Chapter 26: Trials (part 1)

Darkness.

That was the first thing I noticed when I stepped through the Gate.

A thick, almost tangible darkness pressed against my skin, stretching in every direction. The air was heavy, damp, carrying the scent of earth, rot, and something else—something foreign.

This wasn't the forest I had just been in.

No, this was different.

The trees here were massive, their trunks thick and gnarled, twisting toward the sky like skeletal fingers clawing at the void. The branches stretched out in tangled, chaotic formations, blocking out the sun entirely.

Yet despite the overwhelming gloom, I could still see.

A faint, eerie glow illuminated patches of the forest floor—bioluminescent fungi clinging to bark, clusters of ghostly white flowers swaying without wind, the occasional flicker of movement in the undergrowth.

And then—

A sound.

Distant but unmistakable. A low, guttural growl, followed by the rustling of leaves and the snapping of branches.

I wasn't alone.

Not that I was afraid.

I've long since discarded the notion of fear.

Because fear—at its core—is simply a lack of understanding.

The unknown is terrifying because it is unknown.

But once you understand something—once you see its shape, its weaknesses, its logic—the fear dissipates, like mist in the morning sun.

And so, instead of letting my heartbeat quicken, instead of letting my instincts scream at me to be on edge, I did what I always do.

I sought to understand.

The first trial.

That's what the crown had called it.

A test, then. But a test of what? Strength? Knowledge? Endurance?

Or something else entirely?

"King of a kingless world," the crown's voice slithered into my mind again, its tone neither condescending nor warm, merely a declaration of fact.

I exhaled slowly.

I didn't know why it kept calling me that.

And I didn't particularly care.

"Do you understand where you are?" the crown inquired, its voice carrying the weight of something ancient, something that had spoken to many before me, yet still watching me carefully.

I glanced around the forest again.

Dark. Foreboding.

Yet, alive.

I could hear the sounds of predators.

But not just normal beasts.

Monsters.

I could feel them.

Eyes watching from the shadows, unseen yet present, waiting. Calculating.

Waiting for me to move first.

I clicked my tongue, tossing the crown up and catching it absentmindedly.

"Forest. Full of monsters. Classic setup."

"And yet, you do not seem afraid."

"Why would I be?" I smirked slightly. "Like I said. The more you understand something, the less you fear it."

"Then seek understanding, King of a Kingless World."

The words echoed through my mind, heavier than before.

And that's when the first monster struck.

From the darkness of the underbrush, a blur of movement.

Faster than a human. Stronger than a human.

But I was no ordinary human.

I moved instinctively.

My foot twisted, my body shifting just slightly, allowing the creature to miss by a fraction of a second—

But in that moment, as it lunged past me, I saw everything.

A wolf-like creature.

Larger than a horse, its body composed of twisting roots and shadows, its eyes glowing an eerie green.

A Wraithfang.

A creature that feeds on fear.

I grinned.

How ironic.

The monster skidded to a stop, its massive claws digging into the earth as it turned back toward me, hackles raised.

I exhaled.

"Alright. Let's see what this trial is really about."

And then—I attacked.

The Wraithfang tensed, muscles coiling beneath its dark, bark-like hide, its glowing green eyes narrowing as it gauged me. It didn't move recklessly this time. It had lunged at me before, expecting an easy kill, expecting fear to paralyze its prey, as it always did.

But I wasn't prey.

And I certainly wasn't afraid.

I analyzed the beast in mere seconds, my mind breaking it down as if it were an equation to be solved.

Roots for flesh. Shadow for sinew. No clear weak points on the body. Too fast to match in a direct speed contest. Too strong to meet head-on. Its eyes glow—likely magical in nature.

My grip tightened around the pocket knife in my hand. A small weapon for such a large foe, but I had fought with less. Weapons are only as effective as the one wielding them.

"King of a Kingless World, do you understand now?" The crown's voice slithered into my mind again.

I scoffed. "Not yet. But I will."

The Wraithfang took a slow step forward, circling me, testing, waiting.

It was trying to intimidate me.

It wasn't working.

