"Mmh? What did I do?"
Ash kept his voice calm, but something cold slid down his spine.
'Damn it. Did I just blow it?'
His eyes darted across the clearing. Rocks. Bones. No sword. No stick. Nothing that could be used as a weapon.
'If he suspects me… I'll end him. Then the rest. One by one, if I have to.'
But even as he thought it, his gut twisted. The others weren't weak. They all had strange abilities—fire, illusions, wings, forcefields. He'd watched them use it against the Gralkins. His old tactics wouldn't work here.
Serian's voice cut through the tension.
"Yeah, maybe you really don't know. Wouldn't surprise me. That's how you are—do things without thinking who it burns."
Ash looked at him sideways.
"Then tell me. What exactly did I do?"
Serian gave a crooked smile and opened his mouth to speak—then a voice came sharp from the group.
"Dammit. This is all his fault."
Ash turned toward the sound. The red-haired boy who threw away the black branch, releasing everyone from the bonds it had on their soul, allowing them not to use any soul skill.
He stepped through the others, anger radiating off him like heat. His golden eyes were locked on Ash, jaw clenched.
Serian muttered under his breath.
"Ah… not this again."
He stood fast and moved between them.
"Lyrius. Wait. Let me talk to him first. You don't have to—"
Lyrius brushed past him.
"Spare me. You were there too. You watched him do it. You followed him like a lost dog while the rest of us got thrown in cages."
Ash stood, posture loose, fingers itching.
Lyrius stopped a few paces away, eyes never leaving Ash.
"He knew. About the black branch. About the sleep-spores. He saw them first and am sure he knows something about them and said nothing. Not a damn word."
He pointed across the fire.
"Vynessa trusted you. All of us did. And you left her behind."
Ash followed the finger to a dark-haired girl sitting by herself. Her gaze dipped the moment their eyes met.
'That's her… the girl from the altar. So she was here too. But what the hell did this bastard do to get hated by everyone here?'
Ash clenched his jaw.
'And why aren't they mad at Serian? He was with Tachyros, too. And in the end, we all got captured.'
His voice came low, flat.
"If you're looking for a fight…"
Lyrius didn't answer. His form blurred.
Then something slammed into Ash's gut.
The air shot from his lungs. He stumbled back, gasping, hand clutched to his stomach. He looked up—Lyrius still stood ten paces away, motionless.
'No... that wasn't him.'
The body flickered.
And vanished.
A faint shimmer in the air—an afterimage. A clone.
Ash's eyes narrowed.
'Cheap trick. Good one, though.'
But it told him everything he needed.
Lyrius wasn't just angry. He wanted Ash humiliated.
Or dead.
He wanted Vynessa to hate him.
Ash saw it now—clear as sunlight through cracked glass. Lyrius loved her. But Vynessa… she loved Tachyros. Well, that's what it looks like.
Ash tried to stand. Pain screamed through the body. Tier 0. Weak. Every nerve is burning. He pushed up on shaking arms, searching for Lyrius—
Another hit landed before he could even react.
A fist crashed into his face.
His head snapped sideways. Ash collapsed, gripping his jaw as he hit the ground.
Serian's voice cut through the rising heat.
"Lyrius! Are you crazy?!"
"No. He needs to feel it. All of it."
Ash wiped the blood from his lip. His voice came out rough, low.
"Touch me again… and I'll kill you slow."
Lyrius smiled. No warmth in it—just teeth and spite.
"Oh, you still got a mouth? Then you can scream when I break your ribs."
He pulled back for another blow—
"Lyrius, stop."
The voice froze the air around them.
Ash's pulse jumped. He knew that voice. The same voice from the vision—the girl who spoke at the altar, the girl who warned him about the Black Branch.
Lyrius turned, jaw tight.
"You're still defending him? After what he did to you?"
Vynessa stepped between them.
"I'm not doing this for him. I'm doing it for you. He didn't fight back because he knows what you're capable of. And you know what he's capable of, too. He killed Gralkins—without soul skills. We saw it. And he might know more about this place than we do. That knowledge could save lives."
Her glowing eyes locked onto Ash.
"So tell me. When did you learn to fight like that? And why… why did you do all this?"
Ash spat out blood, forcing the pain down.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Lyrius stepped forward again.
"See? Still lying. He doesn't deserve words. Just pain."
Another voice broke in—soft, unsure.
"He's telling the truth."
Everyone turned. A pale-haired girl stood behind the group, arms pulled close to her chest like she already regretted speaking.
"Lunaea," Vynessa said, surprised.
