The valley of reflections faded behind me, replaced by a desolate expanse of jagged black stone. The wind howled like the cries of forgotten mortals, carrying whispers I could barely discern. My body ached, my mind strained, and even the fragments in my hands felt heavier than ever, each pulse resonating with subtle hunger.
"You feel it, don't you?" Lysara's voice was faint, but sharp. Her wings flickered in the dim light. "The fragments are testing you. Not through danger alone… but through you."
I glanced down at my hands. The shards glimmered, beautiful, dangerous, and insistent. The flame burned with impatience; the water shimmered with reflection, almost mournful; the shadow whispered doubt, faintly seductive; and the crystal of clarity trembled like it feared what was coming.
And then I heard it—a voice I did not recognize, soft but insistent, threading through the fragments themselves: "You could claim more. You could bend all realms to your will. Take us… embrace your power…"
The voice made my chest tighten. A fragment-induced whisper—proof that the fragments themselves were beginning to corrupt, not violently, but subtly. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to focus, but even as I tried to resist, I felt a creeping hunger, a gnawing ambition that tugged at my resolve.
And then I saw him: a figure striding across the jagged stones with unnerving calm. Tall, lean, and clad in armor that shimmered like fractured obsidian, he moved like a predator confident of his prey. His eyes glimmered with fire and shadow, fixated on me.
"Eryndor," he said, voice low and commanding. "I have been searching for you. The fragments you carry… they could be mine. And yet you hesitate. Why? Mercy? Morality? Foolish restraint?"
I recognized him immediately—Kaelith, the corrupted mortal I had faced twice before, now fully emerged as a cunning, dangerous adversary. The fragments pulsed violently in response, almost as if sensing kinship with him.
"I will not let you harm what I've saved," I said, raising the shards. My voice sounded firmer than I felt.
Kaelith's grin widened. "Harm? No, mortal. I will tempt, I will test, I will show you the truth of fragments. You cannot resist forever. Every choice, every act of mercy… it comes at a cost. And you are fraying already."
I felt it then—the subtle toll manifesting physically: a tremor in my hands, a dull ache behind my eyes, a fleeting shadow crossing my thoughts. The fragments were not just tools; they were alive, testing my endurance, probing the limits of body, mind, and spirit.
The ground beneath us rumbled as Kaelith stepped closer. Shadows danced unnaturally around him, twisting into shapes of doubt, fear, and temptation. The fragments flared in response. Fire roared, water shimmered, shadow quivered, and the crystal glowed with a pulse that warned me: the trial had begun.
"You can endure, Eryndor," Lysara whispered, wings barely glowing. "But the fragments… they are hungry. And Kaelith… he is not your only enemy. This is only the beginning. The more you carry, the more you pay."
I took a deep breath, focusing my will. The shards aligned in my hands, vibrating in perfect harmony—flame, water, shadow, clarity. I felt their power surge, but also their subtle demand: they wanted more, faster, stronger, unchecked.
"I endure," I said, voice steady. "And I will not become you."
Kaelith's smile faltered slightly, though his eyes burned with challenge. The fragmented stones beneath us shifted, rising like jagged teeth, forming a labyrinthine battlefield. The first real confrontation of skill, will, and fragment mastery was about to begin.
I braced myself. Every heartbeat carried the weight of the fragments, every breath a reminder that the real trial was no longer outside me—it was within.
I was Eryndor. Bearer of the Shattered Sky. Mortal, bridge, and now tested not just by gods, but by the very corruption that lurked in the fragments themselves.
And the Age of Gods was watching.