Instead, I took a step forward as well. Not hesitantly. Not cautiously.

Deliberately.

That caught the monster off guard. It paused.

Because prey doesn't step forward.

Prey doesn't close the distance.

Hunters do.

The realization made the beast's muscles tense—an animalistic instinct screaming that something was wrong. That its usual tactics weren't working.

I smirked. "Come on, then. Let's get this over with."

The Wraithfang snarled—deep, guttural, its body lowering as its claws dug into the dirt. It wasn't waiting anymore.

It charged.

The air shuddered as the monster leaped, moving faster than most humans could process. But I was already moving.

A sidestep. A pivot.

The moment it lunged past me, I moved in.

My pocket knife flicked forward, striking at its side—

Only for the blade to scrape harmlessly against its hardened bark-like skin.

Tch. No effect.

The Wraithfang twisted mid-air, impossibly agile for something its size, landing with a snarl.

I landed too, eyes narrowing.

So a normal attack wouldn't work. No surprise there.

The monster lunged again.

I ducked under its claw swipe, moving toward its flank. I slashed out again, this time aiming between the plates of bark—

But the Wraithfang vanished.

My knife hit empty air.

My eyes widened slightly.

Not teleportation. Not speed. Stealth.

It melted into the shadows, disappearing completely.

And then—

Pain.

A sharp burning sensation as something slashed across my back.

I spun instinctively, but there was nothing.

I exhaled slowly.

This thing… was annoying.

"Fear is what feeds it," the crown spoke again, amused.

I frowned.

If that was true, then what happens if it doesn't get any fear?

I stood still.

The forest went silent.

And then—movement.

The Wraithfang lunged again, its fangs aiming for my throat.

But this time, I didn't dodge.

I didn't move.

The moment the beast's claws touched my skin—

Its body flickered.

Its fangs never reached me.

The moment it realized I had no fear, the moment it sensed that its own nature was being rejected, its form weakened.

Understanding.

That was the key.

I grabbed the monster's throat.

It struggled—hard. But this time, I didn't let go.

And with one sharp twist—

Crack.

The Wraithfang collapsed, its glowing eyes fading.

It didn't disappear. It didn't melt back into the shadows.

Because without fear, it had no power.

It was just another corpse now.

I let out a slow breath.

"The first trial," the crown mused.

I looked down at the lifeless beast.

Trial of Fear, then.

I smirked.

"Too easy."

And then I walked forward.

Toward the second trial.

Sylas stood still for a moment, letting the weight of the second trial settle in his mind. Unlike the first, this was not a test of combat, not a trial where strength, speed, or sheer force of will could carry him forward. This was something else entirely.

A puzzle.

"He who is omnipresent over mortals."

The words of the crown echoed through his mind. Omnipresent. A concept that spoke of something beyond the reach of any ordinary being. To be present everywhere at once, to exist in all places where mortals tread. What did it mean?

Sylas glanced around.

The world around him had changed. Gone was the dark, oppressive forest of the first trial, with its shifting shadows and monstrous predators lurking in the dark. Instead, he now found himself in what could only be described as a vast, endless expanse of ruins.

Ancient structures, weathered by time, stretched endlessly in every direction. Towers once grand now stood half-collapsed, their stones crumbling. Massive archways, covered in vines and moss, loomed overhead, as if remnants of a forgotten civilization.

Yet, despite the eerie stillness, Sylas felt watched.

Not by a single presence. But by many.

He narrowed his eyes.

Was this the meaning of omnipresence? Was the entity he sought something that existed in the eyes of all mortals? Was he being observed by it even now?

He took his first step forward. The sound of his boots crunching against shattered stone echoed eerily through the ruins, bouncing against the emptiness.

"A king of a kingless world. Do you know what you seek?" the crown's voice whispered, ever-present, yet never intrusive.

Sylas didn't answer. Instead, his mind worked through the riddle. If this was a test of knowledge, then brute force would accomplish nothing. He needed to think.

He wandered through the ruins, scanning the environment for anything that could serve as a clue. Pillars adorned with unreadable inscriptions stood in rows, their carvings ancient and enigmatic. Some of the statues lining the pathways depicted faceless figures, draped in robes, hands outstretched as if in silent offering.

