Vision Within Trials

Aetherfall Kingdom, as it was in the present. Not a ruin of the past—but a reflection of what was to come.

I took slow, careful steps forward, my pulse quickening.

The world was eerily still. No wind. No voices. No life. And yet—it was not dead.

Something watched me from the very fabric of this mirrored dimension.

Then, a single voice cut through the silence.

"So you have seen the future."

I turned sharply, fingers twitching toward my blade—but no one was there.

The voice was everywhere, woven into the air itself. It was neither warm nor cold, neither gentle nor harsh. It simply was.

"This is not merely a trial, Luxielle. This is a glimpse of what will come to pass."

I gritted my teeth. "Aetherfall has not fallen."

"Not yet."

The words echoed like a prophecy.

My fists clenched. This was not like the first two trials. This was not about guiding lost souls to peace or facing the consequences of one's choices.

This was a warning.

Aetherfall Kingdom will fall.

Unless something—or someone—prevents it.

I inhaled slowly. "Show me."

The world responded.

The ruins around me shifted, the mirrored stones bending like liquid. Aetherfall Kingdom materialized in its place, but not as I knew it.

Its walls were breached. Its towers crumbled. Its streets were empty, but filled with echoes of battle.

Aetherfall was no longer the beacon of light it had always been. It was a dying kingdom, consumed by shadows.

And at its heart—a throne stood empty.

Or rather, a throne that was never meant to be empty.

I stepped forward, the vision pulling me deeper into its grasp. But as I approached the ruined throne, the voice returned, quieter this time.

"The question is not whether you can change it."

My breath hitched.

"The question is whether you should."

And then—everything shattered again.

I gasped as the illusion fractured into a thousand pieces, light and darkness colliding. The mirrored kingdom collapsed, and the ruins of the temple returned in its place.

The trial was over.

But the weight of what I had seen remained.

I exhaled, grounding myself. I needed answers.

The illusion of Aetherfall shattered.

But the trial did not end.

I barely had a moment to process before the ground vanished beneath my feet.

A weightless sensation overtook me, as if I were falling through an abyss. Yet there was no wind, no pull of gravity—only a spiraling descent through endless nothingness. And then—impact.

My feet landed on solid ground.

Yet, everything was wrong.

The air was thick, but not with the scent of rain-soaked earth or aged stone. It was heavy with something artificial, something metallic. The sky above was an unnatural black, yet instead of stars, countless glowing symbols floated in the air, flickering like restless spirits.

Towering structures of glass and steel stretched high above me—monoliths unlike anything I had ever seen. Unlike castles or temples, they lacked artistry, standing rigid and cold under a glow that did not come from the moon or the stars.

My breath quickened. This was not the ruins of the temple.

I turned, scanning my surroundings with sharp, cautious eyes. The streets were paved with a smooth, dark material that stretched endlessly. Strange metal constructs—some massive, some small—lined the sides, their reflective surfaces catching the glow of unnatural lights.

And the people—they were unlike any I had ever seen.

They walked in a hurried manner, dressed in unfamiliar clothing—tight fabrics, strange symbols etched onto their garments. Some held odd glowing tablets in their hands, their faces illuminated by moving images. Others spoke into small metal objects, their voices carried away by unseen forces.

My heart pounded.

"What is this place? Where has the trial sent me?"

I took a slow, steady breath, my training keeping me composed. If this was still the trial of Solviel, then there was meaning in what I was being shown.

My gaze locked onto a towering structure made entirely of glass. As I stepped closer, my reflection appeared on the pristine surface—and I stilled.

For the first time, I saw myself in this strange world.

My celestial robes, once elegant and fitting in the grand halls of the tribunal, now looked completely out of place among the muted colors of the people around me. My golden hair shimmered under the cold, artificial light, my eyes glowing with an ethereal brilliance.

I looked like a spectre—a foreign entity wandering a world I did not belong to.

And then—a sound.

I tensed, my body shifting into a defensive stance.

A voice called out—not one of hostility, but of recognition.

"You shouldn't be here."

My breath caught.

I turned toward the voice, my eyes scanning the unfamiliar figures walking past me. Yet, one stood still beneath the glow of a strange, hovering light.

A man.

His attire was ordinary compared to the rest of this world, but something about him felt out of place—even here.

Then, as the light flickered, I saw his eyes.

Deep. Knowing. Familiar, yet unfamiliar.

My fingers twitched. I steadied my voice. "Who are you?"

The man exhaled, a tired smirk appearing on his lips. "I should be asking you the same, Luxielle."

