The ring of light surged beneath Malious's feet as he stepped into the circle, head high, fists clenched. Unlike Kalious, there was no hesitation in his stride. His eyes burned, not with pride, but with purpose.
The ancient voice returned:
"Malious of the Crown. You carry the fire of protection. Will you face your fracture?"
Malious cracked his neck. "I've been waiting."
Light engulfed him.
Malious stood in a wasteland of red sand and shattered swords.
The wind howled with voices he recognized, cries of their siblings, the screams of the dead from their tribe, Iralious's last breath. The sky pulsed like an open wound.
Then came the other him.
Not just a reflection, this one was taller, heavier, darker. The version of himself that didn't stop swinging. The version that let rage take root. He wore scorched armor, eyes glowing ember-red, and his blade dripped with blood that hissed against the sand.
"You act like your strength is for others," the reflection sneered. "You train to protect. You hold back, that's why they died."
Malious's fists clenched tighter. "They didn't die because I was weak. They died because I didn't know the truth."
The reflection roared, charging forward.
Steel met knuckle. Malious fought barehanded, refusing to draw his blade. Each strike from his darker self was heavier, more savage. But Malious dodged, blocked, parried, grinding his teeth, holding the line.
"You think restraint is noble?" the reflection snarled. "You think mercy has meaning in a world of monsters?"
"I think restraint is the only thing that separates us from the monsters," Malious growled, landing a brutal hook to the jaw.
The reflection stumbled, blood trailing from its mouth.
Malious stepped forward, towering now. "You're not stronger than me. You're just louder. And I'm done listening to you."
The reflection struck one final time, and Malious caught the blade mid-swing with his bare hands.
And snapped it in two.
The illusion cracked.
Malious gasped as he reappeared in the atrium, knees slamming to the floor. Sweat poured from him. Kalious caught his arm before he could fall.
The relic fragment on Malious's back pulsed brightly, forming a jagged second segment. Its glow wasn't white like Kalious's, it was red-gold, like flame.
"You alright?" Kalious asked.
Malious grinned, wiping blood from his lip. "I won."
The ancient voice spoke one last time:
"The heirs have been recognized. The relics awaken. The march of shadow quickens. Prepare."
The light faded.
And behind them, the chamber walls began to shift again, revealing a new path forward.
Neither of them had chosen, but they would walk together.