Trial by God

The divine space stretched in all directions, a realm caught between radiance and shadow, where neither light nor dark held full dominion. Aldric felt the weight of unseen eyes upon him, their presence as vast as the night sky. The Sun-King burned in the distance, his presence like a silent furnace, watching. But it was Night-Mother Luna who moved, never still, never tangible, always circling like a predator in the void.

She whispered, but the words came from everywhere at once.

"A servant of Tellik, walking in my shadow. How strange."

Aldric stood his ground, his fingers tightening around the parchment, the ink vial cold in his grip.

"Tell me, little paladin," Luna's voice was amused, stretching like silk woven over blades, "Do you know the true purpose of this prayer you've chosen?"

Aldric didn't answer.

Luna's presence coiled around him, shifting with each word. She never stopped moving, her form appearing in the corner of his vision only to vanish again, reforming elsewhere. Each time she took shape, she was different—sometimes a woman clad in celestial robes, her face obscured by a veil of twilight. Other times, she was a shifting, shadowed mass, her silver eyes gleaming like distant moons.

"Oathbound…" she purred. "A vow sworn beneath the stars is unbreakable. The perfect tool for a master to control their lesser. Did they tell you that?"

Aldric exhaled through his nose, his pulse steady. He would not react. That was what she wanted.

"Oh, don't be shy, knight," Luna mocked, appearing behind him, close enough that he swore he felt the cold of the void brush his skin. "This is a wicked thing you ask of me. The Future-Seers once used this prayer to bind their slaves. With it, their servants swore eternal loyalty—unto death. If the master was harmed, the slave would take the wound. If the master was killed, the slave would die in their place. A leash woven from faith, from divine chains."

She drifted again, circling him like a storm just beyond the horizon.

"So tell me, Tellik's faithful. Why should I grant you a prayer meant for deception and servitude?"

Aldric met her gaze without hesitation. "A prayer is only as wicked as the one who wields it."

Luna went still—for the first time since she spoke. Then she laughed. A sound like falling stars, like something ancient and cruel.

"How righteous." She circled once more, silver eyes flashing with amusement. "And what, pray tell, will you do with it? Will you forge a new leash? Will you chain another to your cause?"

Aldric didn't flinch. "No. I will use it to protect my loved ones." He spoke the words clearly, with conviction. "That is what Tellik teaches—his shield is meant for those who stand beside him."

The void trembled.

Luna's laughter stopped.

Then she was in front of him, close enough that he could see the shifting galaxies behind her gaze, her voice no longer teasing, but sharp as a blade.

"Tellik's tenets mean nothing to me." Her presence expanded, the space around them growing darker, the very concept of light struggling to exist. "Why should I grant my blessing if you won't even use it as I would?"

Aldric remained still, his heartbeat steady. "Because I will use it for deception."

Luna's gaze sharpened. A pause.

"Go on."

Aldric lifted his chin. "I will deceive my enemies, not my allies. They will see a man they cannot break, a warrior who will not fall, no matter what they do. They will believe they can strike down those I protect. They will be wrong. That is the deception I ask of you."

The silence that followed was immense.

Then came the explosion.

Luna burst into motion, a storm of celestial darkness swallowing the space around them. The air cracked, the ground beneath them vanished, leaving Aldric weightless, floating in her presence.

"And you would risk everything for this?" Her voice surrounded him, an accusation wrapped in something else—curiosity, frustration, something undecided. "Would you risk your very life for another?"

Aldric didn't hesitate. "Yes."

The darkness rippled, a disturbance running through the void.

"Even her?" Luna's voice turned softer now—dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with power. "Even the Lightborn?"

Aldric's jaw tensed. He knew where this was going.

Luna descended, her form reforming in front of him once more, her silver eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

"Do you even know who she is?"

Aldric didn't speak.

Luna tilted her head, her celestial veil shifting like liquid night. "Do you know what she did in the War of the Void? Do you know why she is the last?"

She took a step closer, her presence pressing down on him like the weight of a thousand unanswered prayers.

"If you knew, would you still call her worth it?"

Aldric's conviction never wavered. He met the Night-Mother's gaze, unwavering, unchanged.

"I don't care what happened during the war," he said evenly. "I know who she is now." He inhaled. "And yes. She is worth it."

