The stars had vanished.
Aelric stood alone in the void, the celestial winds howling in silence around him. There was no ground beneath his feet, yet he stood. No horizon in sight, yet he moved forward. This was not the material world. This was the Trial—a crucible forged from starfire and memory.
Nyara had said nothing before vanishing from his side, only whispering that the first of the three trials would test not his sword, nor his magic, but the truth of his soul.
Above him, the void shimmered—and then, like ripples on a dark lake, images began to form. Aelric turned, and in every direction, mirrors floated—vast, silver panes suspended in the darkness, each glowing faintly with starlight. He stepped closer to the nearest.
It was his reflection—or so he thought.
The figure in the mirror wore his face, bore the same star-scar on his brow, and carried the same sword. But the eyes… the eyes were cold. Hardened. Without remorse.
"Who are you?" Aelric asked.
The reflection smiled. "I am what you could become. The Starborne Tyrant."
Suddenly, the mirrored void cracked with thunder, and the reflections in the other mirrors shifted. Each showed another version of Aelric—one garbed in void-dark armor, one draped in royal robes soaked in blood, another kneeling before Morvath, eyes vacant and soul hollowed out.
"No…" Aelric stepped back, heart hammering. "I would never—"
"You already have," said the Tyrant. "You think your will is so unshakable? Then face us."
The mirrors exploded outward in a rain of silver shards. From the storm of glass stepped his many reflections, each pulsing with power. Each wielding a twisted version of the light within him.
This was the first Trial.
The War Within
The first doppelgänger lunged. Aelric ducked beneath a blow that cracked the space above, retaliating with a pulse of starfire from his palm. The fake dissipated into mist, but two more took its place. One whispered poisoned truths.
"You long for peace, but you crave power."
Another snarled, "You cling to friends only to delay the loneliness."
They fought as if they knew every move he would make—because they did. Each carried a sliver of his doubt, his rage, his deepest fears. They were shadows cast by his own flame.
He fought with all he had, but his strikes slowed, his steps grew heavy.
There were too many.
His thoughts spiraled. What if they're right? What if I can't lead? What if I fall? What if I—
"No."
The voice echoed—not from the void, but from within.
Aelric forced himself still. Closed his eyes. Breathed.
And then he reached not for more power—but for understanding.
These shadows were not his enemies. They were parts of him. Denied. Rejected. Feared.
When he opened his eyes, the battlefield had changed. The doppelgängers no longer rushed him. They stood still, waiting.
Aelric lowered his sword. "You are me. But you don't define me."
One by one, the reflections faded, nodding—until only the Tyrant remained.
"You'll always carry me," the Tyrant said. "But I don't have to carry you," Aelric answered.
With a final breath, he stepped forward—and the Tyrant vanished into starlight.
The first trial was passed.
The Silver Garden
When next he opened his eyes, Aelric stood in a garden made of moonlight.
Trees grew from glowing roots, leaves like crystal feathers. Insects of living stardust flitted through the air. The garden sang—not with music, but with memory.
Aelric took a step and suddenly he was back in Brindlewood.
His mother laughed as she turned in the sunlight, her hands stained with flour. His father taught him to carve wooden toys, humming a tune lost to time. He saw Thalin, bent over a scroll by lantern-light. Liora, wiping blood from her brow, whispering his name when she thought he slept.
Then he saw a field—burning. Corpses.
His fault.
The Trial had not ended. It had only deepened.
From between the trees stepped another figure—his younger self.
Twelve years old. Innocent. Afraid.
"Aelric," the boy whispered. "Why did you leave them?"
"I didn't have a choice," Aelric said.
"But you did," the boy said. "You could've stayed. Protected them. But you left. You followed the stars."
The pain sliced deeper than any blade. Aelric fell to one knee.
"I was trying to save them all."
"And what of the ones you couldn't?"
Images flooded the garden—his old village burned by Morvath's agents. The Marsh. The faces of the dead.
The boy looked up at him, eyes shining. "Will you carry them forever?"
Aelric closed his eyes. "Yes. But I won't let them chain me. I carry them to remember what I fight for. To keep their light burning."
The garden shimmered—and turned to a sea of stars.
"You have learned the second truth," came a voice, deep and ancient. "That sorrow and strength are twins."
The stars spiraled, and Aelric felt himself falling upward, rising toward the final trial.
The Tower of Echoes
He landed upon marble stone. Atop a tower that stretched into forever, surrounded by winds that whispered every name he had ever spoken.
The third trial was of voice and vow.
Before him stood a throne of obsidian. And upon it, a woman clad in robes of twilight—neither starborn nor void-touched. Her hair flowed like liquid night, her eyes vast and ancient.
"I am Seladryn," she said. "The Starbound Oracle. I once bore the name you now carry."
Aelric stepped forward. "You were a Starborn?"
"I was the first. The one who opened the gate. Who failed."
Her voice was not bitter. Only weary.
"You will not face illusions here. Only choice."
She gestured—and three paths formed from the tower, branching into the heavens.
"One leads to victory over Morvath—but at the cost of your soul."
The first path burned red and black.
"The second leads to peace for the world—but you will vanish from it."
The second was pale silver, quiet as snow.
"The third leads to neither peace nor victory. But it is the only path where your friends survive."
The third shimmered with uncertain gold.
Aelric looked between them, breath catching.
"I won't choose," he said. "Not like that. There has to be another way."
Seladryn smiled. "Then carve it."
He stepped from the edge—and did not fall. The tower reshaped beneath his feet, rising toward a fourth path—unwritten.
"You defy the stars themselves," she said.
"I reshape them," he answered.
Lightning rippled across the sky.
The Trial was over.
Return
When he returned to the world, Nyara waited.
"You have passed," she said simply. "But the true test lies ahead."
Behind her, Thalin, Liora, and the others stared in quiet awe.
"You were gone a week," Thalin said.
"To me, it felt like years," Aelric whispered.
He looked up—and saw the stars had shifted. A new constellation burned above him.
A sword. A flame. A door.
And on the horizon, a shadow moved. Larger than before. No longer just Morvath. Something beyond. Something awakening.
Aelric turned to his friends.
"We go west," he said. "To the Edge of the Sky. There's something there—something older than Morvath. And it's stirring."
As they gathered their gear and prepared to march, the stars blazed like fire.
The next journey had begun.
~to be continued