The trial

The first light of dawn barely brushed over the ruins when Ronan stirred, blinking slowly as his senses adjusted to the stillness around him. He sat up, his sharp gaze immediately landing on Elara, who sat by the dying fire. There was something different about her—something steady in the way she held herself, as though the night had burned away her hesitation.

"Elara?" His voice was quiet, careful not to wake Taryn. "You haven't slept."

She turned toward him, a faint smile tugging at her lips, though her eyes were tired and shadowed. "Couldn't. Too much on my mind."

Ronan's brows furrowed. He stood and made his way to her, sitting opposite the fire. "What happened?"

Elara stared into the embers. "Luna… my mother, she came to me." Her voice trembled slightly, but she pushed on. "She said… there are three more shards. I need to find them. Only then will I understand everything—the past, the future, who I truly am."

Ronan listened silently, his jaw tightening as he processed her words. After a moment, he nodded. "Then we start searching. There's no other way."

Elara blinked at him, surprised at the lack of questions or disbelief. "Just like that? You believe me?"

He gave a dry chuckle. "Elara, after everything we've seen—the magic, the memories, that damn hooded man—I'd be a fool not to. Besides…" His voice lowered, something haunted flickering in his eyes. "I think my path's been tied to yours longer than either of us realized."

Elara swallowed hard but said nothing. There were no words to express the swell of gratitude in her chest.

They sat like that for a moment—two souls, both carrying too much history—before Ronan finally stood. "Let's wake Taryn."

Taryn woke groggily, running a hand through her hair as she blinked blearily at them. "You two look way too serious for this early."

Ronan gave her a wry smile. "We've got a new plan."

Taryn arched a brow. "Let me guess… it involves chasing something dangerous and ancient."

Elara gave a small laugh, though the weight of her words was clear. "There are three more shards. Luna said they'll show us the truth. We need to find them."

Taryn's expression sobered. "And… how exactly are we supposed to find these magical pieces?"

As if on cue, the shard Elara carried—the fragment of the broken amulet—pulsed faintly in her hand. A soft hum, like a heartbeat, vibrated through the air.

All three of them stilled.

"Elara…" Ronan's voice was low, cautious. "That wasn't happening before, was it?"

Elara shook her head, staring down at the shard. "No. But… maybe it's trying to guide us."

Taryn scoffed lightly. "Convenient. Magical GPS. Still… it's better than wandering blind."

With their course set, they packed what little they had and set off.

Days bled into each other.

The land changed around them as they traveled, the forests thinning into rocky hills, rivers winding like silver serpents beneath skies that shifted from clear blue to brooding gray.

Sometimes they spoke—about trivial things, about the world beyond their quest—but most of the time, they walked in silence, each of them wrestling with their own thoughts. Yet despite the silence, a bond grew stronger—a quiet understanding forged by shared loss and a common enemy.

At night, they shared watch duty. Ronan began telling Elara stories of old wars, of kings and queens who fell to the same darkness they now faced. Taryn teased them both, her sarcasm a thin veil over the way she too kept glancing at the shard as if expecting it to vanish.

Each time Elara took the shard out, it pulsed faintly—warmer now, the hum growing stronger as the days passed.

Finally, after nearly a week of travel, they felt it—a pull, sharp and insistent.

"It's close," Elara whispered, her fingers tightening around the shard.

They crested a ridge and saw it—an ancient mountain looming above the land, jagged peaks piercing the sky. Nestled within its side was a narrow opening, almost invisible unless the light caught it just right.

Ronan's eyes narrowed. "That… wasn't on any map."

Taryn stared, brows furrowed. "There's a barrier. I can feel it."

And indeed, as they approached, a shimmer danced across the cave entrance, like sunlight on water. Old magic. Protective, ancient, and still intact after all this time.

Elara felt her heart race. "This is it."

With a deep breath, they pushed through the barrier. It parted for them like mist, leaving behind a strange coldness that settled in their bones.

Inside, the air was stale, heavy with the scent of ash and stone. Symbols long forgotten lined the walls, half-erased by time. Scattered remains of a civilization lay everywhere—broken columns, shattered statues, murals faded beyond recognition. The deeper they went, the more signs of devastation they saw.

"This was a city once," Ronan murmured. "A place of power. Destroyed… in war."

Elara shivered, feeling the ghosts of the past pressing against her skin. "Do you think… it was the same war we remember? The one… where Taryn…"

Taryn flinched but said nothing, her jaw tight.

Ronan nodded grimly. "Feels like it. Same signature of magic. Same scars."

