The underground camp didn't sleep.
As dusk filtered through bio-luminescent roots embedded in the ceiling, the rebels prepared for the trial. Drums of quiet energy pulsed beneath the ground. Threadborn gathered in small groups, whispering about the newcomers. About the boy who had touched raw Threadroot and survived.
Eli sat near the fire pit, staring into the flickering orange light. His fingers still buzzed with remnants of the Vault's energy, as if something inside him had awakened—and wasn't going back to sleep.
Sylha approached with deliberate silence, her mismatched eyes catching firelight. In her hand, she carried a stone bowl filled with a thick, silver liquid.
"Drink this before the trial," she said.
Eli eyed it warily. "What is it?"
"Resonance Serum. It doesn't give you power. It forces you to face it."
"Face it?"
Sylha gave him a flat look. "You've bonded to a raw Threadroot. That's not just energy—it's memory, history, emotion. The Vault Guardian was alive once. When you tapped it, you didn't just awaken power. You woke up something old."
Eli took the bowl and drank.
It tasted like metal and lightning.
---
The trial chamber was a hollowed dome deep beneath the rebel refuge, carved by the Bloom Rebellion decades ago. Its walls pulsed with ancient glyphs that shimmered whenever someone stepped inside.
Mira, Jericho, Kaiya, and Vega stood on the outskirts, watching. None of them were allowed to follow.
Eli stepped into the center of the dome.
A pulse hit him.
The world shifted.
---
He was on a burning plain.
Ash fell from the sky like snow. The earth beneath his feet was cracked and bleeding molten light. Above him, a storm churned—not with clouds, but with memories.
Whispers crowded in his ears.
"You shouldn't exist…"
"He's not ready…"
"The Thread chose wrong—"
He screamed—but it echoed in reverse, pulled back into his lungs like a vacuum.
Then the storm parted.
And he saw them.
Five silhouettes, each made of light and darkness. Figures of pure Threadforce, standing in a circle. They were him—and not him. Different choices. Different lives.
One version of him wore Proxy armor, face hidden behind a visor.
Another version wore rebel gear, eyes burning with hatred.
One was broken, crawling through mud with a shattered arm and blackened veins.
One laughed maniacally, power swirling around him like a vortex, uncaring who it devoured.
And one stood silent, calm, balanced—neither Proxy nor rebel. Just… whole.
The one in the center stepped forward and spoke.
"Who do you want to be?"
Eli fell to his knees. "I… I don't know…"
---
Outside the chamber, Vega clenched his fists.
Jericho frowned. "What do you think he's seeing in there?"
"Everything," Vega muttered. "Threadborn don't just gain power. They inherit legacy. Guilt. Memory."
Kaiya whispered, "And if he fails?"
Sylha, leaning against the wall, answered softly, "Then the Thread takes him back."
---
Inside, Eli stood again.
The storm screamed around him. Shadows clawed at his feet. Every failure he had ever feared—every doubt—manifested around him.
He closed his eyes.
"I don't want to be who they were," he said.
"I don't want to be their puppet."
"I don't want to be another piece of someone else's war."
He opened his eyes.
"I want to be the one who ends it."
The storm halted.
The ground cracked.
Light erupted beneath him—not burning, but steady. Focused. Clean.
Each of the five versions shattered like glass.
And when the world faded, he was still standing.
---
Eli stepped out of the chamber, gasping, drenched in sweat.
Sylha met his gaze. She nodded once. "You passed."
Vega smiled softly. "Good to have you back."
Mira said nothing, but her eyes held pride.
Jericho clapped his shoulder. "Told you. You're the main character now."
Kaiya grinned. "Only one problem."
Eli frowned. "What?"
She winked. "You still owe me lunch."
---
Elsewhere…
Far across the world, deep in a sealed Nexus chamber, a figure awoke.
His eyes opened—silver and violet.
He spoke two words:
"Threadborn active."