The Trisolarium did not rest between trials.
When the Trial of Presence ended, the arena shifted with a sound like bone grinding against bone. Stone plates slid apart beneath unseen mechanisms, light draining of warmth and color. The spectators remained, but their murmur changed—no longer wonder, only appraisal. This was not the trial that impressed. This was the one that judged whether the candidates could endure one another.
Saint Rennardo did not return.
Only the heralds remained, stripped of ceremony, their voices sharp and functional.
"Candidates," the woman announced, "the Trial of Unity begins now."
The air tightened. A pressure settled low in the chest, like an unspoken threat.
"You will not choose your teams."
A ripple passed through the waiting chambers—short, contained, dangerous.
Names ignited across the inner ring in lines of pale astral light. They shifted, split, recombined, then locked into groups of four. No explanations followed. No appeals were invited.
Reikika searched instinctively.
Midarion's name appeared across the arena.
Not with hers.
The flicker of relief came unbidden—and died just as quickly when she found her own grouping.
Team Seven.
Reikika Ashborn.Lysa Valencrest.Dorran Pike.Ishen Mor.
Across the widening floor, Midarion stood rigid, eyes tracking his own designation.
Team Thirteen.
He exhaled once. Slow. Controlled. No frustration allowed yet. Facts first.
The stone beneath each team slid apart, guiding them toward separate gates. These did not open into corridors or tunnels—
—but into broken space.
Platforms of fractured stone drifted at uneven distances, some tilting slowly, others rotating just enough to challenge depth and timing. Veins of dim astral light pulsed between them like exposed nerves. Gravity existed, but it argued with itself, tugging sideways or briefly slackening without warning.
The herald's voice echoed across all trials.
"The objective is simple. Reach the final anchor."
A pause long enough to sink teeth into nerves.
"Failure is shared."
That settled badly.
"Pain, destabilization, and disorientation affect all members equally. Any mistake propagates."
No removal. No individual consequence.
"Begin."
The gates sealed behind them.
Reikika's team stood on their starting platform as the space ahead slowly rotated, stone scraping softly against nothing.
Silence stretched—thin, coiled.
Lysa Valencrest broke it first, chin lifted, posture unbent. Her armor bore the careful polish of noble craft, unmarred by previous trials.
"So," she said, "who's leading?"
Dorran rolled his shoulders, testing balance. "Let's not poison it immediately."
Ishen said nothing. His gaze tracked the nearest platform, then the next, calculating distance and drift.
Reikika felt the pressure gathering—not urgency yet, but the beginning of it. The trial wanted haste. It rewarded impatience.
"We agree on movement before we move," she said. "Not command. Alignment."
Lysa's eyes narrowed. "Agreement wastes time."
"Mistakes cost more," Reikika replied evenly.
The space hummed—low, almost imperceptible—like something listening.
They moved.
The first crossing required only a short jump. Reikika went first, landing lightly, adjusting as the platform dipped under her weight. Dorran followed, boots scraping stone. Lysa landed cleanly. Ishen jumped last.
He landed a fraction late.
The platform shifted unexpectedly beneath him. His foot slid. He caught himself—but the delay was enough.
Pain lanced through all four of them at once.
It wasn't sharp—it was invasive, a pressure that bloomed behind the eyes and clenched the spine. Reikika sucked in a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Dorran swore under his breath. Lysa hissed, jaw tightening.
Ishen stiffened. "Logged."
Lysa rounded on him instantly. "You logged our pain?"
"I acknowledged it," he replied, voice clipped. "Ignoring it compounds error."
The hum deepened, vibrating faintly through the soles of their boots.
Reikika raised a hand before the argument could take root. "We slow down."
Lysa scoffed. "We hesitate, the space destabilizes."
"And if we rush, it punishes us," Reikika said. "We adapt."
The next jump required timing against a rotating slab. Reikika waited until its tilt aligned, then moved. The stone wobbled but held. Dorran misjudged the angle slightly—his heel clipped the edge.
A dull shock rippled through the group. Less pain than before, but heavier somehow.
The space reacted. The next platform drifted farther away.
No one spoke.
