Chapter 18: The Trial of Self
The arena had changed.
No longer was it the grand coliseum of Caedros. For the Final Trial, the King unveiled something new—something ancient.
A floating battleground, suspended in the sky by chained pillars of mana, hovering above the capital like a divine execution stage.
The people of Caedros watched from below as the Five Finalists ascended the spiral stairs to the sky.
Andrew was last to step onto the platform.
Above him, storm clouds circled like waiting gods.
The King's voice rang out, carried by enchantment:
"This final trial is not just to crown a victor—but to reveal truth."
"Face what lies beneath your glory. If you are truly worthy… you will endure it."
A flash of light.
And the world shattered.
Each champion was separated—drawn into their own plane. A pocket reality. A trial within.
For Andrew, it wasn't a battlefield.
It was a graveyard.
Swords lined the dirt like tombstones. Each one marked with a name.
Some he didn't know.
Others… he did.
"Kaelira."
"Serin."
"Mihai."
Even his own name—etched on a dozen blades.
And at the center stood himself again.
Not the Endblade.
But Andrew, broken and bleeding, kneeling in ash.
The echo looked up.
"This is who you become if you stop fighting."
"The hero dies. The shadow wins. And the world ends."
Andrew stepped forward.
But the ground shook—and from behind the swords, they came.
Every shadow he had absorbed.
Every soul Ashren had touched.
Twisted reflections, calling him Master.
"Reclaim us," they begged. "Finish what you started. Become the Endblade once more."
"We will never abandon you."
But Andrew clenched his fists.
"I'm not here to rule over the dead," he said. "I'm here to protect the living."
His voice echoed across the graveyard.
"I am not your king. I am not your curse. I am your end."
Ashren flared—pure, bright shadowlight.
The blade awakened again.
A new ability unlocked: Final Veil — a power that silences illusions, dispels lies, and forces truth into the open.
With one swing, the illusion broke.
Andrew landed back in the real arena—knees bent, heart pounding.
Across the sky, the other four champions began to return—some shaken, some changed.
The crowd watched in stunned silence.
Until a single cheer rose.
Then another.
And another.
Not for the throne.
Not for the King.
But for the boy with the shadowed sword and heroic heart.
The King stood in fury.
Lysara stood in silence.
And above it all… the gods began to whisper.
"He's chosen his path."
"And now… we choose ours."