The moment Serah crossed the threshold, the world behind her vanished in a rush of heat.
Fire bloomed across the sky.
She stood in the heart of a scorched wasteland. Embered winds howled like grieving spirits, ash swirling in spirals that bit into her skin. Blackened trees cracked with each breath of flame, and molten rivers threaded through the cracked earth like veins of living fire. The heat wasn't just suffocating—it was familiar.
Too familiar.
She staggered forward, boots crunching on charred ground. Her coat sizzled at the edges, but she didn't care. The fire didn't burn her. It never had. That was the problem.
The path ahead flickered. No structure, no destination. Just fire. Fire as far as the eye could see.
And then—
A whisper.
Not in her ears. In her chest.
"You burned him."
Her steps faltered.
A flicker of movement to her right—she turned sharply. The flames parted, revealing the outline of a boy standing alone in the distance. His body wavered like a mirage, but his eyes were vivid. Wide. Terrified.
The same look he'd had before he died.
Serah's breath hitched. "No," she whispered. "No, you're not real."
"Neither was he. Not to you."
The whisper burned hotter than any flame.
She stepped forward anyway, trembling fists clenched at her sides. "I didn't mean to. He attacked—he was going to kill Iris. I didn't have a choice."
But the fire around her didn't listen.
The boy's figure disintegrated into embers, scattering into the wind. Another appeared farther ahead—closer this time. Still watching her.
"You didn't hesitate."
Serah fell to her knees.
"I couldn't hesitate."
But the words felt hollow, even to her.
The memory hit her like a backdraft—
The heat of her power bursting from her hands.
The boy's scream, short and sharp.
The look in his eyes when he realized he was dying.
He hadn't begged. He hadn't even spoken. He just looked at her like he was trying to understand why.
She hadn't known his name. And she never would.
"You are fire."
The voice came from behind.
She turned—and saw herself.
No, not quite.
The other Serah was aflame, hair whipped by cinders, eyes glowing like furnace coals. Her mouth curved into something that wasn't a smile. She radiated power, destruction, fury. She was Serah as fire wanted her to be—consumed by it, ruled by it.
"You've been pretending," the burning version of her said, stepping closer. "Pretending you control the fire. But you don't. You never have."
Serah scrambled back, lips parted in denial, but the other Serah lifted her hand. A swirl of flame rushed out, slamming into her chest and launching her through the air.
She crashed against the ground, coughing smoke. Her vision blurred. The fire didn't stop.
"You're not a warrior," the burning Serah spat. "You're a weapon. Pointed by guilt. Fueled by rage. You enjoyed it."
"I didn't!" Serah screamed. "I didn't want to kill him!"
"But you did."
And the fire swallowed her again.
She lost track of time. Fire surrounded her, crushed her, clawed into her mind.
Pain wasn't the trial. Pain was the reminder.
Of who she'd become.
How many had she burned? How many faces had she forgotten? The battlefield didn't give you time to learn names. Just targets. Just outcomes.
"I didn't know him," she whispered, voice cracking. "But I see him now. I see all of them."
The fire around her flickered.
"I'm not sorry I protected Iris. But I am sorry it came to that. I'm sorry I let it come to that. I should have found another way. I should've—"
The words wouldn't finish. They choked on smoke and sorrow.
She wasn't crying. Not really. Her tears evaporated before they touched her cheeks.
The other Serah stood over her, silent. Watching.
"I don't want to burn like this," Serah said softly. "I don't want to become something that only knows how to destroy."
"Then become more."
It wasn't the doppelgänger who spoke this time. It was something deeper.
The flame shifted.
A warmth entered the inferno—not violent, not consuming. Gentle. Familiar. Like the glow of a campfire after a long night. Like rebirth.
The fire was still dangerous. But it wasn't all rage.
Serah rose slowly.
The doppelgänger watched, but no longer glared. It knelt, placing a hand on the scorched earth.
"You think I'm your enemy," it said. "But I'm your shadow. The part of you you're too afraid to face."
"I'm facing it now," Serah replied.
She walked into the flame.
The doppelgänger vanished.
The trial ended with a final exhale of heat.
Serah emerged from the firestorm into darkness. No ash. No flame. Just silence.
And then—
"Congratulations," came a voice—feminine, ageless, echoing like a distant ember. "You have passed the Trial of Concord."
A faint warmth bloomed at her chest. The mark of the Star of Cinders glowed bright red beneath her collarbone, pulsing gently.
"You are not fire because you burn," the voice said. "You are fire because you endure."
Serah closed her eyes.
She didn't feel cleansed. She didn't feel redeemed.
But she felt seen.
And maybe—for now—that was enough.