The sun is finally spilling its first light through the treetops.
Morning. At last.
I didn't sleep at all.
All night, I kept replaying spells and movements in my head.
Wait—how did that one go again…?
Oh. Right. Like this.
I'm scared.
Will I be able to pass the First Trial?
What will it be?
I turn and look at Dorcha.
He's sitting on his bed, focused—but calm.
He's already wearing the armor the elves gifted him: light, resilient, silver traced with delicate lines of gold.
I should put mine on too.
It's just as light as his. Almost white.
On the chest, a cloud split open by a surge of golden light—the symbol of Cloudland.
Looking at him reminds me why I'm fighting in the first place.
I just hope I'm strong enough.
Dorcha finishes polishing my spear and moves on to his sword.
Its surface is so bright I can see my reflection in it.
My heart pounds like a drum.
He stands, steps closer.
Smiles—and gently stops my pacing.
"Relax. Everything will be fine."
I hope so.
I nod.
Without another word, I put the armor on, tucking my hair beneath the helmet so it won't get in the way.
The sun brushes the tip of the tallest fir.
It's time.
I move toward the exit.
I can do this.
"Let's go. I'm ready."
Dorcha falls into step beside me, and together we follow the path leading to the training grounds.
-----
The forest is unnaturally quiet this morning.
Dorcha is on edge. I can feel it—like he's sensing something wrong.
I don't understand. Everything looks peaceful to me.
Too peaceful.
Maybe that's why he's so silent.
We're only a few steps from the clearing when he suddenly stretches an arm out in front of me, stopping me cold.
"What is it?" I ask.
He's starting to scare me.
He doesn't answer. Instead, he turns toward the line of trees to our left.
"A powerful energy," he says. "And dark."
Dark?
What does that even mean?
Aeltiàfisar's voice booms through the air.
"Come forward."
It sounds different than usual.
Lower. Rougher.
Dorcha and I exchange a glance, uncertain.
But still…
"It's just Aeltiàfisar," I say. "Let's go."
What could he possibly do to us?
I step ahead, determined.
And then—
Dorcha throws himself at me, knocking me back.
"Dorcha—what—"
I don't even have time to finish the sentence or turn around before I see him lifted off the ground, as if something has hurled him through the air.
His helmet is ripped away.
"Dorcha!"
Thick, thorn-covered vines tear themselves free from the trees.
They reach him.
Wrap around him.
Crush him.
So tightly it looks like they're going to break him apart.
"Run! Run, Aileen, r—!" he tries to shout.
Another vine lashes out, sealing his mouth.
His face twists in agony.
His wide eyes spill tears as streams of blood streak down his cheeks and neck.
He struggles—but it's useless.
Every time he fights back, the vines tighten further.
The thorns grow larger, sharper, piercing through his chainmail like nails through flesh.
He's bleeding so badly it pours from the ruptures, dripping onto the ground.
His face has gone pale.
I can see it from here.
What do I do?
I don't know!
I have no idea!
He's dying.
Dying.
How do I help him? Nothing?
I learned nothing!!!
Aeltiàfisar's laughter echoes across the clearing.
Then he appears.
His face is unrecognizable.
Monstrous.
His eyes are so dark they look empty—pupil-less.
The gentle smile I remember has twisted into the feral grin of a starving beast.
Dorcha whimpers.
It sounds like my name.
He's terrified, still trying to break free.
I stand there, frozen.
The thorns drive deeper.
They shatter the armor.
They pierce his limbs.
His face is white as a mask.
Mother—he's unconscious!
I have to do something.
Anything!
I grab my spear.
I challenge the elf.
He doesn't even look at me. Just lifts one hand, slow—almost bored.
Dorcha stirs for a heartbeat, then begins to moan in a way that turns my stomach.
Blood gushes freely.
No. I can't watch this.
"Dorcha!!!"
And I move.
On instinct.
Without thinking.
I sprint toward a slanted, flexible branch, plant my spear into the ground, vault upward, use it like a sling—
And hurl myself at that disgusting elf.
…
He's gone.
And with him—Dorcha.
The world around me vanishes too.
"Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!!!"
I scream with everything I have as I plunge into nothingness.
I'm falling.
I don't know for how long.
So this is it.
The First Trial didn't last long at all.
I'm going to hit the ground somewhere—anywhere—and die before I've even begun.
I keep screaming.
I'm terrified.
In shock.
Dorcha.
Mom.
Dad.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
I fall.
Again.
And then—suddenly—I stop.
I sink into something thick and dark red, viscous, with a sickly-sweet metallic stench.
I hold my breath and try to surface.
I can't.