Lyrius barked,
"What do you mean? We all saw what he did—back at our planet, and in this cursed trial."
Vynessa glanced at the girl, then back at Lyrius.
"You know what her skill is. She can't lie, and she always knows when someone else is lying. If she says it's the truth, then we have to believe it."
Lyrius's face twisted.
"Fine. Say it wasn't on purpose. What about the rest? The godborns who touched the corrupt altar? The ones who died because he didn't warn them? Or the way he hoarded every bit of knowledge about the creatures on this island? He knew what was coming—he knew—and he said nothing. We bled for his silence."
Ash stayed silent.
The pieces were fitting together.
So this was the weight Tachyros carried. Not because he was evil.
Because he was afraid.
Because he wanted power.
Because he wanted to survive.
Ash stared at the dirt between his hands.
'Tachyros may have been greedy… but he wasn't weak. He prepared. He studied. He wanted to live more than he wanted to be liked.'
And now Ash was the one paying the price.
Ash let the silence hang in the air. His throat tightened, but he forced the words out.
"I told you. I don't know anything about what you're accusing me of. And even if I did—why should I share it? I spent my life digging through scrolls, breaking myself just to understand a world that wants us dead. You hate me? Fine. But next time, do your own research before stepping into a place you don't understand."
Lyrius' jaw locked. His fist rose again—but a voice cut in before it could land.
"Enough, Lyrius. You know he's right."
The tone was calm, steady. But it cracked through the tension like thunder.
"And besides… he saved our lives."
Lyrius turned sharply toward the voice, then hissed under his breath and stormed off, shoulder brushing Serian as he passed.
A sharp clap echoed across the clearing.
"Alright," the voice called again, gathering everyone's attention.
Ash looked up.
A black-haired boy stood at the center, clad in a finely layered suit of black leather armor. Two bands of silver light ran through his irises, like quiet flames. He looked young, but the way he held himself—the calm, the control—felt older than anything around them.
He swept his gaze over the group, then turned toward the mangled field.
"I think we've rested long enough. You're healed. You're breathing. That's all that matters. If we stay here, we give the trial creatures time to catch up."
He tilted his chin upward, toward the towering ridges above.
"And we've strayed off course, thanks to the Gralkin ambush."
He pointed toward the slope, where mist rolled like smoke along the ledges.
"We're close to the peak. Pack what you can. Meat, bones, blades—anything useful. We're moving in thirty minutes."
The group broke into motion. Some returned to skinning Gralkin corpses for meat or teeth. Others dug through the ash for dropped gear or bandaged wounds that hadn't fully closed.
Ash stayed where he was, watching.
No one looked at him now. Not with hatred. Not with thanks. Just… like he wasn't really there.
He tilted his head back. The sky above was pale gold, laced with thin clouds. But the mountain was darker—its top wrapped in storm.
That's where the answers are. A way to get back to his brothers if he still can
A sharp blast of water exploded to his left. Someone had conjured it to douse the fire, steam rising where blood and flame had danced a moment before.
Ash looked down at his own hand.
Faint light pulsed beneath the skin. Not warmth. Something colder. Quieter.
'What skills does this body hide?'
He clenched his fist.
He needed to know more.
Not just about the trial.
But about the boy called Tachyros.
And the power that still slept beneath his skin.
————
A week had passed since Ash woke up in this cursed place.
Seven days… maybe more. Hard to count when the sun never moves. When the sky stayed bright and pale no matter how long you walked, fought, or bled.
He hadn't slept. Not really. Not once.
Ash stood near the cliff edge, peering over the horizon. Clouds stretched out like an ocean beneath them. Thick. Endless. No ground in sight—only birds wheeling lazily in the distance… and something else.
Shapes with wings. Larger than birds.
He narrowed his eyes.
'Dragons?'
He didn't know. And he wasn't ready to find out.
Behind him, the group was climbing higher. They were close now. He could feel it in the air—thin and sharp like frost. The top of the island was near. So was whatever waited there.
The road hadn't been easy. Not even close.
They fought almost every day. Creatures that made no sense—twisted things with too many limbs, with teeth in places teeth shouldn't be. Some were fast. Some were smart. Some were dumb but strong enough to crush bone with a single swing.
Ash had seen blood. Too much. But somehow, they kept surviving.
The others had soul skills—abilities that let them adapt to nearly anything. One girl could drain poison through her skin. Another could knock a beast unconscious with a whisper. Some could light up the dark. Others could cut through steel.
Ash looked down at his own hand. Flexed his fingers.
This body—Tachyros'—had a soul skill too. A powerful one, apparently. Serian talked about it once, called it dangerous, said it was the reason people followed him before everything went wrong.
