The darkness swallowed Caelum whole.
Not darkness like night. Not absence of light. But a pressure. A weight. A void so absolute it felt alive.
He tried to breathe. The darkness breathed first.
A voice rolled through the vast emptiness.
"Starfire Bearer."
Caelum forced his feet to steady beneath him. There was no ground, but there was something—dense, unseen, supporting him like compressed starlight.
He looked up. Or what he thought was up.
The Harbinger's single, colossal eye opened within the void. Violet. Endless. Watching.
Caelum's throat tightened. "This is Trial Three."
"Yes," the Harbinger rumbled. "The Final Measure."
The void churned. Shapes formed in the distance—shadows stretching, rising, circling.
Caelum stood his ground. "What do you want?"
"What all ancient powers want." The Harbinger's voice rippled like distant thunder. "To know if you will break."
The darkness shifted. A silhouette stepped forward.
A girl.
Caelum froze.
Aradia.
Not the Aradia he knew. This one was younger—frailer—before she'd learned to wield her violet fire. Her hands trembled as she reached toward him.
"Caelum…"
He stepped forward. "This isn't real."
The Harbinger's voice twined through the void. "Real is irrelevant. Truth is not."
Aradia flinched as shadowy chains snapped around her wrists, dragging her back. Her eyes widened—not with fear, but with betrayal.
"Why did you leave me?"
Caelum staggered. "I didn't. I never—"
The void split again. Another figure.
Lyra.
Fire dimmed, eyes hollow. Her voice cracked. "You always run toward danger. One day you won't come back. And we'll be the ones who pay for it."
Astra appeared. Seraphine. Elowen. All reflections. All twisted by fear and doubt.
"You can't save us." "You weren't chosen. You were convenient." "You're a Crownbearer built on luck, not worth."
Caelum clenched his fists. "Enough."
The Harbinger's eye dimmed in amusement. "If a single whisper can break you, how will you stand against what comes?"
The figures blurred—melted—reshaped.
Into one.
Caelum looked into the eyes of his own reflection. But this version stood taller. Stronger. Draped in a Crown of perfect starlight. An idealized destiny.
The voice was his. Sharper. Crueler.
"You pretend you don't want the Crown, but you do."
Caelum's pulse hammered. "That's a lie."
"You crave purpose. You crave importance. You crave destiny." The echo smiled coldly. "You want to matter. You want to be chosen."
"That's not why I'm here."
"But you don't deny it."
The void deepened. The echo lunged, faster than thought. Caelum summoned Starfire—gold and violet igniting around his hands.
Their clash shook the void.
Starfire vs. Starfire. Truth vs. reflection.
The echo moved with unnatural precision—every blow a perfect counter to Caelum's own techniques.
Caelum gritted his teeth. "I already fought a copy."
"This one," the Harbinger murmured, "is not a copy. It is every dark impulse you deny."
The echo struck hard—blade of starlight sliding across Caelum's ribs. Pain seared. He stumbled.
Voices whispered from the surrounding void. His own doubts. Amplified. Weaponized.
"Unworthy." "Weak." "Pretender."
The echo raised its hand—gathering a mass of Starfire so dense it warped the void around it.
Caelum fell to one knee. The Crown hummed faintly, offering strength. But the trial wasn't testing the Crown. It was testing him.
He closed his eyes. Breathed.
"I'm not perfect."
The whispering stopped. The echo hesitated.
Caelum rose slowly. "I'm not fearless. I'm not the strongest. And yes—I want to matter. Everyone wants to matter."
The Starfire around him dimmed to a steady, controlled glow.
"But wanting to matter isn't a flaw." He lifted his head. "Letting that want control me is."
The echo's attack flickered. Cracked.
Caelum stepped forward. One steady step. Then another.
"I don't need to be perfect to be worthy."
The echo's form split with lines of light. Shattering. Falling away.
The void stilled. Silence.
The Harbinger's eye narrowed. "Interesting."
The chains binding the illusions dissolved. The shadows faded. The pressure in the void eased.
Then—
The Harbinger leaned closer. The universe trembled with the movement.
"This trial is complete." A rumble like worlds collapsing shook the void. "But hear this, Starfire Bearer."
A clawed hand of pure darkness emerged—large enough to crush mountains. It stopped just before touching him.
"The Crown did not save you."
Caelum met the Harbinger's stare. "I know."
"The next time we meet," the Harbinger murmured, "you will not survive by being true."
The void cracked. Light surged. The realm shattered around him like breaking glass.
Caelum fell upward—back toward reality.
The Harbinger's final whisper followed him.
"Because next time…
I will not be bound by judgment."
Light consumed everything.
And Caelum's eyes snapped open. Back in the mortal world. Back among his friends.
But changed.
Utterly. Irrevocably changed.
And far above, in the shifting planes of the cosmic void, the Harbinger began to rise.