When the Trial Fights Back
The valley did not attack immediately.
That was what unsettled Elaria the most.
They had been walking for nearly an hour, following the faint pull they all felt toward the ancient structure at the center of the land. No beasts leapt from the shadows. No traps sprang beneath their feet. The air remained unnervingly calm.
Too calm.
"This place is waiting," Nyra murmured beside her.
Elaria glanced at her. "Waiting for what?"
"For us to make a mistake."
One of the boys, broad-shouldered and restless, scoffed. "Or perhaps there is no danger at all. Maybe the trial is simply meant to frighten us."
As though offended by his confidence, the ground beneath them shifted.
Not violently, but enough for everyone to stagger.
"Do not provoke it," Elaria said sharply.
The boy turned toward her. "And what makes you the one to decide that?"
Before she could answer, a low sound rolled through the valley, deep and resonant, like stone grinding against stone.
The path ahead of them split.
One route curved gently upward, bathed in pale light. The other descended into shadow, narrow and uneven.
Five pairs of eyes turned toward one another.
"Well," the copper-haired girl said dryly, "it seems the trial wishes us to choose."
The restless boy immediately stepped toward the brighter path. "Light means safety. That is obvious."
"And obvious choices are often wrong," Nyra replied quietly.
Elaria felt it then, a faint tightening in her chest, as though the air itself were holding its breath.
"The trial listens," she said slowly. "Not to our steps, but to our intent."
The boy frowned. "You speak as though you know this place."
"I do not," Elaria answered honestly. "But I feel it."
Silence followed.
Finally, the other girl in their group spoke, her voice trembling. "If we argue too long, perhaps the choice will be made for us."
That was enough.
Elaria closed her eyes briefly. She thought of balance. Of harmony. Of not forcing what did not wish to be forced.
"We split our intent, not our bodies," she said. "We agree first. Then we walk together."
The ground responded with a faint hum.
Nyra's eyes widened slightly. "It accepted that."
The restless boy hesitated, then sighed. "Fine. But if this goes wrong, I will remind you."
They turned toward the darker path.
The moment they stepped into it, the valley changed.
The walls seemed to draw closer, shadows thickening until even the glowing plants dimmed. The air grew heavy, pressing against their lungs.
A whisper brushed past them.
Not words. Emotion.
Fear.
"Stay close," Elaria said.
They had barely taken five steps when the ground split open.
The boy shouted as he stumbled, only barely catching himself before falling into the widening crack. Nyra lunged forward, gripping his arm with surprising strength.
"Do not pull!" Nyra warned. "It is testing weight and intent."
Elaria moved instinctively.
"Listen to me," she said, her voice steady despite her racing heart. "Do not fight it. Breathe."
The crack slowed.
Then, slowly, it sealed.
The boy collapsed onto the ground, shaking. "What was that?"
"The trial," Nyra said. "Deciding if you were worth keeping."
The words were harsh, but true.
They continued.
With every step, the valley pushed back harder. Wind lashed suddenly without warning. The ground tilted unnaturally. Sounds echoed that did not belong to them.
At one point, the copper-haired girl cried out as illusions rose around them, visions of failure, of being cast out, of voices mocking their weakness.
"Do not listen!" Elaria shouted. "They are not real."
"How do you know?" the girl sobbed.
"Because they are meant to divide us," Elaria said. "And division is how we fail."
She stepped forward, placing herself between the illusions and the group.
Her voice did not sing.
It steadied.
And that was enough.
The illusions faded like mist burned away by sunlight.
Nyra watched her closely. "You anchor the space around you."
Elaria shook her head. "I only refuse to let it break us."
They reached the structure at last.
A circular platform of stone, carved with symbols that pulsed faintly as they approached. At its center stood a crystal pillar, fractured but glowing.
"This must be the Core," the copper-haired girl whispered.
As they stepped onto the platform together, the stone beneath them warmed.
Then the voice returned.
Not aloud.
Within.
You may proceed. Or you may leave one behind.
The boy stiffened. "What does that mean?"
Nyra's gaze flicked toward the pillar. "It means not all of us are meant to pass."
The ground trembled again.
A symbol flared beneath the feet of the trembling girl. She gasped, panic overtaking her.
"I cannot do this," she cried. "I am not strong enough."
Elaria reached for her hand. "Strength is not force."
"But fear is louder," the girl sobbed.
The platform responded.
The symbol beneath her brightened.
"Wait!" the boy shouted. "There must be another way!"
The voice answered coldly.
Choice is the trial.
Elaria's chest tightened. She understood then.
The trial did not eliminate the weak.
It eliminated those who could not remain present.
"Look at me," Elaria said gently to the girl. "You came this far. That matters."
Tears streamed down the girl's face. "I am sorry."
The light surged.
And she was gone.
Silence followed.
No scream. No struggle.
Just absence.
The remaining four stood frozen.
Nyra bowed her head. "May the path she finds be kinder."
The platform cooled.
The crystal pillar flared brightly.
Trial complete.
A wave of light enveloped them.
Elsewhere in Aurelion, Kael stood within a shifting labyrinth of memory, forced to choose which truths to forget.
Far above the plains, Serapha knelt on a floating platform, struggling to look away from visions she was never meant to see.
And in the shadows beyond the trial grounds, the Veiled Choir observed.
One among them lingered too long on the image of a girl standing calm amid chaos.
A girl whose voice had not yet been fully heard.
Elaria Noctyne had passed her first trial.
But the kingdom was only beginning to notice her.