I froze.

He had spoken my celestial name—a name no one in the mortal realm should have known.

Before I could react, the world lurched—and the trial shifted once more.

The moment he spoke my celestial name, an invisible force pulled me forward. My surroundings blurred into streaks of color and light, the towering structures of glass and steel melting away. The cold artificial glow was swallowed by a sky darkened with heavy smoke. The air thickened—suffocating.

Then—gunfire.

Explosions ripped through the land as I stumbled onto a battlefield unlike any I had ever seen.

The sky was a swirling mass of ash and flame, the land beneath me reduced to a wasteland of trenches and shattered earth. The scent of gunpowder, sweat, and blood choked the air, mingling with the distant cries of dying men.

My breath hitched. This was war.

But not the war of Aetherfall—this was something else.

Then, his voice again.

"No matter the world, war never changes."

I turned sharply, and there he was—the same man who had spoken my true name.

But now, he was clad in tattered military garb, his hands stained with the grime of battle. A heavy rifle rested on his back, yet his expression was distant—a soldier who had seen too much.

I clenched my fists. "What is this? Another illusion?"

He exhaled, stepping forward. "You think war is bound only to Aetherfall?"

His gaze swept across the battlefield, where men in steel helmets and dirt-covered uniforms charged into the fray, their bodies cut down by a relentless hail of bullets.

"This is the First Great War."

The ground shook as an explosion tore through a nearby trench, sending bodies flying. I flinched.

"They called it 'The War to End All Wars.' But it was only the beginning."

There was no sorrow in his voice—only a bitter truth.

As I took in the chaos, the scene began to warp again.

The trenches faded. The broken earth shifted into ruined cities.

The sky darkened, not from storm clouds, but from the screeching wails of falling bombs.

The air ignited in fire.

The land trembled as steel beasts—tanks, aircraft, and war machines—rolled across the battlefield, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.

Civilians ran. Children screamed. Nations burned.

"This is the Second Great War." His voice remained calm, yet it carried the weight of something immeasurable.

I turned to him, my breath unsteady. "Why are you showing me this?" My voice barely rose above a whisper.

He looked at me—truly looked at me.

The world trembled.

The space around us warped, the battlefield dissolving into nothingness. The flames, the screams, the ruins of history—all of it faded into an abyss of silent, weightless darkness.

I felt it—the shift. This place was neither earth nor sky, neither past nor present. It was something beyond.

And then, he appeared.

The same man. The illusion. The guide.

But this time, something had changed.

His ember-colored eyes flickered like dying coals in a storm, burning with a knowing intensity. His black hair curled slightly at the bangs, an unfamiliar yet strangely fitting style. His skin, lightly tanned, bore no scars—yet carried the weight of a thousand battles.

But what caught my eye most was his hand.

Chains—thin, silver rings linked together—wrapped around the fingers of his left hand. They shimmered faintly, as though they did not belong to this world.

"You again," I said, my voice steady despite the unease curling in my gut.

He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. "Me again."

I squared my stance, my celestial senses sharpening.

"What are you?"

He tilted his head, as if amused by the question. "A question you must answer for yourself."

I narrowed my eyes. "You resemble someone I know."

His ember gaze flickered. A pause. A hesitation—small, but there.

"Do I?" he mused.

I clenched my fists. There was something about him—something I couldn't place. But I knew, deep in my core, that this wasn't just an illusion.

"Tell me, Luxielle," he said softly, stepping forward. The air around him rippled, like a disturbed lake. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

I exhaled slowly. The trial. The temple. The war. None of it made sense, yet somehow, it did. This entire illusion—this entire test—was leading me to something.

I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze without hesitation.

"Not yet," I admitted. "But I will."

He chuckled, low and knowing.

"Good."

Then, for the first time, his expression shifted. The distant amusement faded, replaced by something deeper—something ancient.

"You will see me again," he murmured. "Not here, not now, but when the time is right."

The chains around his fingers gleamed.

"And when that moment comes," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "you will know my name."

Darkness swelled behind him, curling like smoke, like shadow, like something not meant to be seen.

"I am the one who watches from the abyss."

My breath hitched.

"And when the child of beginnings calls for me, I will answer."

The world lurched. The darkness swallowed him whole.

And then—I woke up.

I barely had time to catch my breath before the weightless void beneath my feet collapsed into something new.

The sky above melted into an endless expanse of deep blue, rippling as though the heavens themselves had become liquid. The air smelled of salt—ancient, vast, and unknowable.

