Darkness swallowed the chamber, leaving only the faint glow of my wings—the four elements merged now into a single, living halo of energy. The fragments pulsed in unison, whispering, urging, but this time their voices were laced with caution. Something in the altar had awakened their awareness, their instincts.
The fallen deity remained silent, shadowed against the walls, watching me with eyes like molten gold. The air was thick, heavy, almost liquid with anticipation. Then the sigils beneath me flared violently, wrapping around my feet and ankles, chaining me in place—but not stopping the fragments.
A voice, older than the Academy, older than the Watcher, resonated in my mind:
"Survive the trial, or be erased."
The fragments flared in response, coiling through my veins. We are alive. We fight. We rise.
I gritted my teeth. "Then let it come."
The sigils beneath me glowed red-hot. Shadows erupted from the center circle, forming faceless figures, writhing and twisting like smoke given shape. They moved in unison, attacking from all directions.
The fragments responded immediately—flame lashing out to burn, water spiraling like whips, shadow striking like tendrils, clarity slicing through the darkness. Every attack I made was mirrored, amplified by the fragments themselves. I realized, for the first time, that they weren't just weapons—they were extensions of my will, extensions of my soul.
The shadows recoiled but reformed endlessly, attacking from angles I couldn't anticipate. Each strike tore at my body, each impact shook my very being. Pain surged, and the fragments screamed, testing my limits.
Lysara's voice rang in my mind, distant yet clear: You can do this. Trust them. Trust yourself.
I nodded, inwardly. The fragments surged harder, pulsing through every nerve, every sinew. I focused. Not on the attack. Not on survival. But on command.
"Be one with me," I whispered. The halo around me expanded, wings of molten light and shadow stretching farther than ever. The fragments aligned, not as separate elements, but as a singular consciousness responding to my thoughts.
The shadows screamed, twisting violently. I realized—they weren't just attacking—they were probing, testing my fracture, seeking weakness. And I felt it: the fracture's core—the shard of divinity inside me, still raw, still unstable—quivering with anticipation.
I struck outward. The energy tore through the shadow forms, but instead of dissipating, they merged into a massive, writhing vortex, drawn to the fracture itself. My vision blurred. The fragments screamed. Pain tore through me as I realized: the altar wasn't just testing me physically—it was testing my bond with the fragments.
If I faltered, they would consume me.
I clenched my jaw, grounding myself. "I am Eryndor," I growled. "And I will not break!"
The fragments surged violently, coiling around the vortex. For a moment, time itself seemed to pause. Energy clashed with energy, shadow clashed with light, pain clashed with will. And then—the vortex shattered.
Silence.
The fragments pulsed once… then recoiled slightly, quivering as if sensing something… watching.
The shadows vanished. The sigils dimmed. The chamber returned to dim light. My body shook, but I was still standing.
The fallen deity stepped closer, face unreadable. "You survived the first trial," it said slowly. "But the altar is only beginning. The true test… is not outside, but inside."
I turned my gaze downward, feeling the fracture within me shifting, writhing like a living thing. Something is coming. Something aware.
Then, deep beneath the chamber, I heard it—a low, resonant pulse that shook the stones, stronger than the Watcher, stronger than the primordial, something that was waiting for me all along.
The fragments screamed in unison: It knows. It sees. And it waits.
I clenched my fists. My wings flared. My pulse raced.
And the voice whispered, not in words, but in presence:
"Eryndor… the fracture will be claimed."
The ground trembled beneath me.
And the shadows of the altar began to rise again…