Luna studied him, motionless for once, the swirling of her presence stilling.

For the first time, she did not speak.

For the first time, she had no immediate retort.

Aldric had given her nothing to strike at.

Finally, after what felt like eternity, the Night-Mother exhaled, the pressure of her presence easing, just slightly.

"Hmph." She tilted her head, considering him, the mockery lessened, but not gone. "Perhaps Tellik's little knight has a spine after all."

She smirked, but there was something different in it now.

"Very well. If you would risk yourself so willingly for another, then let us see what your devotion is truly worth."

The void around them shifted, the space reforming, shaping itself into something worse.

She had tested his resolve, pressed against his choices, mocked his faith, his devotion, his ignorance of Lysara's past.

And yet—he had not faltered.

Luna's silver eyes gleamed, sharp as slivers of broken moonlight, unreadable, watching him like a puzzle she hadn't expected to enjoy solving.

Then, she smiled.

It was not kind.

"Very well."

The words rippled through the void, bending the space between them, reality itself bending under her command.

"If you are so eager to suffer for another, then I will grant your wish."

Aldric remained still, waiting.

"But," Luna continued, tilting her head, "it will not be as you intended."

She lifted a hand, and the parchment Aldric carried lifted from his grasp, floating between them. The ink shimmered in the divine light, untouched, unclaimed—waiting for her to shape it.

"You have conviction, little knight. But conviction alone does not dictate terms with me."

She waved a hand, and the ink upon the parchment shifted, the words rewriting themselves, flowing and changing under her influence. The prayer—Oathbound—was no longer his to wield freely.

Aldric felt it the moment the change took hold.

The bond would remain. The vow would still be his.

But the power of the oath would now only bind to one.

"Your precious deception, your self-sacrificing nature, your unshakable belief in protecting others," Luna mused, her form shifting once more, now looming over him like a celestial specter, silver light bleeding into the darkness of her presence. "It will be tied to one. Only one. And we both know who that is."

Aldric clenched his fists at his sides, his jaw tightening.

Lysara.

"If you wish to bear another's pain, if you wish to take their wounds, then so be it. But it will only be for her."

The parchment pulsed, and Aldric felt the shift in his very soul—a thread forming, not yet tied, but present, undeniable.

"Your body will answer only to hers."

Aldric's fingers flexed. He had expected something like this.

But Luna wasn't finished.

"And because you did not break, because you did not waver, I will grant you something more."

She gestured, and Aldric felt the pull of something unseen, something stretching beyond him, farther than the original limits of the prayer.

"Your oath will reach farther than it ever could before."

The range—he could feel it expanding, as though a tether had been loosened, allowing him to protect from a greater distance than any Oathbound before him.

Luna smiled, watching the realisation settle in his eyes.

"You will suffer for her, no matter how far apart you stand. Your enemies will not see the deception until it is too late."

Aldric inhaled deeply, steady.

"Thank you," he said.

Luna's eyes flashed, her amusement returning.

"Oh, don't thank me yet."

The parchment burned with silver light, sealing the changes she had made.

"This vow is now written in the stars, Aldric of Tellik. You do not get to undo it."

Aldric nodded once. He had never intended to.

Meanwhile,

Lysara burned.

The weight pressing down on her shoulders, on her bones, on the marrow beneath, was unrelenting. A presence like the very sun bearing down, suffocating, crushing—binding.

Sol did not move.

He simply stared.

He did not need to speak, nor did he need to act. He merely was. And in his radiance, Lysara could feel the weight of his judgment.

He's using it on me.

The realization struck her like a hammer to the ribs. Binding Light. The very Canticle she had come to claim. The power she sought to wield against her enemies was already upon her—turning against her.

And she was losing.

Lysara ground her heels into the void beneath her, straining against the unseen force. Her muscles screamed, her blood roared in her ears. The divine magic was sinking into her bones, forcing her to kneel, to bow—to yield.

She wouldn't.

She gritted her teeth, pushing back with everything she had. The air crackled around her, her own divine resistance flaring like a sun fighting against eclipse. Her scales shimmered, shifting from silver to deep blue, her will twisting against his.

And still, Sol watched her.