They pressed onward, deeper into the mountain until the cave opened into a massive cavern. And at its center, half-buried in stone and dust, was a pedestal—cracked and worn—but still pulsing faintly with power.

Elara felt the shard vibrate wildly in her hand.

"That's it," she breathed.

But there was no joy in her voice—only a deep, gnawing dread.

Taryn gave her a sharp look. "Be careful."

Elara approached, hands trembling, as if drawn by a force beyond her control.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Ronan muttered.

They were right to worry.

The moment Elara touched the pedestal, the ground trembled—and from the darkness, ancient magic awoke.

The moment Elara's hand touched the pedestal, the world around them shattered. The cavern, the ruined city—everything dissolved into swirling light and shadows.

When the light faded, they were no longer in the mountain.

Instead, Elara found herself standing on blood-soaked ground beneath a darkened sky, the air thick with the metallic scent of death. The sound of battle roared around her—clashing steel, screams of the dying. Her heart pounded as she turned—and saw him.

"Caelan!" she gasped.

There he was—wounded, pale, cradled in her past self's arms. Golden light flickered weakly around his body, his breaths shallow. Nearby, a younger Ronan—armor shining, face hardened by grief—fought desperately against hooded assassins, his sword flashing like a beacon in the dark.

"No—no, this can't be real," Ronan muttered beside her, wide-eyed as he recognized his past self.

They could only watch, trapped in the memory.

"Elara—go! Leave him and run!" Past Ronan's voice broke through the chaos as he blocked another strike. Blood streaked his face, his body trembling from exertion. "It's too late for us!"

But Past Elara—her hair loose and wild, eyes full of rage and grief—shook her head. "I won't leave him! I won't!"

From the shadows, a hooded figure crept closer, blade gleaming. Before Present Elara could scream, Caelan moved—his body wracked with pain, but his instincts sharp. "Elara, move!" he rasped, shoving her aside.

The assassin's blade arced down—only to be intercepted by Past Ronan, who lunged between them. "No!" he roared.

But the price was steep. Another assassin, hidden, took advantage of the moment. Steel bit into Ronan's side, the sound of the blade sinking into flesh chilling in the heavy air.

Present Ronan staggered as if he had been struck, his breath caught in his throat. "I… I remember…"

Before the scene could unfold further, the world twisted again—dragging Elara and Ronan away, the screams fading into eerie silence.

They found themselves back inside the cavern, but it wasn't the same. The air crackled with magic, the pedestal glowing softly. Ronan stumbled, breathing hard. "That was… real. A memory."

Elara's hands trembled. "Caelan… you protected him. You both—"

A cold voice cut through the air. "And yet, he died."

From the shadows, Veridian appeared—robes flowing like ink, his staff gleaming with dark energy. He approached slowly, his green eyes fixed on Ronan. "Do you regret it, Ronan? Your failure? If you had been stronger, faster… perhaps your master would have lived."

Ronan's mouth opened, but no sound came out. He stared at Veridian, his mind reeling. "I… I know you," he finally breathed. "You… you saved me. That night… in my village…"

Veridian's smile was cold. "And yet, here you are. Still weak. Still doubting." He turned his gaze to Elara, dismissing Ronan with a flick of his hand. "And you, daughter of gods… is this truly the path you wish to take? Do you think this broken man will help you carry the weight of the world?"

Elara's throat tightened. "Ronan is my companion. My friend."

Veridian's eyes narrowed. "Friendship is a fragile thing, child. Your past sacrifice will mean nothing if you fail now. You stand on the edge of a blade—and he is already faltering."

Elara opened her mouth, but Ronan's voice cut through, filled with quiet, simmering rage. "I don't regret anything."

Veridian's gaze snapped back to him. "What?"

"I chose to protect Caelan," Ronan growled. "And I choose now—to protect Elara. I will not fail her."

Something dark flashed across Veridian's face. "Insolent."

With a snarl, he swung his staff, a wave of magic slamming into Ronan, sending him skidding back. Elara gasped. "Stop—!"

But neither man listened.

Ronan recovered fast, his own power sparking as his blade materialized in his hand. They clashed—magic and steel—Veridian's cold, precise strikes meeting Ronan's desperate, furious defense. The cave trembled, stones cracking from the force of their blows.

Elara watched in horror, caught between them. "Stop it! Both of you!"

They didn't hear her—or didn't care. Veridian's next spell gathered fire, burning bright and cruel. He hurled it straight at Ronan.

Ronan saw it—and at that moment, something in him knew. If he dodged, the spell would hit Elara. She was too close, frozen in fear.

His decision was made in a heartbeat.

"No," he breathed—and spun, shoving Elara out of the way.

The fire consumed him.