I stood atop a jagged rock formation, surrounded by an oceanic abyss. The waves crashed against unseen barriers, yet the water beneath my feet remained eerily still—an unnatural stillness.

And at the very center of this impossible sea, a lone figure stood atop an altar of black stone.

Him.

The man who wore his face.

The dark waters reflected his image in a way that made him seem endless, as though he were both standing before me and sinking into the abyss below. His black hair swayed gently despite the lack of wind, the light catching on the ember glow of his eyes. The silver ring chains on his left fingers gleamed, mirroring the faint shimmer of the sea.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, he spoke.

"You have come far, Luxielle."

His voice was neither kind nor cruel—only certain.

I clenched my fists. This place… felt real. Too real. But I knew better now than to trust what I saw.

"Where am I?" I demanded, scanning the surroundings.

He lifted his hand, gesturing to the altar beneath him.

"The place where a choice was made."

My breath hitched. A choice? I stepped forward, my boots making no sound against the slick, black stone.

"What choice?"

He exhaled softly, as if he had been expecting that question. Then, he lifted his head—and as his ember eyes met mine, his next words sent a chill down my spine.

"The choice that will determine what you must do when the time comes."

I took another step, refusing to falter.

"You speak in riddles, yet expect me to understand."

A small smile played at the corner of his lips.

"Understanding is not required. Acceptance is."

Something tightened in my chest.

"Acceptance of what?"

He finally turned his gaze to the ocean, his ember eyes reflecting the dark abyss below.

"That even the strongest chains will one day break."

I frowned, about to speak—when suddenly, his voice shifted.

No longer his.

No longer an illusion.

It was something else. Something older. Something eternal.

The sea rippled. The sky trembled.

And then—he spoke.

A name.

A name that did not belong to any man. A name that echoed through the void, wrapping around me like a whisper of something long forgotten.

"Nxyiel."

My breath caught in my throat.

The waves surged, rising like living shadows. The altar beneath his feet cracked, as though rejecting the weight of his presence.

He looked at me once more, his ember eyes now burning like dying stars.

"You will remember me, Luna. Even if you do not wish to."

The sea roared. The world shattered.

And then—darkness.

A pulse of luminous presence surged through the void, not aggressive, but undeniable. It was not a question. It was not a threat. It was a force that demanded understanding.

Beneath me, the abyss churned, restless, as if disturbed by the weight of what was about to be spoken.

"There exists a spirit," the voice intoned, its echoes stretching into infinity. "One that even the beings of limitless comprehension fear. A being unbound by time, untethered by fate. A will that should not exist… and yet does."

A coldness settled into my bones.

My thoughts snapped back to him—Nxyiel. The ember eyes that flickered like dying stars. The knowing smirk that held neither warmth nor cruelty. His very presence had sent ripples through this realm, shifting something fundamental in its wake.

"You speak of him," I murmured, my fingers instinctively gripping the hilt of my weapon. "Nxyiel."

The abyss trembled at the name.

The light dimmed slightly—not in fear, but in acknowledgment.

"He is no ordinary spirit. He is the lingering shadow of what was erased… the remnant of a concept that should have faded into oblivion. Yet even the void could not claim him completely."

My heartbeat quickened. "Then why did he appear before me? What does he want?"

The presence loomed closer, its voice softer now, yet carrying the weight of truth.

"He does not want. He waits."

My brow furrowed. "For what?"

The light pulsed, and a sensation washed over me—not warmth, but inevitability.

"For the one who will bear his chains."

A realization struck like a bolt of lightning, cutting through my mind before I could even process it.

"Ezekiel."

I didn't know how I knew. But I did.

The spirit did not confirm nor deny. It didn't need to. The silence spoke louder than words.

I clenched my fists, frustration rising beneath my skin. "If he is a threat beyond even divine comprehension, then why allow him to remain?"

The voice was quiet for a moment. Then, it answered:

"Because the world cannot undo what was never meant to exist."

The abyss stilled. The air grew heavier, thick with finality.

Then, the presence shifted once more.

"Your trial is incomplete, Luna Gadariel. Your bond with the celestial is not yet sealed. But before we continue, you must understand—"

The voice deepened, laced with an unshakable warning.

"To step forward is to accept the burden of knowledge. To wield power is to become entangled in the threads of fate. If you proceed, there will be no turning back."

I tightened my grip, but my stance remained firm.

I had seen war. I had seen fate twist before my eyes. And now, I had glimpsed something far greater lurking in the abyss.

I would not waver.

"Then let the contract be formed."

The light pulsed—once, twice—before the world erupted in radiance.