"Pain teaches, but only if you stop running from the lesson."
The canyon dissolved behind him—
not crumbling,
not fading,
but folding into itself,
like a page of the world quietly turning.
Aarav stepped into the next chamber.
This one didn't look like a memory.
Or a path.
Or a dream.
It looked like a **storm** given shape.
A vast circular room, walls made of black stone threaded with red-gold veins pulsing in rhythm with a heartbeat he couldn't identify. Lightning flickered along the ceiling—silent, sharp, contained by some force older than language.
Heat pressed against Aarav's skin.
Not fire.
Not air.
Emotion.
Older Aarav entered behind him, one hand braced on a pillar of stone.
His face tightened instantly.
"I remember this," the older whispered.
"This is where I failed."
Aarav turned. "Failed what?"
Older Aarav didn't answer.
Because the chamber did.
A single pulse shook the ground—
short, heavy, hot—
like the air was inhaling rage.
Red light erupted from the floor in a ring around Aarav.
He tensed instinctively.
Older Aarav swore under his breath. "It's starting."
"What is?" Aarav demanded.
Older Aarav's voice softened—
not out of pity,
but out of recognition.
"Your anger."
The red light surged upward—
coalescing—
pulling shape from emotion—
forming something that was not memory
not Echo
not vision
but **feeling made real**.
A figure emerged from the red haze.
Not hollow.
Not broken.
Burning.
With rage.
Aarav froze.
The figure looked like him—
but older.
Harder.
Eyes dark with heat that had nowhere to go.
This Echo didn't flicker.
Didn't waver.
Didn't struggle to form.
It stood with perfect, terrifying certainty.
Aarav whispered, "What is that?"
Older Aarav inhaled sharply.
"That is the version of us who never forgave anything."
The Rage-Echo stepped forward, the red-gold veins in the walls pulsing in sync with its presence.
Aarav stepped back instinctively.
The Rage-Echo spoke—
not loud,
not shouted,
but in a tone carved from truth he'd buried:
_"You didn't deserve what happened to you."_
Aarav blinked. "What—?"
The Rage-Echo continued:
_"You were a child."_
_"You were innocent."_
_"You were never protected."_
_"You were never saved."_
Aarav's breath faltered.
Each word hit like a memory he'd locked away.
The chamber responded—
walls glowing brighter,
air thickening,
heat rising.
Older Aarav stepped closer.
"This room doesn't test your strength.
It tests your fire."
The Rage-Echo's voice sharpened.
_"You were treated like a tool."_
_"Like a burden."_
_"Like someone meant to be broken."_
Aarav's hands curled into fists.
Older Aarav whispered, "Don't fight it."
Aarav shook his head. "Then what am I supposed to—"
"Feel it," older Aarav said.
"For once in your life, feel it."
The Rage-Echo stepped closer, face inches from Aarav's.
_"You deserved better."_
_"You always did."_
Aarav's heart hammered.
His vision dimmed at the edges.
His chest burned with something he wasn't sure was resonance or emotion.
He whispered, "Stop."
The Rage-Echo didn't.
Its voice rose—
not loud,
but deep enough to resonate in Aarav's bones:
_"You deserved someone to fight for you."_
_"Someone to protect you."_
_"Someone to stay."_
_"And nobody did."_
Aarav staggered.
A dry heat spread across his chest, climbing up his throat.
Anger.
Old.
Deep.
Denied for too long.
His voice cracked. "I—"
The Rage-Echo pressed:
_"Say it."_
Aarav's breath shook.
The heat rose.
Lightning cracked across the ceiling.
Older Aarav's voice dropped to a whisper of fire.
"Say it."
Aarav clenched his jaw.
"I was hurt."
The Rage-Echo pulsed brighter.
"Louder."
Aarav's fists trembled.
"I was hurt!"
The chamber roared to life—
light spilling from the cracks in the stone,
heat rushing outward like a wave.
The Rage-Echo smiled—
a fierce, terrible smile—
and stepped closer.
_"Again."_
Aarav shouted this time, voice breaking:
"I WAS HURT!"
The world trembled.
Lightning exploded across the ceiling.
Stone peeled into molten veins.
The chamber pulsed with fire.
Aarav kept going—
years of swallowed feelings
bursting out like they'd been waiting for a crack in the dam.
"I was hurt!"
"I was scared!"
"I was alone!"
"I WASN'T PROTECTED!"
His voice echoed, bouncing off stone and fire and air.
Older Aarav whispered, "Good… good. Don't stop. Keep going."
Aarav's voice lowered, trembling:
"I deserved better."
Silence fell.
Then the Rage-Echo lifted a hand
and pressed it to Aarav's chest.
Aarav gasped—
not from pain,
but from recognition.
The Rage-Echo whispered:
_"You deserved better.
And it's not too late."_
The fire dimmed.
The heat softened.
Aarav dropped to his knees, breath shaking, tears cutting clean tracks down his face.
The Rage-Echo stood over him—
not as an enemy,
but as a truth.
A truth he had never allowed himself to speak.
A truth that did not want to destroy him.
A truth that wanted to free him.
"I…"
Aarav struggled to breathe.
"I don't know how to carry this."
Older Aarav kneeled beside him.
"You don't carry it," he whispered.
"You let it burn."
The Rage-Echo stepped back—
light cracking around it—
its form softening at the edges.
It placed a hand over its heart—
Aarav's heart—
and bowed its head.
_"You were hurt.
You deserved better.
Now choose how your anger lives."_
Aarav closed his eyes.
When he opened them—
the Rage-Echo shattered into embers.
The embers rose,
spiraling upward
until they dissolved into the red-gold ceiling.
The chamber dimmed.
The heat faded.
The storm quieted.
Older Aarav helped him stand.
"You passed," the older whispered.
"You faced what I never could."
Aarav wiped his face, exhausted.
"What comes next?"
Older Aarav looked toward the far end of the chamber.
A single doorway had appeared—
dark, silent, unlit.
"This," he said quietly,
"is where the Vale tests hope."
Aarav stared.
"That's… the last of the trials?"
Older Aarav nodded.
"And the hardest."
Aarav took a steady breath.
Then stepped toward the door.
"He listened this time, and the chamber answered softly."