But Ash couldn't activate it. Couldn't even read its name.
That wasn't normal.
He let out a breath. Watched it mist in the thin air.
At least he had answers now. Bits of truth he'd gathered, pieced together from whispers and careful questions.
He wasn't in the Middle Realm anymore.
This place… was far. Far above.
The Sky Realm.
A world of floating islands that drifted through endless skies. A place ruled by beings of light—angels, seraphim, winged creatures with voices like music and eyes like fire. The sky never ended here. It stretched forever in all directions, as if the stars had drowned and the heavens themselves had cracked open.
They were climbing one of the islands now. One of the many.
And the reason?
The Trial of Ascension.
A rite meant for godborns—children of divine blood—to advance their stage. To break into the next vessel tier. Each trial was different. No one knew where they'd end up, or what rules they'd face. Only one thing they know.
Reach the top.
Ash clenched his jaw.
That was the only instruction they were given when they entered. No map. No guide. Just the climb.
And somehow, the one person everyone looked to for answers… was him.
Tachyros Noxmere.
The boy whose face he wore.
The one they believed had it all figured out.
Ash turned back from the cliff, eyes tracing the trail that wound upward into mist and jagged stone. Behind it waited more questions.
Maybe worse.
He looked at his hand again.
The skill was still hidden.
Still locked.
But the mountain was almost done.
And if the trial truly tested everything you were—then the truth would come out eventually.
One way or another.
Ash had learned something else—something important.
There were ways to leave this place.
Altars. Thirty in total. Split into groups of three across the island.
They came in three grades—Low, Mid, and High—and each was marked by color. Ash had heard of them from the godborns: copper, silver, and gold. Each offered a way out—copper at the start, silver in the middle, and gold at the peak.
Ten altars in each grade.
Touch one, and you'd be sent home.
But two in each group were corrupted.
Touch a corrupted altar, and you either die on the spot… or are tossed into another realm entirely. A place unknown. A fate worse than death.
That alone would have been enough to make people hesitate.
Most godborns ignored the lower two grades. Not because they weren't real exits. They were. But the rewards were weaker. And pride… pride made people greedy.
But the altars weren't the real problem.
The numbers were.
Over a hundred godborns had started this trial. Most were dead now. Or gone by chosen the lower two grades alters.
Of the hundred, only thirty remained.
And there were only ten remaining altars. The gold ones. The one at the top of the mountain.
Which meant twenty more would die.
Or worse—be left behind.
Ash understood now. Why Tachyros kept everything to himself. Why he refused to share what he knew. This trial wasn't about teamwork. It wasn't about who deserved to survive.
It was about who could take what they needed and live with it.
Ash walked to the edge of a nearby cliff, watching clouds swirl far beneath. The air trembled with a soft rumble.
Below, they raced—beasts that looked like lions made of light. Their fur shimmered with pale gold, and small wings twitched on their backs like broken decorations.
They didn't fly. If they could, everyone would be dead already.
Those were the trial beasts—sentinels of this place. They didn't sleep. They didn't stop. If you slowed down or lost focus, they would tear you apart. Their only purpose was to keep you moving forward.
Ash narrowed his eyes, watching the white figures weave between cliffs and ridges.
They were getting closer.
Too close.
Everyone kept climbing, but the pace had grown sluggish. Exhaustion, wounds, doubt—they dragged at the group like invisible chains.
Ash turned his gaze back to the mountain. The peak was close, but not close enough.
He remembered the vision.
Tachyros, Serian, Vynessa.
Only those three made it.
Everyone else died.
Ash clenched his jaw.
Did he have to follow that same path?
Did he need to let the others die?
'No... not let them. Make them.'
That's what Tachyros had done.
He'd tricked two godborns into touching a corrupted altar—watched them vanish or burn. He knew which ones were real. Somehow, he could tell.
Ash didn't know how.
But he needed to learn.
If he wanted to live… if he wanted to return home… he'd have to do more than survive.
He'd have to choose who wouldn't.
He looked back at the group. Some were resting, others sharpening blades or whispering near the fire.
Not all of them trusted him but some did.
Because he wore the face of the smartest among them.
He hated that.
He hated how easy it was to lie with silence.
But hate wouldn't save him.
Only action would.
Ash let out a slow breath, then turned his eyes back to the mountain trail winding above. The sky shifted behind the clouds, and something dark moved across the sun—just for a moment.
Then it passed.
He tightened his grip on the hilt of the blade the godborns had picked from the dead gralkins.
They had to move faster.
Or die where they stood.