The door behind him slammed shut, plunging Veyron into an abyss of blackness. The air was thick with an oppressive weight, the silence deafening, as if the very walls of the Guild were holding their breath.
Veyron stood still, his senses straining in the inky darkness, listening for any hint of movement. The machinery outside had faded to a low hum, as though it had retreated, leaving him alone with whatever lay ahead. His mind raced—he had known there would be a price, but this? This was different. The weight of it, the absence of any sound or direction, felt like the pulse of an ancient trap closing around him.
He reached into his coat pocket, his fingers brushing the cold brass of the box. A small, insignificant thing now—empty, but still heavy with its unspoken promise. Power is never truly free, the Guildmaster's words echoed in his mind.
The darkness felt alive, as though the shadows themselves were waiting for something. He took a slow step forward, the sound of his boots on the stone floor muffled by the heavy air. Another step. And then another. There was no obvious path, no guiding light, no sign of what he was meant to do. His only company was the weight of his thoughts.
The pulse of something deep within the chamber began to resonate—a low, rhythmic beat, like the throbbing of a distant heart. Veyron's instincts flared. This was no ordinary place. Whatever this room was, it had been designed with purpose. A trap, perhaps, or an invitation. The Guild had set him on this path, but they hadn't told him where it led.
A voice broke through the stillness, distant at first, but growing clearer as it echoed from the stone walls.
"You've come for power, haven't you?"
Veyron's hand instinctively dropped to the hilt of the blade at his side, his grip tightening. He hadn't been told to expect another trial. But there was no immediate threat. The voice—though laced with authority—did not sound hostile.
"Yes," Veyron answered, his voice steady but tinged with the uncertainty of the unknown. "I have."
The voice chuckled, a sound that vibrated through the very air around him, sending a shiver down his spine. "Many do. They come for power, for glory, for revenge… But all leave something behind. And when the price is too high, they find themselves tethered to something they cannot escape."
Veyron's heart skipped. A tethered soul? What did that mean?
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice sharp now, demanding an answer.
There was a long pause before the voice replied, not from the walls this time, but from the shadows themselves.
"I am your test. Your trial. Your shadow."
A flicker of light appeared in the distance, small and flickering like a candle in the dark. Veyron didn't hesitate; he moved toward it, his mind focused, and his every step purposeful. As he walked, the light began to grow, its faint glow pushing back the surrounding darkness. Soon, the light revealed what lay before him—a figure cloaked in black, standing at the far edge of the room.
The figure was shrouded in shadow, their features hidden beneath a hood, but Veyron could sense the power radiating from them. It was a presence, dark and suffocating, yet somehow familiar. The figure stepped forward, moving like a wraith, their every movement smooth and deliberate.
"Do you seek power, Ashwood?" the figure asked, their voice now clear, cutting through the darkness like a blade.
Veyron nodded, feeling the weight of his resolve settling in his chest. "I seek strength, knowledge, a way to carve my own path. I seek… everything."
The figure's laugh was low, almost a hiss. "Everything? You are foolish if you believe that power comes without sacrifice. You will take, and you will lose. And when you find yourself alone, as I once was, you will remember these words."
"I'm not afraid of losing," Veyron said, stepping forward, his gaze locked on the figure. "I've already lost everything."
The figure cocked its head, as if considering his words. "Loss is a curious thing. Some lose their way, some lose their lives. But some lose themselves."
The figure raised their hand, and the shadows around them seemed to ripple and twist. Veyron's breath caught in his throat as he felt the temperature drop, a chill that spread through his body, freezing him in place. He tried to move, but his legs refused to obey.
"Do you understand what you are giving up, Ashwood? What it means to take from the Guild?" The figure stepped closer, their eyes now visible beneath the hood—cold, hollow, and full of despair. "Power demands a price, but it does not return what you lose. Once you have crossed this line, you cannot unmake your choices. And you will never be whole again."
The shadows seemed to thicken around the figure's words, turning from a whisper into an overwhelming roar. Veyron's heart pounded in his chest as the room began to twist, the light flickering violently, as if the very walls were warping under the weight of the words.
But he didn't flinch. He couldn't. He had already made his choice.
"I know what I'm giving up," he said, his voice firm, rising above the cacophony. "I've already lost everything."
The figure raised its hand again, and the room began to settle. The temperature returned to normal, and the shadows receded, revealing the true face of the figure—someone Veyron knew. Someone from his past.
It was a younger version of himself.
The ghostly version of Veyron stepped forward, locking eyes with him. His voice was soft but carried a weight of sorrow. "This is the cost of your ambition, Veyron. You will become me. The man who gave up everything for a chance at power. The man who became nothing."
The vision of himself reached out, his hand cold as ice.
Veyron recoiled, but not out of fear—he had known this moment would come. The cost of power. He had always known that the price would be steep, that the path would demand more than he was willing to give. But it was too late to turn back now.
"I will not become you," Veyron said, his voice steady and resolute. "I will be better."
The younger version of Veyron looked at him, a faint smile curving his lips, bittersweet and tragic. "Then remember this moment. Remember it when the shadows close in around you, and when you are faced with the price of your ambition. Remember that you can never escape yourself."
With that, the vision of Veyron vanished, dissolving into the darkness like smoke in the wind.
And in its place, a door appeared, its brass handle gleaming in the faint light. Veyron's gaze lingered on it for a moment, his chest tightening as the weight of his decision settled upon him.
The door beckoned.
And Veyron stepped forward.