The ground beneath them lurches violently, shifting as though the very foundation of the ruins is awakening from slumber. The stone floor fractures, plates of rock tilting and rotating midair, creating a spiralling maze of floating platforms. Gravity itself becomes unstable, warping in unpredictable patterns—one step too heavy, and a person could plummet into the dark abyss below.
De-Reece reacts instantly. Shadow Phantom Steps. His footwork adapts seamlessly to the shifting platforms, his instincts guiding him across the unstable terrain as though it were solid ground. He pivots effortlessly, moving without hesitation.
Kalia, however, is not so fortunate.
The first jump is too short. She lands awkwardly, her balance thrown off as the platform beneath her suddenly flips.
"Kalia!"
De-Reece reaches for her, his grip inches from her wrist—but in that brief moment, the ruins make their move.
A surge of forceful qi pulses through the air, separating them. The platform beneath Kalia shifts violently, throwing her weight sideways. She barely has time to regain her footing before an unseen force pulls her downward.
She gasps as the world distorts, her form vanishing into the darkness below.
De-Reece's eyes widen. The trial has split them.
Solar lets out a sharp snarl, her muscles tensing, but she remains beside De-Reece, wary of the shifting formations. The ruins are not just testing their agility—it has other plans.
The stone beneath his feet stabilises abruptly, as if ensuring that he remains where he is.
A voice—not spoken, but something deeper—echoes in the air.
"Each must walk their own path. The weight of self must be carried alone."
The challenge was never just about physical balance.
De-Reece exhales sharply, his gaze locked on the abyss where Kalia disappeared. There's no way to chase after her—not without knowing where she was taken. He clenches his fists but steadies his breathing.
He has no choice but to move forward.
And so does she.
Kalia's Descent
The fall is not endless.
Kalia's body twists instinctively as she braces for impact, but instead of crashing into solid stone, she is caught in a suspension of qi, a field of force that slows her descent before releasing her onto an isolated platform. The glow of ancient glyphs surrounds her, forming a circular arena carved into the stone.
The air here is different. Heavy. Expectant.
She pushes herself up, gripping the hilt of her sword tightly. "Damn it... What now?"
A flickering form emerges from the mist at the edge of the arena—a shadowy figure that takes shape with every passing moment. As the details sharpen, she freezes.
Because the person standing before her...
Is herself.
A reflection—not just in form, but in every mistake, every fear, every doubt. The version of herself that had never left the village, that had never picked up a sword, that had never fought to be more.
The reflection tilts its head, watching her with an expression both familiar and foreign.
"You don't belong here," it whispers.
Kalia grits her teeth, stepping forward, but her doppelgänger moves with her—a perfect mirror.
"You're still the same girl," the reflection continues, its voice soft, insidious. "Always chasing. Never leading. You think you stand beside him? You're nothing more than a burden."
Kalia's grip tightens, but the words cut deeper than any blade.
The reflection raises its own sword, identical to hers in every way, and points it toward her.
"Prove me wrong."
Kalia exhales sharply. She has no choice.
She must fight.
And somewhere above, in a different part of the ruins, De-Reece faces his own trial.
The instant De-Reece steps forward, the world shifts.
The ruins vanish, swallowed by an endless battlefield under a crimson sky. The air is thick with the scent of blood and iron, the weight of countless battles pressing down on him. Shadows rise from the ground, forming figures—each one of them, De-Reece.
Some bear swords, their presence sharp and disciplined. Others wear dark robes, their qi thick with corruption. One stands apart, draped in the flowing attire of an orthodox sect leader, a false sense of righteousness in his gaze.
And at the center, bound in chains, is another De-Reece. His body is weathered, yet his eyes burn with an undeniable intensity.
A voice rumbles across the battlefield.
"What path do you walk?"
The chained De-Reece struggles against his bindings, but each movement only tightens them further. A test of power. A test of restraint.
The shadows move, launching toward De-Reece, each version attacking with a different style. The demonic cultivator strikes with raw, explosive force. The orthodox warrior fights with precision. The lone wanderer moves unpredictably, shifting through styles as if trying to find an identity.
De-Reece dodges, counters, and strikes back. He is not them. He is something else.
But as the battle rages, the voice returns.
"You are shackled. Will you break free, or will you carry the weight?"
A final chain materializes—one meant for him.
Will he shatter it, forsaking all burdens for absolute freedom?
Or will he carry it, embracing the responsibility of his own path?
The answer will shape him.
And the ruins are waiting to see what he chooses.
The battlefield stills. The crimson sky looms above, the chains of fate coiling around the bound figure at the center. De-Reece stands firm, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, his gaze locked onto the final chain that has manifested before him. It is thick, ancient, humming with a power that does not seek to imprison but to test. The voice, deep and ageless, resonates once more.
"You have fought your reflections. Now, you must decide—will you bear your path, or sever it?"
The chained version of himself—weathered but unbroken—meets his gaze. A silent challenge.
De-Reece clenches his fists. He has seen the paths that could have been. He has faced his own doubts, his own potential for ruin or glory. But he is not them. He has carved his own road since the day he arrived in this world, refusing to be shaped by fate alone.
He steps forward and grips the chain.
Power surges through his palm, the weight immense. He does not seek to break it. He does not wish to be unbound from all burdens. Power without responsibility is meaningless. Strength without struggle is hollow.
He grips tighter and lifts the chain, not as a prisoner, but as its master. He carries it by choice.
The battlefield shudders. The chains retract, the illusion fracturing around him. The voices of his reflections fade into nothingness, leaving only the sound of his heartbeat and the rush of qi surging through his meridians.
A final whisper lingers in the air.
"Then walk forward, bearer of your own fate."
The world shifts again.
De-Reece exhales sharply as the sensation of solid ground returns. The stone pathways of the ruins stretch before him once more, the trial dissolving like mist. Solar stands at his side, her golden-violet eyes watching him with quiet understanding. He rolls his shoulders, the phantom weight of the trial still lingering.
A presence stirs ahead.
His eyes snap toward the far end of the chamber, where a different battle is reaching its climax. A familiar figure stands within a fading arena of light, sword raised, breath heavy.
Kalia.
Her opponent—an echo of her past self—crumbles into nothing, the remnants of her illusion dissipating into the ruins. Her sword hand trembles before she steadies herself, exhaling slowly. Her eyes lift, locking onto De-Reece's.
For a moment, neither of them speak.
Then, she smirks, though exhaustion laces her voice. "Took you long enough."
De-Reece steps forward, taking in the battle-worn determination in her stance. He doesn't ask what she saw. Just as she does not ask what he endured.
They both passed their trials.
But the ruins are not finished with them yet.
A deep rumble shakes the air.
Carved stone walls shift, revealing a passageway that had not been there before. An invitation—or another test.
De-Reece glances at Kalia. "Looks like we're not done yet."
She exhales but nods, tightening her grip on her sword. "Then let's finish this."
Together, they step forward, deeper into the unknown.