I have learned the hard way that power is a razor's blade, thrilling to hold, but quick to wound you if you fall. Now as I stand before this great obelisk cast in molten silver, I wonder if every trace of my humanity is about to fall away.
There is a dead quiet in the Trial Chamber but for the hum of ancient runes inscribed into the ground. Golden light streams through cracks in the walls to light up dust motes floating like little wraiths. In the heart of the circle is a stone dais, marked with symbols of life and death interwoven. Lirael's hand squeezes mine. There is pride and there is fear in her eyes, violet on violet.
"Are you sure?" she whispers. "Your Stability… it's barely holding."
I swallow hard. The meter on the System flickers, in my vision:
Chaos Stability ▏▏▏▏▏▏
28% remaining
Twenty-eight percent. A single glitched mutation was all it would take to push me into Anomaly Mode.
But I have to do this. Not for glory, not for power, but for everyone I've ever saved, for every soul I protect, the question I ask at the end of our travels is, "Are the things I've done in the name of nothing worth it?"
I step onto the dais. The runes are incandescent beneath my feet, and the chamber is trembling. There is a crack at the edge of the dais and darkness spills out like ink. The stone cracks open, and a minot godspawn slithers out: a lesser godspawn, once a ward of the heavenly watchers who turned her back on the Primordial Councils and was corrupted by their lies.
Its appearance is both beautiful and terrible — tall and statue-like, its skin a sickly white, its hair streaming like smoke. They are pits of starlight burning with contempt. A shattered crown is crooked on its head, and splinters of divine glass protrude from his shoulders as broken wings.
It inclines its head. "Kairo Vale," it drones, and its voice reverberates inside my head. "You dare stand before me?"
I grip my plasma blade. "I dare."
Lirael herself is behind me, on her knees at the chamber's edge, hand to the floor in the gauntlet. She is pulling a stabilizing ward off a shelf — one of her own making, combining tradition with rebel ingenuity. The light blinks in time with her heart rate. I can hardly keep it together, if I slip.
The godspawn laughs—mournful and terrible. It unfurls its fractured wings. "Then earn your place … or unmake yourself."
It pounces, its motion impossible for its size. It slices through the air in a single deadly curve, leaving a trail of scintillating void energy in its wake. I roll away, sparks sizzling along the surface of the dais. My ribs groan in rebellion, but I bite my lip.
I counterstrike. There is a shard of divine glass sticking out of its arm as my plasma blade meets it. Metal screams on celestial crystal, and the shard explodes into a pentagon of prismatic sparkles on the floor. The godspawn hisses, recoiling.
I strike again, swinging at its leg. The sword bites into its thigh and it flounders, black ichor running from the cut. My pulse races – here is the opportunity to seize its Emberheart core, to further my evolution and fortify my might.
But I get the tiniest throb of doubt: every core I ingest whittles down my Stability. And I look at the HUD: Chaos Stability 22%. One more genetic defect, and I could lose excessively."
The godspawn howls—the sound of a god's unfinished divinity. It raises both fists up into the air, calling shards of moonlight to coalesce into sharp spears. They sweep and circle, spinning in a glittering halo.
I turn and use Emberheart Surge. Wings of ember shot from my back, carrying me in a trail of fire. I leap over the closest spears and thrust my blade into its side. The Surge sets the wound alight in a blossoming flame of heat.
It screams, wings collapsing. Stone and dust fall from the walls as the chamber shakes. The steady light of the stabilization ward strobes—Lirael gasps for breath, but remains steady in her own spell.
I follow up my advantage, but the godspawn is more paradox than creation: a contrivance of light and shadow. It cocoons me with vacuum winds that pull my arms back. The wind roars in my ears; I can taste ozone and terror.
In desperation I call up the Crystalline Aegis mutation — shards of white‑blue light burst up around me, keeping me safe from the godspawn's attack. The wind crashes against the barrier. The HUD blinks: Chaos Stability 20%.
I grit my teeth. It's the Aegis for just a beat. I pump Emberheart Surge into one final blow, a horizontal cut that seems to part the wicked winds themselves and splits it open from side to side.
The godspawn crumbles into a shower of dust and glass fragments with the broken crown rattling at my feet. The dais's runes flare—then dim. The chamber goes silent, with the exception of my ragged breathing.
I reel backward, blade heavy in my hand. Lirael dashes to me, clamping the gauntlet over my side. "You did it, Kairo," she breathes.
I shake my head but I'm vaguely aware that the stabilization ward is coming apart. "Barely."
The platform drops into the floor closing the hole. Rainfall of golden light falls on the chamber's walls, the final vestiges of the void corruption are cleansed.
Lirael's gauntlet blazes up once more, then goes still. Kepner drops to her knees, and exhaustion is written on her face. I sit down next to her, throwing an arm around her shoulder.
The System HUD stabilizes:
Vitality ▏▇▇▇▏▏
Strength ▏▇▇▇▏▏
Chaos Stability ▏▏▏▏▏▏
Twenty‑eight percent. I've recovered some balance, but not nearly enough.
Lirael lets out a breath and rests her head on my shoulder. "I'm sorry I was not able to keep the ward longer.
I dust her hair with my hand. "You did enough. You always do."
She looks up at me, a flicker of a half‑smile. "What now?"
I get up a little unsteadily and help her to her feet. "We go there before we have more trials starting.
Below the platform, an exit gapes open to reveal a corridor illuminated by sickly emerald lanterns. The rebels and freed Wardens are in position. Commander Sylene steps _around two, eyes alert.
"You passed," she says, nodding. "The Vault exists because of you."
I look up to the Chamber's broken pillars overhead—the signs of life and death, creation and void. Every trial has challenged me, chipped away at parts of my past, sculpting me into something new.
Lirael takes my hand. "One foot in front of the other," she whispers.
I squeeze her fingers. "Together."
And as we cross over the threshold of the tunnel and leave the Trial of the Fallen God behind us, I realize that the true war is just beginning— one where the choices we make and the sacrifices we offer could change the fate of Elyndros or my own soul.