But the most unsettling detail?

The eyes.

Every carving, every statue, every engraving in the ruins had one thing in common.

Eyes.

They stared outward, hollow yet unrelenting, positioned in such a way that no matter where Sylas stood, he felt as though he was being observed.

His fingers curled slightly.

"He who is omnipresent over mortals."

A being that existed wherever mortals existed. Something that was always present in their lives. Something that could see them, watch them, no matter where they were.

A god?

No. Gods were revered, worshiped. This trial wasn't testing his devotion, nor his faith. It wasn't about proving himself to an all-powerful deity.

This was a puzzle.

Which meant the answer had to be something conceptual.

Sylas walked further, deeper into the ruins, keeping his breathing steady as he took in every detail. If this was truly a test of the mind, then somewhere within this endless graveyard of civilization, the first clue would be waiting.

And then, he saw it.

A massive circular stone tablet, half-buried beneath the rubble of what once might have been a temple. Unlike the other statues and carvings, this one was pristine, untouched by age or decay.

Engraved at its center was a symbol.

An eye.

But unlike the hollow, blank stares of the statues, this eye was detailed.

It had an iris, a pupil, intricate patterns swirling within it, as though it were more than just an image—as if it were real.

Sylas stepped forward, dusting off the stone with his palm. The second he did, the air around him shifted.

The ruins flickered.

Just for a moment.

As if something—somewhere—had acknowledged him.

And then the crown whispered.

"You have found the first clue, King of a Kingless World."

Sylas exhaled through his nose, eyes narrowing.

He was being watched.

But by what?

That was the next piece of the puzzle.

Sylas stood before the stone tablet, his eyes fixed on the swirling symbol within the carved eye. His fingers hovered over the intricate etchings, tracing the delicate patterns of the iris. The feeling that he was being watched hadn't wavered, but now, with this symbol as his focus, he sensed something deeper at work, an energy not yet fully revealed. He inhaled slowly, drawing in the still air of the ruined world around him, listening closely to his surroundings.

The silence was broken only by the faint sound of wind, brushing through the empty spaces between crumbling stone walls. As he pondered the meaning of the eye, his thoughts returned to the crown's words, the mention of "omnipresence." He stood still, understanding slowly unfurling in his mind like a well-worn scroll. The eye, he thought. An eye that could see everything—was it representing something that could observe the world at all times? A being that never sleeps, never falters? But there was more, far more, to unravel.

His fingers brushed the tablet again, and the stone groaned under his touch, as if responding to his curiosity. A hum of energy began to pulse beneath the surface of the rock. Sylas stepped back, his heart quickening. Something was changing.

And just like that, the first clue clicked into place.

The air rippled, bending around him, and for a brief moment, the ruins themselves seemed to twist. The stone tablet shimmered with a light that wasn't there before, revealing hidden markings beneath the surface. The symbol inside the eye had transformed—it now contained small, intricate lines that formed a delicate web. The iris and pupil shifted, revealing a fine golden thread that spiraled around the outer circle, as though it were tied to something far beyond the ruins.

The hum in the air intensified, and Sylas realized with sudden clarity—the eye was not just a symbol of vision or perception; it was a network. A connection that spanned the world, drawing everything within its reach into an interconnected whole. It wasn't simply observing—it was weaving. A force that bound everything, everywhere, together. The answer had been right before him all along. It wasn't a god, not in the traditional sense. It was the web of fate itself.

"Fate is omnipresent," Sylas whispered under his breath, as the words clicked into place. "It touches everything. Controls everything." His heart began to beat faster. This was the answer he had been searching for. The eye was the key, not just to sight, but to fate itself.

The stone tablet began to sink into the earth, and with it, a new section of the ruins opened up before him. Through the now-bare ground, a faint glow rose. He stepped into the newly revealed passage, the air thick with the feeling of ancient power. It was cold, the walls damp and slick with age.

Ahead, a faint golden light flickered from an arched doorway, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Sylas walked through the passage with purpose, his steps sure as he entered the illuminated chamber beyond.