Reikika adjusted her breathing, letting her Kosmo rise just enough to steady the rhythm—not flaring, not asserting. The distortion eased. The distance shortened by a handspan.
Lysa noticed.
"You're anchoring us," she said, voice cool. "Without asking."
"I'm preventing escalation," Reikika replied.
"Or creating dependence."
The words lodged. Reikika didn't answer.
They reached the first anchor—a stone obelisk suspended in slow rotation, its surface etched with shallow fractures that glowed faintly.
"I'll activate," Lysa said at once, stepping forward.
Reikika frowned. "We should test resonance—"
Lysa didn't wait.
Gold Aura surged from her, precise and rigid, flooding the anchor in a single, decisive pulse.
The obelisk cracked.
The backlash tore through them like ice. Reikika staggered as pressure crushed her chest. Dorran dropped to one knee, breath knocked out of him. Ishen's hands clenched as his breath hitched violently.
Lysa reeled back, pale. "It should've worked."
"You forced alignment," Ishen snapped. "You didn't adapt to the space."
The fracture in the anchor spread—then slowed. The surrounding platforms drifted apart, reacting to the instability.
Reikika stepped forward before the argument could fracture them further. She knelt, palms pressed to the stone beneath her, breathing slow. Her Kosmo rose—not dominant, not commanding—simply present.
The distortion eased.
The anchor reformed—but not fully. A hairline fracture remained, faintly glowing.
Ishen stared at it. "That damage won't resolve."
Lysa swallowed. "I—"
"We move," Reikika said quietly. "But this stays with us."
Lysa turned away, pride unyielding. No thanks followed.
Across the arena, Midarion's team was unraveling in a different way.
Sereth rushed every jump, pushing ahead without waiting for confirmation. Kale barked orders that shifted mid-sentence. Brom lagged, blood seeping from a shallow cut along his arm where stone had scraped flesh.
Another misstep. Shared pain flared.
Midarion's Aura surged on instinct—fast, powerful, stabilizing.
The backlash was immediate.
Gravity lurched sideways. Kale stumbled, barely catching himself. The shared consequence slammed into Midarion's chest like a hammer, driving him to one knee.
Sereth stared at him, eyes wide. "You almost killed us."
"I was stabilizing—"
"You detonated," Kale said flatly.
The platform beneath them trembled, reacting not to the power—but to the disagreement.
Midarion forced his breathing steady. Every instinct screamed to flare again, to take control.
"I won't use it," he said. "Not without agreement."
Brom studied him, expression tight. "That restraint's going to cost you."
Midarion didn't answer.
They moved slower after that. Worse. But the space stopped lashing out.
At their anchor, they argued—brief, sharp, unresolved—before activating together.
They survived.
Reikika's team reached the final stretch strained and quiet.
Not unified. Just aware.
The platforms here were thinner, their edges crumbling slowly into nothing. One misstep sent a pebble spiraling away, vanishing before it could land.
Dorran nearly slipped—caught by Ishen's grip. The jolt sent a dull ache through them all.
At the final anchor, Ishen surprised them.
"I'll channel," he said. "But I need full presence. No resistance."
Lysa hesitated. Her jaw worked once. Then she placed her hand on the stone.
Dorran followed.
Reikika joined last.
The activation was imperfect. The anchor groaned—but held.
As the fractured space began to settle, Ishen did not look relieved.
"This isn't unity," he said quietly. "It's tolerance."
Lysa's eyes hardened. "Then survive without it next time."
No one answered.
Midarion's team sealed their anchor seconds before collapse.
He remained standing—but barely. The cost showed in the tightness of his posture, the careful way he avoided drawing breath too deeply.
The gates reopened.
"The Trial of Unity is complete."
No cheers followed. Only quiet movement and calculating eyes.
Reikika found Midarion across the dispersing candidates. Their gazes met across the broken stone.
No triumph passed between them.
Only recognition.
Around them, the Trisolarium stilled—not in rest, but in preparation. Unseen mechanisms shifted, recalibrating, learning.
Unity had not brought peace.
It had exposed fault lines.
And somewhere beneath the arena, the trials adjusted—quietly preparing punishments for restraint, for dependence, for compromise.
The skills that kept them alive today would not protect them tomorrow.