The wind had long forgotten the forest of Still Waters.
Even the leaves did not whisper.
Cled stepped into a silence so deep it felt alive. The trees towered like ancient sentinels, their roots coiled over the earth like sleeping dragons. There was no song of birds, no chirp of insects — not even the faint rustle of movement. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.
He paused, his silver-gray hair brushing his cheek in the faintest stir of motion. The relic within his chest — Heaven's Heart — pulsed faintly, its glow dim and patient.
> "To hear the heavens," the Abbot had once told him, "you must first learn to silence the world within."
That was the purpose of this trial.
Cled's journey had brought him to the Temple of Still Waters, an ancient shrine said to rest within the heart of a forest where time itself once stopped. Those who entered seeking enlightenment rarely returned. It was said the forest devoured thoughts, memories, and emotions — until all that remained was stillness itself.
But Cled did not fear silence. He carried it like a cloak.
Each step deeper into the forest dimmed the light around him, until the trees themselves seemed to close in. The path dissolved beneath his feet, yet he walked without hesitation. His calm was not born of ignorance but of understanding.
When the last ray of light vanished, he stopped. Ahead, an ancient pool shimmered faintly under an unseen glow. Its surface was so clear it reflected the stars — though no sky was visible above.
Cled knelt beside it. His reflection stared back — calm, unreadable.
Then the relic whispered.
> "Stillness is not silence, Cled. It is truth unclouded."
The moment the voice faded, the reflection in the pool rippled and rose.
A second Cled stepped from the water — identical in every detail, yet his eyes burned with a cold, empty hunger. The reflection spoke first, voice calm but sharp as winter.
> "You claim to seek balance. Yet your heart trembles each time you wield power. You fear becoming the storm you wish to calm."
Cled said nothing. His eyes did not waver.
The reflection circled him slowly, hands behind its back, every motion precise — too precise.
> "You pity the weak. You heal what is broken. But what if what is broken should remain shattered? What if compassion is your chain?"
Cled exhaled softly.
> "Compassion is not weakness. It is the proof that I remain human."
The reflection smiled — cruelly.
> "Humanity is what doomed the heavens in the first place."
Before Cled could respond, the reflection struck. No motion preceded it — one instant of stillness, then speed beyond measure. Cled barely turned aside, the blow cutting the air in silence. The reflection's movements were perfect, mechanical, utterly without emotion.
They fought without sound.
Each strike was a question; each counter, an answer.
Cled's body moved with calm precision — every step, every breath in harmony with the rhythm of the unseen world. Yet his reflection mirrored him flawlessly.
The battle continued until both figures stood locked at the edge of the pool, the relic within Cled's chest glowing like a fading star.
> "You cannot defeat what is within," the reflection whispered.
Cled closed his eyes.
He stopped moving.
And in that instant — silence deepened.
The forest ceased to exist. The trees, the pool, even the reflection — all dissolved into a vast emptiness.
Cled floated within the void, his heartbeat the only sound.
> "Stillness…" he murmured, "is not the absence of motion. It is peace within motion."
He opened his eyes — and found his reflection standing before him, unchanged but uncertain.
> "You fear power," the reflection said softly now.
"Because you believe it will make you like those who broke the heavens."
> "No," Cled replied, his tone serene. "Because power without understanding is noise. And I choose silence."
He stepped forward and placed his hand on the reflection's chest. Instead of striking, he listened.
The reflection trembled — and then, for the first time, smiled with peace. It dissolved into light, flowing back into Cled's body like a returning breath.
The void filled with sound — a single note, clear and eternal, echoing across unseen skies.
When the light faded, he stood once again by the still pool, but now its reflection shimmered not with stars, but with flowing skies.
Above him, the clouds parted. A faint beam of silver light descended, touching his brow.
The relic pulsed warmly.
> "You have passed the Trial of Stillness," it whispered. "You have learned to listen."
Cled bowed his head. Around him, the forest exhaled. The wind returned — soft, cleansing, alive. Leaves shivered as though waking from a thousand years of slumber.
He took a slow breath and turned toward the path beyond the trees.
There, faintly visible, floated a bridge of pure light leading upward — the gate to the First Sky Realm.
The journey had only just begun, but the heavens were no longer silent.
He could feel them breathing — not in chaos, but in rhythm with his heart.
Cled smiled faintly.
> "The sky speaks," he murmured. "And I am ready to listen."
Then he stepped onto the bridge, and the world dissolved into light.