemed to hold its breath.
The mountain pulsed beneath him.
Warm.
Alive.
Arin's expression went grim. "The path recognizes you."
Amar muttered, "Sure. Why wouldn't it."
Aarav took another step.
The mountain reacted.
Light unfurled around him—not blocking the others, but forming a ring that pulled them into sync with his pace.
Meera whispered, "Just like in the Temple. It moves with him."
Arin corrected her. "No. It moves for him."
The spiral ascent began.
With each step, memories surfaced at the edges of the air—
not forming,
just brushing the edges of thought.
A cracked floor.
A hand slipping out of reach.
A voice shouting his name through fog.
A dark silhouette of someone he tried to forget.
Aarav gritted his teeth. "Not now."
The memories faded.
The path rose higher.
The mountain grew more defined.
The light thickened, like it was becoming denser, closer to solid.
Halfway up the spiral, the world shifted again.
The path dimmed.
The mountain's glow softened.
Shadows formed.
And silhouettes emerged around them—
—but they weren't threats.
They were people.
Not Echoes.
Not remnants.
Just shapes of faces Aarav half-recognized:
People he'd lost.
People he'd left behind.
People the fractures had taken.
Meera's breath caught. "Aarav…"
Amar's posture stiffened instantly. "Are these real?"
Arin shook his head slowly. "No. They are echoes of memory. Yours. And the world's."
Aarav stepped toward the nearest silhouette—a woman with tired eyes, hair tied back, her outline flickering like candlelight.
His mother.
His throat closed.
She lifted a hand toward him—
hesitant, gentle—
like she always had.
Aarav's chest tightened painfully. "No. Don't do this to me."
Arin whispered, "This is the Trial of Origin. It forces Anchors to face the root of their identity."
Aarav backed away from the silhouette.
She reached for him.
Her outline wavered.
"Stop," Aarav whispered. "I don't want to…"
But the silhouette didn't chase him.
It simply held its hand out.
Waiting.
Just like his childhood echo had.
Arin stepped forward now, voice quieter than Aarav had ever heard it.
"Aarav… what broke you, also made you. The Vale is not tormenting you. It's showing you what you carry."
Aarav's breath shook. "I can't face her."
Meera touched his shoulder. "You already are."
Aarav looked at her—at Meera, at Amar, at the boy, at Arin—and something inside him steadied.
He turned to the silhouette of his mother.
She wasn't solid.
Wasn't alive.
Wasn't even fully memory.
But the ache she stirred in him was real.
Aarav took one quiet step closer.
Her hand didn't waver.
He reached out—
—and their fingers passed through each other like light through smoke.
She shimmered, flickered, and dissolved into a warm gust of air.
Aarav closed his eyes as the wind brushed his cheek.
"Goodbye," he whispered.
Arin bowed his head. "The Vale accepts your grief."
Aarav opened his eyes.
The path ahead glowed more brightly now, rising sharply toward the summit.
Meera exhaled shakily. "Is that it? Trial passed?"
Arin shook his head.
And pointed upward.
At the figure standing at the top of the mountain—
waiting,
still,
patient.
The Hollow Echo.
Meera cursed under her breath. "You've got to be kidding."
Amar tightened his grip on the hollow man he carried. "There it is."
Aarav stared at the Echo—
the same one that touched him,
the same one that tried to overwrite him,
the same one that whispered he would break.
His Echo's posture was unchanged.
Hands at its sides.
Expression blank.
Presence sharp as frost.
Arin's voice drifted like a warning:
"The Trial of Origin ends when he faces the part of himself that never healed."
Aarav inhaled.
The mountain pulsed.
The Echo spoke—
its voice drifting down the spiral path like cold wind.
_Aarav…
come claim the truth you ran from._
Aarav stepped forward.
"Fine," he said.
"Let's finish this."
The spiral path lit beneath his feet.
And the ascent to the summit began.
"He didn't banish the fear; he untangled it—and it loosened its grip."