Trials (II)

Rulet stepped into the dark room with unshaken confidence, letting the shadows swallow him whole. The Door shut behind him.

His eyes were Bold, until that confidence shattered like glass underfoot.

His breath hitched. Eyes wide.

"W-Why... why am I here?" he whispered, the words trembling from his lips.

He found himself standing in an old, forgotten room. Around him were familiar figures — people — sitting with quiet, sorrowful expressions.

Rulet staggered back in shock. He stumbled straight through someone — a body,

"W-What just happened?" he whispered, panic rising in his chest.

He looked down at his hands, then over his body — confused. Everything looked normal.

Suddenly, a voice shattered the silence.

'Brother, why did you do that?'

The voice of a young boy. Weeping.

Rulet's eyes shot up. He recognized that voice instantly — how could he not?

It was his own. 

His breath caught as the realization hit. He wasn't just remembering — he was inside the memory. And not just any memory... the worst one.

'You are the future, Rulet,' came the frail voice of a man lying on a bed. Half his body was wrapped in bandages, his breathing shallow.

"Stop it," Rulet gasped, his voice breaking.

A whisper slithered into his ear — cold, mocking.

"Don't you want to see him one last time? Hee... hee..."

Rulet froze. His mind couldn't keep up — couldn't process what had just happened. He turned instinctively, but there was nothing there.

Only darkness. Endless and suffocating.

He dropped to his knees, grabbing his head, sweat dripping down his face.

"What was that?" he breathed.

A sudden, metallic clank echoed from beyond the door,

Artoria entered the room, trembling.

She had no weapon. No means to fight — if something was waiting inside, she'd be helpless.

The darkness swallowed her instantly, thick and cold like water.

Then — click — the door behind her shut tight, trapping her inside.

She braced for a threat, for a monster.

But slowly, almost tenderly, the dark began to fade.

 She blinked, confused.

Now she stood in the middle of a beautiful garden, brimming with life. Trees rustled with unseen wind; flowers nodded gently under the weight of sunlight.

A smile — faint and confused — laced across her face.

Her eyes wandered.

Then she saw her.

A little girl playing among the flowers.

Her face was blank.

But Artoria's Gaze fixed at her, she couldn't look away, Suddenly, the girl tripped, falling hard onto the grass. Her sobs broke the stillness.

Without thinking, Artoria stepped forward —but something rustled in the bushes.

Startled, she hid behind a nearby tree, watching in silence.

A male elf appeared, rushing over with urgency in his steps. He scooped the girl up gently, eyes filled with worry.

'Oh, my little princess... does it hurt?' he asked, his voice filled with concern. 

Artoria's lips parted, and a single tear slipped down her cheek.

She knew this moment.

This memory.

The little girl wiped her tears and clung tightly to him. The man held her close, gently lifting her off the ground.

'Do you want to hear a tale, my little princess?' he asked,

'Yes, father!' she replied, her voice filled with joy.

He began, his voice slow and warm, like a story passed down through generations.

'Long ago, when our ancestors came to this land, it was still green, barely touched, No towers. No walls. Only wind and trees. Back then, the God of ***** sat on Duril's Throne. Our people pledged loyalty to him.'

He paused. A sigh escaped him, full of a tired sorrow.

'He shaped Duril into what it is today. But the future he dreamed of... I no longer see it. So, in the end, he gave up everything. He forged a Divine Weapon to protect Duril… one that still protects Duril, from beneath the city.'

Then his voice turned quiet. Serious.

"Artoria... you must never ***** *** Divine Weapon."

Her eyes widened at those words.

her voice barely audible — unsure whether it was her child self asking, or the woman she had become.

Suddenly —

Clang!

Artoria flinched, spinning around—

The garden vanished in an instant.

Once again, she stood in darkness.

Only the distant rattle of chains remained… echoing from behind the door. 

Kuro still couldn't reach the door. The distance between them stretched endlessly, like a cruel illusion of forever.

"That fucking door—why can't I reach it?" he growled, his voice echoing into the void. His eyes darted around, but all they found was an unrelenting darkness.

Then—suddenly—he froze. A thought hit him, sharp and strange. What if this isn't real? What if none of it is?

His eyes dropped to his hands. They looked normal, no distortion. Nothing to betray the dream.

Without another thought, he balled his fist—and punched himself square in the face.

THUD.

"Ah—shit—"

Kuro's eyes snapped open, "Huff... Huff..."

He was flat on the cold ground, heart racing, soaked in sweat. Gasping, he pushed himself up, only to freeze in pure shock.

"What... happened here? And when?" he whispered, his breath ragged. He squinted into the dim surroundings, trying to make sense of it.

Everyone around him was unconscious, sprawled motionless on the floor. They were still in the corridor before the altar. But something felt wrong.

He looked up—and his stomach dropped. His chest tightened.

"What…?" The word barely made it past his lips.

He scrambled over to Arthur, shook him hard. "Arthur—hey! Wake up. Please, wake up."

Arthur jolted awake with a gasp, eyes wild, chest heaving. He blinked at Kuro's face.

"Wh—where are we?" he asked, voice shaking, it was the only thing his disoriented mind could muster.

"It was all an illusion," Kuro replied grimly. "There are no doors... none of it was real." 

Arthur went pale. "Then… what happened? No, wait—when did it happen?"

Kuro didn't answer. "Wake Rulet," he said instead, already moving toward Artoria.

Arthur didn't hesitate. He ran to Rulet and shook him awake.

They got them both up. They tried to explain, but how could they? Even they didn't understand what they were looking at.

Because nothing—not even nightmares—could have prepared them for what they saw next.

Lilia's body floated in midair, suspended between the twin altar. Heavy metal chains held her up. She looked fragile, helpless—like she'd been offered up for something terrible. The sight didn't feel real. It felt wrong. Like something out of a nightmare. 

The upper altar pulsed with a radiant, blinding light.

Rulet didn't wait. He didn't speak. He just charged.

THUD.

He slammed into something invisible and fell hard.

"The hell?!" he shouted, scrambling up.

He threw himself at the barrier again, pounding his fists against it with everything he had.

"LET ME THROUGH!" His voice cracked, echoing in every direction. It didn't sound like anger anymore—it sounded like pure desperation.

A voice rang out, clear and cold, from everywhere.

"The Sacrificial Ceremony will now begin."