Inside, the second clue awaited him—a large, cracked mirror, its surface covered in intricate symbols and markings that seemed to shift as he approached. The mirror's frame was twisted and warped, resembling twisted branches of some dark, unknowable tree. It stood tall and imposing, as if it held secrets beyond mortal comprehension. Sylas felt a pull toward it, an irresistible compulsion to look deeper.

He took a deep breath and approached the mirror. At first, the reflection he saw was just that—his own, standing in front of the glass. But as he gazed, the reflection began to change. Slowly, it shifted, bending and warping in unnatural ways, as though the mirror itself were pulling at the fabric of reality. His reflection morphed into something more, something that felt…other.

It was as if the mirror was showing him not just himself, but his place in the web of fate. As the image shifted, it was replaced by fleeting glimpses—glimpses of a being that mirrored his own form but with a slightly different appearance. Something just out of reach, like a shadow on the edge of his vision. The reflection flickered between versions of himself, versions where he was different, where his choices had been different.

The mirror spoke to him in a soft, almost inaudible whisper. "In the web of fate, all are threads. But some threads are knotted. Some threads break."

The crown, still in his hand, hummed with energy, the golden thread within it vibrating in resonance with the mirror. The voice of the crown spoke again, this time with a soft urgency: "Time is not linear, Sylas. It stretches and bends. You must understand your place within it."

The second clue was clear now. Fate was not only omnipresent—it was interwoven with every choice, every decision, and every thread of existence. But to truly see it, to understand it, was to see beyond the surface of reality.

Sylas stepped back, leaving the mirror behind, the echo of its whispering voice lingering in the air. As he moved deeper into the ruins, the third clue revealed itself. Another stone tablet, similar to the first, but this one engraved with a series of ancient symbols. They were unfamiliar, but something in Sylas's gut told him that these symbols were just as important as the first two. He approached it, running his fingers across the markings, and once again, the stone hummed with power. As he traced the symbols, they began to shift before his eyes, rearranging themselves into something coherent.

The symbols transformed into an image—one that struck Sylas with a sense of deep, unshakable foreboding.

It was an eye again, but this time, the eye was shut.

A closed eye, yet still alive with hidden energy, as if the world itself was waiting for it to open. The meaning was immediately apparent—the eye was a force of perception. But this time, it was something even more significant—it was dormant.

"Fate does not always reveal itself at once," the crown's voice whispered, its tone darkening. "Some things are hidden. Some truths are left to sleep."

This third clue was an unsettling one. A reminder that not everything was meant to be known, not everything was meant to be understood right away. The wheel of fate turned in mysterious ways, and some of its paths could not be seen until the time was right.

Sylas stood in silence before the tablet, his mind racing as he pieced together the growing tapestry of his trial. The clues were falling into place, but the weight of them was mounting. He was learning more about the nature of fate—its threads, its eye, its presence—and yet, the final part of this puzzle still eluded him.

There were still two more clues to find, and the end of this trial was approaching. The true test, however, would lie in understanding them all, in seeing beyond what was presented, and in unlocking the final truth that tied it all together.

Sylas moved onward, his resolve steeled by the challenges before him. He had to finish this trial—he had to prove that he could stand against fate itself.

Sylas moved through the ruins, his mind filled with the growing complexity of the trials he faced. The first three clues had been grueling, each pushing him closer to understanding the nature of the trials and, more importantly, his own place in the web of fate. The first clue had revealed the omnipresent nature of fate, the second had shown him the delicate interwoven threads of time and choice, and the third had warned him of the things that lie hidden, dormant, and beyond mortal comprehension.

Now, he pressed forward, his senses heightened, the weight of the trials heavy on his shoulders. He had already uncovered the first three clues, but the sense that something remained just beyond his reach gnawed at him. The fourth clue, he knew, was somewhere within the heart of the ruin, waiting to be uncovered. But he had no idea what form it would take, or what it would demand from him.

