The wind that whispered through the Temple Beneath Time did not follow the laws of the world Aelric knew. It moved sideways, spiraled upward, and carried scents not of this realm—ozone, starlight, old memories.
He stood before the archway that had appeared after the final star glyph aligned above the mirrored floor. The reflection of his face—half shadow, half light—danced beneath his boots as if uncertain of who he truly was. Nyara stood beside him, silent and watchful, her silver eyes flickering like candle flames in a storm.
"It won't be a path you can walk through unscathed," she said. "This is the Starfire Labyrinth. A trial older than the mortal age."
"I'm not here to remain unscathed," Aelric replied, his voice low, resolute. "I'm here to become who I must."
He stepped into the archway.
The world twisted.
There was no floor, no sky, no horizon. Only light and the memory of flame.
Then—stone beneath his feet. Cold, smooth, and ancient.
He stood on a narrow bridge suspended over a sea of starlit mist. Pillars jutted up from below, broken and scattered like the ribs of some long-dead god. In the distance, a tower of light beckoned, its structure impossibly tall and wavering as if born of a dream.
Each step Aelric took echoed, not in sound, but in feeling—his memories flickering with each stride. Liora's face, bloodied but unbowed. Thalin's quiet strength. Eldra's trembling hands as she had offered him her final prophecy. The weight of the amulet around his neck pulsed in time with his heart.
Then came the voice.
"Who are you, Starborn?"
It came from everywhere and nowhere, ancient and resonant.
Aelric stopped. "I am Aelric of Brindlewood. Heir of the Stars. I walk the path of fire and starlight."
Silence.
Then, a figure stepped from the mist—a mirror of Aelric himself, but clothed in black armor etched with void runes. His eyes were a cold void, and the sword he bore was wreathed in darkness.
"I am what you could become," the shade said. "Power without limit. Purpose without doubt. Cast aside weakness. Cast aside loss."
Aelric drew his blade, its silver edge shimmering with celestial fire.
"You are not me," he said.
The duel began.
Steel clashed, ringing like chimes of a shattered cathedral. Aelric's blade moved with precision, guided by training and instinct—but the shade was faster, ruthless, an echo of every failure and fear he'd buried. The dark Aelric struck low and fast, speaking as he fought.
"Your compassion will destroy you."
Aelric deflected and struck back. "It's what makes me strong."
"You will watch them die."
"I will fight for them anyway."
"You will fail."
"I will rise again."
With a roar, Aelric's blade struck true, cleaving through the shadow. The figure shattered into a thousand fragments of starlight, scattering across the bridge and fading into the mist.
Aelric stood breathing hard, and the path before him shimmered open.
The Labyrinth changed.
Now he walked beneath a sky of spinning galaxies. The ground beneath him rippled with each step, as if he walked across the skin of a living cosmos. Above him, constellations shifted to form symbols he almost recognized—runes like those etched in the ruins of the Spire, or carved into the stones of Eldra's sanctuary.
Then he heard weeping.
It was soft, childlike. Familiar.
He followed it.
He found himself in Brindlewood. Or something made to look like it—his childhood village, whole again. The wind smelled of warm bread and river moss. Birds chirped. The sun hung frozen in the sky.
In the center of the village green stood his younger self—no older than eight. Alone. Crying.
Aelric stepped forward. "What is this?"
The child looked up. "You left us. You left me behind."
"I had to."
"Why?"
"To protect everyone."
"You weren't strong enough," the child said, and the illusion around him crumbled.
Brindlewood burned. Screams echoed. Shadows fell across the village, warping and swallowing. The child turned into ash in Aelric's arms.
The world convulsed—and a new path opened.
His knees buckled as he emerged into the third chamber.
A hall of mirrors.
Each reflection showed him a different version of himself. Aelric the tyrant, crowned in flame. Aelric the coward, hiding as others bled. Aelric the martyr, broken on a star-forged altar. Aelric the conqueror, alone atop a mountain of skulls.
He walked past them, each image whispering temptations, warnings, truths.
One mirror held no image at all.
He stared at it.
Then reached out and touched the glass.
It rippled like water and pulled him in.
He fell.
Through memory, through starlight, through dreams.
Until he landed in a chamber at the base of the Tower of Light.
There stood the final guardian.
Not a beast. Not a warrior.
A woman, veiled in silver. Her face ageless. Her eyes like nebulae.
"You have come far," she said.
"Is this the end of the trial?" Aelric asked.
"It is the beginning."
She raised a hand, and fire erupted around him—not to harm, but to test.
His pain. His fear. His hope. All laid bare.
He screamed. Endured. Remembered.
And emerged from it ablaze with inner light.
The woman stepped back and bowed.
"You are the Starborn. You are ready."
She placed a hand upon his chest.
And the starlight entered him fully.
Aelric emerged from the archway of the Starfire Labyrinth changed.
The mirrored floor reflected a steadier gaze. The amulet around his neck no longer felt like a burden but a promise.
Nyara waited for him. "You saw what you needed to see?"
"I saw who I am," Aelric said. "And who I could become."
She nodded, then looked to the sky.
"The stars shift," she said. "Something stirs beyond the Shattered Sea."
"What is it?"
"A name spoken only in ancient silence. The world's wound. The Forsaken Sun."
Aelric turned to her, ready. "Then that's where we go next."
She smiled, solemn and fierce.
"Then the true journey begins."
~to be continued