I kick hard, but the liquid drags me down.
It's dense—like sludge. Damn it.
Come on. I can do this. I have to.
As if the armor wasn't enough.
I thrash my arms and legs.
I need to get up.
Thud.
I hit something…
I turn my head.
Ghrian's corpse?!
And there—Killian. One of my father's youngest, most promising soldiers.
The liquid grows lighter, pinkish, and reveals more faces.
Jels.
Crandon.
Korfen.
Their bodies are ripped open by deep gashes.
The blood I'm submerged in seems to be pouring out of them—though their corpses are dry now, emptied, almost skeletal.
In shock, I twist downward.
What… is that?
Something is rushing up toward me.
Fast.
What is it?!
Oh, Great Sage!
I try to move away, but I can't.
Then a voice.
His voice.
"What do you think you're doing, Aileen? I didn't raise you to become a killer like those who murdered us."
I turn slowly, unable to believe it.
It's my father.
And he looks so sad.
Mom and Helbert appear beside him, their voices overlapping with his, merging into one.
"Little princess, you can't do this. Run!"
"Find Aeltiàfisar. He'll help you, my love."
Then they sink back down, disappearing once more—swallowed by blood.
My chest burns.
I can't hold my breath anymore.
The feeling of all this blood against my skin is unbearable.
I don't even remember why I'm here anymore.
Maybe I'm dying.
Then I think of Dorcha.
Pale.
Wounded.
Unconscious.
I have to get out.
I can't let him die too.
What did Baelkers say?
"In an extreme situation, the key to surviving is to empty your mind and stay calm."
I have to try.
I have to.
Calm down, Aileen. Calm down…
And somehow—I do.
My frantic heartbeat slows.
Holding my breath becomes easier.
I start kicking and thrashing again.
The liquid tries to swallow me.
I kick and swing.
Come on. One more push.
Kick. Swing.
Ah… ah… ah… I did it.
I'm out.
I breathe.
But I can't stop kicking.
The blood tries to drag me back down.
I can't stop.
I have to keep going.
Where… damn it… am I?
I look around.
Slanted stone walls. Smooth. No handholds.
Aside from that deep abyss beneath me, this place is a suffocating stone shaft—buried inside a mountain.
Down there, not far from where I am, I spot something narrow…
It's small. Tight.
But if I can reach it, it's wide enough to stand on.
A scream.
Dorcha!
He's alive.
Thank the heavens.
He must be close.
How do I get to him… think, Aileen, think…
"Of course. Levitation."
I focus… and—
I feel myself lift.
"Yes! I did it!"
Oh no—no, I lost concentration!
I plunge straight back into that horrible substance.
I'm exhausted.
Come on. Again.
Same way as before.
Up.
Just a little more.
Again.
Come on—ugh, this is so hard!
"Aaaaaahhhhhhh!!!"
"Dorcha! What the hell are they doing to you? Bastards!"
Come on. Come on.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"
…
"Dorcha! By all the clouds—hold on! Hold on!"
If he's screaming like that—and his pain tolerance is insanely high—
then they're doing something unbearable to him.
There's no time. I need another way.
I picture that narrow ledge again. The place where I can walk.
Yes—yes!
I made it.
I'm here.
I was right. It's wide enough.
I'm covered in blood from head to toe, but I don't care.
I run.
Fast.
This tunnel feels endless.
Dorcha… I'll save you. I won't let you die.
I swear I won't.
Hold on. Please.
I'm out of breath. A sharp pain stabs my side—
"Breathe through the pain," Grogher told me…
Yes.
I breathe through the pain. I can do this.
Dorcha comes first.
Always.
The sound of my footsteps feels impossibly loud.
I pray no one hears me.
…
"Do you really still hope, foolish boy? He won't make it…"
I freeze.
Whose is that disgusting, guttural voice?
I'm only a few steps away from a large cavern.
A trembling glow spills out from within—like candlelight.
I need somewhere to hide…
There.
To my right, a small cave. Narrow. Dark.
I slip inside and press myself flat against the stone.
It overlooks the cavern.
There's a crack in the rock.
Tiny—but wide enough to spy through.
I lean closer.
Oh gods.
My legs almost give out.
Dorcha is naked.
His hands and feet are bound to a post with the same thorned vines Aeltiàfisar used on him.
His head hangs to one side.
He's not breathing.
I was too late…
Dorcha.
My body starts to shake.
Dorcha.
A burning ache spreads through my stomach.
My chest feels like it's about to burst.
Dorcha.
Tears wrack me—but I force them back.
I can't cry.
I can't let myself be heard.
I have to take him.
At least his body.
I have to get him out of here.