The ground beneath him began to change as he ventured deeper into the ruins, the stones slick with moisture and covered in an eerie, phosphorescent moss that glowed faintly in the dim light. The further he went, the more oppressive the air became, as if the ruins themselves were alive and aware of his presence. The temperature dropped as well, a sharp chill that seemed to seep into his very bones.

The sense of unease grew stronger, but Sylas refused to falter. He was getting closer.

At last, after what seemed like hours of navigating winding corridors and crumbling halls, he entered a large chamber. The walls here were adorned with faded tapestries, depicting scenes of ancient battles, long-forgotten wars between gods and monsters. At the far end of the room, nestled in the center of a cracked stone pedestal, was a large, ornate chest. The wood of the chest was dark and rotted, its hinges rusted with age. Yet, despite its weathered exterior, the chest radiated a faint energy, almost as if something within it was calling to him.

Sylas stepped cautiously forward, his every sense alert. The crown in his hand hummed softly, as if sensing the significance of this moment. He approached the chest slowly, his fingers brushing the surface of the lid. The faint glow grew stronger, and he could feel the energy surging beneath his touch. He hesitated for a moment before slowly lifting the lid.

Inside, nestled atop a bed of dust and old cloth, was a crystal. Its surface was smooth, yet it pulsed with an inner light, a soft, ethereal glow that seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat. The crystal's color was shifting, flowing from one shade to the next—a kaleidoscope of colors that seemed impossible, yet it felt natural, as if it belonged in this place.

Sylas reached for the crystal, his fingers trembling slightly. As soon as his hand made contact with it, a surge of energy coursed through him, flooding his senses with visions. He saw glimpses of distant places, flashes of unknown cities, and fractured memories that did not belong to him. But amidst the chaos, one thing was clear: The crystal was a beacon. A guide to the next step in the puzzle.

The crown's voice spoke, its tone grave and urgent. "The crystal is a reflection of your choices, Sylas. It holds the truth you seek, but it is not yet complete. It must be attuned to you—only then will it reveal its full power."

Sylas blinked, confused, as the crystal in his hand began to shimmer more brightly. He closed his eyes, focusing on the task at hand. Attune the crystal… how? He had no idea, but the answer seemed to form in his mind, as if his instincts were guiding him. Slowly, with deliberate care, he pressed the crystal against his chest, right over his heart. The light from the crystal flared, engulfing him in a blinding radiance.

When the light finally faded, Sylas found himself standing in an entirely different place. The ruins were gone, replaced by a strange and vast landscape that stretched out before him—a city, but unlike any city he had ever seen. Towering structures of glass and metal, bathed in a pale, otherworldly light, loomed above him. Strange creatures moved through the streets, their bodies shifting and twisting in unnatural ways. The very air seemed to vibrate with energy, humming with something ancient and powerful.

In the distance, Sylas could make out a tower. A massive, spiraling structure that reached high into the sky, its spire disappearing into the clouds above. He knew, instinctively, that the tower was significant. It was a place of power, a center of control, and perhaps, most importantly, a place where he could find the last clue.

But as he began to move toward it, a new feeling settled over him—a sense of urgency. Time was running out, and he still hadn't found the fifth clue. Something deep within him told him that the last clue would not come easily. It was not just a puzzle to solve, it was a test—one that would push him to the very limit of his strength, his intellect, and his resolve.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched—the same feeling that had accompanied him through each of the trials. The crown, still in his hand, pulsed with energy, as if it were aware of the gravity of the situation. Sylas quickened his pace, determined to find the last piece of the puzzle, but as he moved through the city, he saw nothing that resembled the final clue. No hidden symbols, no cryptic messages, nothing that pointed him in the right direction.

The tower loomed closer, and yet the sense of dread only deepened. The sky above was darkening, the clouds swirling as though something was stirring within them. Sylas could feel it—the world around him was beginning to shift. The fifth clue was near, he knew it, but it was elusive, hidden within the very fabric of this strange, shifting reality.

He had to find it—and quickly.

