The group assembled at the edge of the pond, their boots skimming the time-worn stone that ringed the shore like a forgotten altar. The water loomed before them—still, black, and utterly silent. A mirror that swallowed all light and offered nothing back in return.
Riven led the way, gaze steady, posture firm. His hand lingered near the hilt of his sword, not for use, but for reassurance. One step closer to whatever lay beyond.
But just before his foot crossed the edge of the platform, Rei's voice cut through the heavy air.
"Wait," he said, sharp and sure, a crack of tension snapping across the group. "Just to make sure—let's toss another stone in. If that illusion's actually in place like you said, it should hit something this time. Something real."
The group paused. All eyes flicked to Erasmus.
The boy turned, slowly, and glared at Rei—not with fury, but with exaggerated offense. His lower lip jutted out, his brows furrowed in a mock-childish pout. A pout carefully crafted. Performative. Then, under his breath—but just loud enough for Rei to catch it—
"Snobbish brat..."
Rei bristled, fists tightening. "What did you say, you little—"
Before the flare of tempers could catch flame, Riven stepped in and nudged Rei's arm. "Save it for later," he muttered, his tone calm but loaded. "Now's not the time."
Rei exhaled slowly through gritted teeth, forcing himself to breathe deep. Once. Twice. He unclenched his hands. The moment passed.
Without a word, Riven bent down, grabbed a small jagged stone from the ground, and—after a brief pause—tossed it forward. The group collectively held their breath.
The stone sailed in an arc, hit the pond's surface… and sinked. Not fully though. It didn't vanish after reaching the previous illusion. It simply rested on the new floor Erasmus had conjured as a replacement for the fake ground, resting on support as though it had always been there.
A soft exhale passed through the group. Tension—still thick, but momentarily eased.
Erasmus took the opportunity to speak again, this time with renewed urgency. "Let's hurry up and get going," he said, flitting from side to side like a wind-up toy with a heartbeat. "I can feel His thoughts. He's whispering to me—screaming, actually—saying something dark is here. Something choking Him. We have to move before His voice is lost beneath whatever evil's pressing down on this place!"
His hands flew to his temples, fingers digging into the sides of his head as he spun in place, scanning the cave like shadows might peel off the walls at any moment. His mutters twisted into breathless chants:
"Praise to The One Who Walks Beyond Reason…"
Riven's left eye twitched. His voice, when it came, was dry as bone.
"Kid. Let's get going. I'll discipline this ungrateful bunch after we survive."
Erasmus froze. Then, just as suddenly, his expression smoothed out. He lowered his hands, adjusted his cloak, and sniffed.
"Hmph." He folded his arms with affected elegance. "Everyone get in front of me. I'll keep a lookout in case anything tries to sneak up behind us."
The group exchanged glances, the earlier moment already dissolving behind them. They fell into position, checking each other with quiet efficiency.
Sir Calden's gravel-thick voice rumbled first. "Everyone ready? Got all the supplies we need?"
Brin shrugged with a half-grin. "Not that we had much to begin with."
Calden turned, glowering.
Mira laughed and waved a hand dismissively. "Don't mind him, Sir Calden. He's just trying to lighten the mood!" She elbowed Brin with playful force. "Right, Brin? If this goes well, we'll be drowning in desserts and admiration. Newly promoted knights, the two of us!"
Calden's stern mouth twitched. Then, slowly, gave up the fight. He sighed and smiled. "Alright, alright. We'll save the best wine just for you two. Didn't I tell you? My missus brews the finest in the entire court."
They chuckled—but only until Erasmus spoke again.
He stared at them, his pale milk-white eyes glassy and irisless, glinting in the low light like pearls submerged in ink.
"Can we get going now?" he asked, voice hollow. "There won't be any precious wine you're drinking anytime soon if you keep wasting time."
Silence.
The mood collapsed like glass underfoot. A few of them took a step away from him, instinct more than decision. Mira cleared her throat awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck.
"Yeah… you're right," she said, forcing levity back into her voice. "We've been messing around too much. This is still the Trial, after all."
Riven's gaze moved across each of them. He took stock not just of weapons or their nonexistent rations, but of expressions, posture, the weight clinging to each back. Fear. Yes. Doubt. Of course. But underneath all that, something more resilient.
Resolve.
A flicker of pride touched his lips. Not a grin. Just a quiet acknowledgment.
"Don't forget," he said. "We're in this together. We leave no one behind. We're soon-to-be knights. Act like it."
He turned toward the pond, exhaled once through his nose, and stepped forward.
The black water rippled as his boot broke its surface—then steadied, holding his weight.
It was cold. Not just chilly, but bone-deep, soul-nipping cold. A cold that felt personal.
But he kept walking.
The pond rippled outward with each step, breaking its perfect stillness in concentric waves. He waded forward, submerged slowly up to the chest—moving like a man passing through a memory that wanted to drag him back.
Behind him, one by one, the others followed.
Rei went next, teeth gritted as he entered the freezing water.
Then Mira, shivering as she stepped in, pulling her cloak tight.
Brin hesitated—but Mira reached back, caught his arm, and tugged him in.
Sir Calden followed last of the group proper, his breath hissing at the first shock of cold but his face otherwise unreadable.
Then came Erasmus.
The Self Made Prophet walked last, hands clasped behind him like a conductor ready to orchestrate a play of silence.
Mira laughed weakly as the chill climbed higher up her torso. "Hopefully we make it out of this pond before we freeze to death."
No one laughed.
Mira questioned the Trial's possible deteriorating effect on her humor.
Maybe I need to brush up on my skills after we get back?