The Crucible's chamber was a living hell.
Black stone walls pulsed with runes of flame, and the air was so thick it scorched my lungs with every breath.
The fire colossus towered before us—a mountain of flame with magma eyes that pierced into my soul.
Its sword, a molten sun, sliced through the air, leaving behind trails of ash that danced like ghosts.
I stood my ground.
One hand held a bloodstained dagger. The other, Lirien's dark amulet—its weight a reminder of all I had lost.
Black veins of Aether crawled across my skin, clawing at my heart, and Dren's reliquary pulsed in my pocket with a purple flash that resonated with the colossus's roar.
Nyra stood beside me, knife in hand, air swirling around her like a storm ready to burst.
The Threshold whispered, a thunder in my mind:
"The Crucible is your forge, Echo. Burn—and the throne will be yours."
The colossus roared.
Its sword fell like a meteor. I ran—ground trembling—barely dodging the blow.
The blade struck, and a blast of fire swept the chamber, scorching my skin.
Nyra spun, her whirlwind howling like a hurricane, deflecting the flames.
Her black hair billowed, eyes glowing with fury that defied hell itself.
"Don't just stand there, idiot!" she yelled, launching a gust of wind that ripped through the air and tore into the colossus's arm.
The flames scattered—only to reform in an instant.
The colossus was unshaken.
"It won't die!" I growled, my strategist's mind scrambling for a way out.
The runes on the walls pulsed—they fed the colossus.
They were the key.
But unreachable, surrounded by a ring of flame encircling the chamber.
My body shook. Blood dripped from my eyes. Black veins constricted my soul.
The Aether howled, begging to be unleashed—but every use brought me closer to the abyss.
"Cover me!" I shouted, charging the colossus.
Nyra responded. Her whirlwind spun like a guillotine, holding the flames at bay.
My dagger sliced through the air, struck the colossus's leg—and shattered into sparks, reforming instantly.
Its fist fell.
I rolled—impact exploding the ground, opening a crater.
I screamed.
A flaming claw tore through my arm, but rage kept me standing.
"Arion, the runes!" Nyra called, dodging a sword that split the floor.
Her whirlwind surged—a vortex of blades that tore through the fire ring, exposing one rune.
I ran, ignoring the pain, and drove my dagger into it.
The ground trembled. The colossus roared—but did not fall.
More runes glowed. The flames grew wilder, forming a wall of fire that closed in on us.
"We can't win this!" Nyra panted, blood staining her shoulder. But her knife didn't waver.
Her presence was a storm—each move a challenge to death.
"We don't have to win," I said, voice cold. "Just survive."
But the colossus attacked.
Its sword cleaved the air.
The Aether roared—and I let it flow.
My eyes flared violet. The air cracked around me. A purple explosion collided with the blade, deflecting it.
The pain was blinding.
Blood spilled from my mouth. Black veins spread like living roots.
I collapsed, soul fracturing—another piece torn away by the Threshold.
Nyra reached me, her whirlwind holding back the flames.
"You're insane!" she shouted, dragging me toward a corner.
But the colossus didn't stop.
Its sword fell again. Nyra launched a whirlwind—but it was too weak.
I screamed.
Pushed her aside.
The blade grazed my chest, carving a wound that burned like hellfire.
"Don't die on me!" she screamed, her voice breaking.
Her magic erupted—a hurricane that halted the colossus.
Her knife cut through the air like lightning.
But she was exhausted—her face pale.
She wouldn't last much longer.
The reliquary pulsed in my pocket—its purple glow resonating with the runes.
I pulled it out—its heat searing my fingers.
"This is what they want," I growled, voice rough. "So this is what I'll use."
I clutched the reliquary—and the vision hit me.
The obsidian throne.
Blood dripping.
Nyra—dead.
Lirien—fading.
Wrath—smiling, fire sword in hand.
And behind her—other shadows:
A king of shadows.
A queen of ice.
A monster of chains.
A specter with golden eyes.
The Sins.
"The Crucible is your trial," the Threshold roared. "But the throne is your chain."
I snapped back.
The colossus raised its sword.
"Nyra, now!" I shouted, hurling the reliquary at a rune.
Aether engulfed it.
A violet explosion shattered the rune. The ground shook.
The colossus roared, its form flickering. But other runes lit up—flames intensifying—a hell ready to devour us.
"Another one!" Nyra shouted, her whirlwind carving a path.
I ran.
My dagger pierced another rune—but the colossus reached me.
Its fist slammed me into a wall. Bones cracked. Blood spilled from my mouth.
Nyra attacked.
Her hurricane shredded the colossus's arm.
It reformed.
Its sword fell toward her.
"No!" I roared, Aether erupting.
I rose.
Violet light filled the chamber. The air fractured like glass.
A purple explosion knocked the blade away—saving her.
But the cost was brutal.
I fell. Vision dimming. Black veins wrapped my body like shattered armor.
I felt my soul breaking.
The Threshold laughed.
"Wrath watches you, Echo. And she is not alone."
Nyra dragged me. Her whirlwind kept the colossus back.
"One more!" she roared, pointing to the final rune.
I ran—pain irrelevant—and drove my dagger in.
The ground exploded.
The colossus screamed—its form collapsing into ashes.
The runes dimmed.
Silence fell.
I collapsed, gasping, blood dripping down my face.
Nyra knelt beside me. Her knife fell to the ground.
"We did it," she whispered, voice shaking. But her eyes were full of doubt.
"That power... it's destroying you."
"I have no choice," I growled, picking up the reliquary. Its purple glow was weaker now.
Lirien's amulet—darker—felt heavier than ever.
"The Academy is our chance. That's where I'll find answers."
A door opened.
White light flooded the chamber.
The woman in the flame robe stepped in. Her presence was an inferno that filled the space.
"You have survived the Crucible," she said, her voice a roar.
"But the Academy is no refuge. It is a forge. And you... are the metal."
Her eyes locked on me.
She saw it—the Aether. The black veins. The reliquary.
"Arion Vaelis, Echo of the Threshold. Your path has only just begun."
Before we could reply, a roar echoed outside.
The sky—visible through a crack in the ceiling—split open.
A crimson tear spilled red light.
The Knight of Wrath descended—flaming sword in hand—riding a dragon of black scales.
"The Echo will not escape!" she roared.
The robed woman raised her hand.
White fire blazed, sealing the crack.
"Not in my domain," she growled—her presence eclipsing even the dragon.
She turned to us.
"Follow me. The Academy awaits."
Nyra helped me up.
Her knife was back in her hand.
As we followed the woman, a vision hit me again:
The obsidian throne.
Blood dripping.
Nyra—dead.
Lirien—gone.
Wrath—smiling.
The other Sins rose:
The shadow king.
The ice queen.
The chained monster.
The golden-eyed wraith.
And a figure shrouded in mist.
"The Academy is your forge," the Threshold whispered.
"But the Sins are your destiny."
I looked at Nyra—her silhouette defiant against the fire.
The throne was closer.
So were the Sins.
And I, Arion Vaelis... would not back down.