As Sylas sat down on the fallen branch, the weight of the trial pressed heavily on his mind. The forest around him remained eerily still, with only the occasional rustle of leaves as the wind whispered through the trees. His thoughts churned, his eyes scanning the environment, but nothing about the scene seemed to give him any more clarity. The clues he had found so far had been cryptic, each puzzle unlocking something greater, pushing him further into this twisted world of tests and trials. But now, the fifth and final clue—the last piece of the puzzle—remained just out of reach.

It felt so close, yet at the same time, impossibly far away.

He leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment, allowing the stillness of the forest to wash over him. And then it came to him—a thought, a realization, so clear and undeniable that it felt like a lightbulb had flicked on in his mind. Knowledge is key. Of course, how had he missed it? The one being in his life who was always present, always watching, always aware—Lucius. The very person who had been by his side, guiding him through these trials, offering cryptic remarks, and somehow always managing to be one step ahead of him. Lucius was omnipresent. Lucius is the fifth clue.

Sylas grinned, the weight of his realization lifting somewhat. He had done it. He had solved the puzzle. Without wasting another moment, he rose to his feet, his heart racing with anticipation.

Almost immediately, as if summoned by his thoughts, Lucius appeared beside him. Clad in his signature black suit, the same unnerving and timeless figure who had so often been the source of Sylas's frustration—and fascination—stood there, a pleased expression on his face. His ever-stern, dark eyes twinkled slightly, as if he found amusement in the simplest of things.

"Well done, Sylas," Lucius said, his voice smooth as velvet. "You've figured it out."

Despite Lucius's omniscience, his ability to see all and know all, he still acted surprised, as if Sylas had done something truly remarkable. It was almost maddening. Why does he always act surprised? Sylas wondered. He's omniscient, omnipresent, he knows exactly how this will unfold. So why does he play this part, as if this is the first time he's seen it happen?

Lucius's smile, though slight, was genuine, and there was something oddly comforting about the mystery he exuded. It was as if the more Sylas learned about Lucius, the more he realized he knew nothing at all about him.

But those thoughts quickly vanished as the gates before them shimmered to life, a radiant glow enveloping them. The air around Sylas seemed to thrum with energy, and a low hum resonated from the gate as the crown in his hand pulsed with power. It seemed to sense the moment, as if it was both guiding him and testing him. The last clue had been found, and now there was nothing left but to proceed.

The crown's voice broke through his thoughts. "This is the third trial. Proceed through the gate, and the path ahead will reveal itself."

Lucius chuckled, the sound echoing in the stillness of the forest. "Ah, but Sylas," he said, his tone amused, "allow yourself to be surprised, mortal."

Sylas couldn't help but roll his eyes. Lucius, always the enigma, always the one to speak in riddles. He was more of a trickster than a guide, but there was no denying that his presence had been essential to Sylas's journey so far. Even if his motives remained unclear, Lucius had always been there, nudging him forward, offering cryptic encouragement.

With a sigh, Sylas turned his attention back to the gate. He had learned to trust his instincts, and his instincts told him it was time to move forward. He walked toward the gate, feeling a strange mix of resolve and uncertainty. The third trial loomed ahead, but Sylas knew one thing for certain—he was ready.

He stepped through the gate, and as the world around him blurred, he felt the shift in reality. The air grew thicker, denser, as if he had crossed into a place beyond mortal comprehension. The forest he had just been in was gone, replaced by an expanse of dark, swirling clouds. The ground beneath him felt unstable, as if it could give way at any moment. The sky above was a deep, swirling black, and jagged peaks jutted from the ground like the bones of some ancient, forgotten titan.

The third trial had begun.

Behind him, Lucius's voice drifted through the air, carrying an undertone of amusement and perhaps a hint of pride. "Good luck, Sylas. Let's see if you can handle this one, too."

Sylas's heart pounded in his chest as he surveyed his surroundings. He had faced demons, puzzles, and traps in the past trials, but this felt different. The very air hummed with an ancient power, and there was something about this place that felt alive, aware, and watching him.

With a deep breath, Sylas steeled himself for whatever awaited him. The trials were not over, but with the fifth clue unlocked, he knew that he was closer than ever to unraveling the mystery of the crown—and, perhaps, discovering the truth about his own existence.

But one thing was certain: The third trial would not be easy.