His gaze was neither cruel nor kind. He was simply there, steadfast, unchanging. His radiance burned, but it did not rage.

His voice, when it came, was calm. Unshaken.

"The Lost Priestess."

Lysara stiffened.

"The one that ran."

Her pulse thundered in her ears.

"The one who, when all was on the line, could not face her death with honor."

The words were not loud, but they crushed her more than the weight of the binding itself.

She knew.

And so did he.

Her breaths came sharp, fast. Her legs trembled, the force of the divine command driving her downward, inch by inch.

"Now you wish to command others."

Sol's voice did not rise, nor did it falter. It simply was.

"To bind them to your will."

Lysara tried to fight back, to lift her chin and argue—but she couldn't.

Because he was right.

Her will was weak.

She had run when the Veil froze.

She had run from the Dark Templar.

She had abandoned everything.

Her throat tightened, but no words came.

Sol's gaze never wavered.

"I could never grant a boon to a coward."

The words cut deeper than any blade.

Her nails dug into her palms.

"The best weapons are forged on the edge of ruin," Sol continued, his voice still calm, still unshaken. "But you… you fled before ruin could claim you. You were not tempered by the fire. You simply ran from it."

Lysara snarled, forcing her body upright again, the burning in her limbs unbearable. She could barely breathe, barely move—but she refused to be brought to her knees.

"And now," Sol mused, "you and Tellik's fool play at heroism, pretending to be more than what you are."

His golden eyes narrowed.

"Perhaps I should strike you both down now. Clean the slate. Let my Mother find new champions who are worthy."

Lysara moved before she understood why.

Her body lunged, her staff a blur of silver light, swinging for his throat.

Sol smiled.

Not cruelly. Not mockingly. Genuinely.

"Will you fight a god, then?"

She didn't answer.

She just attacked.

Again. And again. And again.

Each strike blazed with divine power, the force of her will behind every blow.

Sol didn't dodge.

He didn't block.

He simply let her hit him.

And smiled.

"Why?" he asked as she swung again, her muscles screaming, her breath coming fast. "Why risk your life now?"

Lysara didn't answer.

She didn't know.

Not yet.

She struck again. Sol caught her staff with one hand and held it there, unshaken, unbothered.

"Why?" he asked again, his golden eyes gleaming with something almost expectant.

Lysara gritted her teeth, her mind racing.

She had run before. When the Void swallowed her people, when the Dark Templar claimed Vadore, when she had been nothing but a support, a healer, a survivor.

But here she was.

Fighting.

Risking everything.

Why?

Why now?

Her breath hitched.

Her eyes widened.

It wasn't for herself.

It wasn't for redemption.

It was for Aldric.

For the knight who stood beside her.

For the man who had never once questioned her past, who had never once doubted her worth. The one who had protected her before she even realized she needed it.

For the one person she trusted more than any god.

Sol's laughter shook the void itself.

"There it is."

The binding around her tightened one last time, and then—

It broke.

Lysara staggered forward, gasping as the weight lifted, her limbs trembling but free.

Sol still smiled.

"So you have finally chosen someone worth standing for."

Lysara's breath came fast, her mind whirling.

She hadn't thought of it like that, not in those words, but… was he wrong?

Sol lifted a hand, and Lysara froze.

Not of her own will.

Binding Light locked her in place.

She gasped, trying to break free, but this time it was absolute.

Sol exhaled, tilting his head.

"Very well. You may have what you seek."

The parchment blazed with golden fire, the ink rewriting itself as he willed it.

"But you will not wield it as you intended."

Lysara felt the shift, the change in the Canticle, even before he spoke the next words.

"You wish to command? You wish to bind? Then let it be so. But it will only hold its full power when he is within range of his oath."

Aldric.

Lysara stared at him, stunned, breathless.

Sol's grin widened.

"If you would stand for him, then you shall fight together."

The weight vanished, and Lysara stumbled forward, gasping as her limbs returned to her. She caught herself, eyes flickering with a thousand thoughts—questions she couldn't begin to ask.

Sol watched her.

"Now go, little Lightborn." His voice was softer now, but still unshaken. "And make sure you do not run again."

And with that, the trial was over.

Lysara was free.

But she would never fight alone again.