The stillness shattered without warning.
The platform beneath them jerked violently, tilting sideways. Salemadon slid forward, boots scraping against the glowing stone as shadows surged upward like a living tide.
Pahtem screamed in his mind.
Not with pain—but recognition.
"Something's wrong," Althara said, her Threads tightening instinctively. "This isn't just the Trial anymore."
The mist twisted and pulled apart, revealing figures forming from the darkness. Not shadows this time. People.
Brughan's breath caught. "Those are… soldiers."
They wore fractured armor, cracked and ancient, glowing faintly at the edges. Their faces were hollow, eyes burning with pale light. Each step they took echoed unnaturally, as if the void itself remembered them.
Salemadon felt his heart tighten.
He knew these figures.
They were fallen Threadbearers.
THE ECHOES AWAKEN
One of them stepped forward. His armor bore the same markings Salemadon had seen in old ruins—symbols of balance, now broken.
"You walk the path we failed," the echo said, voice layered and distant. "Do you think you are different?"
Pahtem flared violently. Salemadon raised his arm, Threads weaving instinctively around him.
"We are still alive," Salemadon replied. "That means we still have a choice."
The echo laughed—a hollow, cracking sound.
"Choice?" Another stepped forward. "We chose courage. We chose sacrifice. And still… we fell."
The mist thickened, pressing against Salemadon's chest. Every word felt heavy, sinking deep into him.
Althara whispered, "They're trying to break your resolve."
Brughan swallowed. "Or warn us."
THE FIRST ATTACK
Without warning, the echoes moved.
They didn't charge. They phased, slipping through space like torn memories, appearing directly in front of Salemadon.
Threads snapped into place. Salemadon twisted, redirecting a strike that felt cold, not solid—like being hit by regret itself.
The impact rattled him.
Brughan shouted and swung blindly, his weapon passing straight through one echo—but the echo retaliated, knocking him backward.
"Physical attacks won't work!" Althara cried.
Salemadon narrowed his eyes. "Then we don't fight them like enemies."
He grounded himself, focusing on Pahtem—not as a weapon, but as balance.
Threads extended outward, not to strike, but to connect.
The echoes recoiled.
THE WEIGHT OF FAILURE
One echo stepped close enough that Salemadon could see his face clearly now—young, determined… and afraid.
"I failed them," the echo whispered. "I hesitated."
The mist shifted, showing fragments of a battlefield—Threadbearers falling, shadows consuming them.
Salemadon's breath grew heavy. He felt the fear trying to seep into him, clawing at his focus.
Another echo spoke, voice sharp.
"I chose power over balance. It destroyed everything."
Pahtem vibrated painfully.
Althara reached Salemadon's side, her Threads intertwining gently with his. "Don't listen to their guilt. Learn from it."
Salemadon nodded slowly.
"These echoes aren't here to stop us," he said. "They're here to see if we'll repeat their mistakes."
THE TRUE TEST
The platform split into three paths, each glowing faintly.
Above them, a voice echoed through the void—deeper than before.
"Choose your response to failure."
The paths shifted.
One pulsed with raw power.
One shimmered with cold control.
One glowed softly, unstable but balanced.
Brughan looked between them. "Which one do we take?"
The echoes watched in silence.
Salemadon closed his eyes.
Power alone leads to ruin.
Control without compassion leads to isolation.
He stepped toward the third path.
"Balance," he said. "Even if it breaks me."
The echoes stirred.
THE CONSEQUENCE STRIKES AGAIN
As Salemadon stepped onto the balanced path, pain exploded through his body.
Pahtem flared violently, Threads tearing and reforming around him. His knees buckled.
Althara screamed his name.
The echoes surged forward—not attacking, but pressing their memories into him.
Failures. Screams. Lost lives.
Salemadon gasped, nearly collapsing.
Then he stood.
"I acknowledge your failures," he said through clenched teeth. "But I will not be ruled by them."
Pahtem stabilized.
The balanced path solidified beneath his feet.
The echoes froze.
RELEASE
One by one, the echoes lowered their heads.
"You have learned what we could not," the first echo said quietly.
Their forms began to dissolve into the mist—not violently, but peacefully.
The pressure lifted.
Brughan fell to his knees, breathing hard. "I thought we were done for."
Althara steadied herself. "So did they."
The platform reformed ahead, brighter now.
But Salemadon felt it.
The Trial was far from over.
CLIFFHANGER
As they moved forward, the mist parted one last time.
A larger presence stirred beyond the platform—something ancient, watching.
A voice whispered directly into Salemadon's mind:
"You passed the echoes.
Now face the consequence meant only for you."
Pahtem pulsed once—hard.
The path ahead collapsed.
Salemadon stepped forward anyway.
Some voices are not memories. They are warnings.
The past had tested him. The future was waiting—and it would not be kind.