The figure stepped through the bone gate like smoke slipping through cracks. Its skin was hers, its eyes familiar, but too still. Too glassy.
Arena stumbled back.
Her reflection tilted its head, smiling.
"Funny," it said softly, "how quickly the world forgets who you are. But I remember. I've watched you. Felt you. I am you."
Peter drew his dagger, placing himself between Arena and the gate. "Don't listen to it. It's not real."
But Arena was frozen.
It wasn't just the face.
It was the voice, the posture, even the scar above her eyebrow from that childhood fall in the backyard. This… thing knew everything.
Because it was her.
"Let me help you," the double whispered. "I know what you're afraid of. I know why the realm chose you."
"No," Arena whispered, trembling. "You're not me."
"Oh, but I am. The version you tried to bury," it cooed, stepping closer. "The girl who doubts herself. The one who never felt good enough. I am every insecurity, every fear, every truth you never wanted to face."
The dagger in Arena's hand pulsed.
Peter whispered urgently, "This is the trial, Arena. You must sever the bond between yourself and the gate. If she touches you, she'll consume your soul."
The reflection raised its arms, spreading them wide like a twisted embrace.
"Or… let me in. Let me carry the pain. You've been strong for too long. Don't you want rest?"
Arena's knees buckled.
She remembered the quiet cries under her blanket. The loneliness at school. Freya was her only light. Her only real connection. And even now—she didn't know if Freya was alive, dead, or worse.
Her hands shook harder.
Peter stepped closer, his voice low. "Arena, listen to me. You were chosen not because you're weak—but because something inside you burns brighter than this realm can handle. That's why they're scared of you. That's why they're trying to break you."
Tears stung Arena's eyes.
Her reflection frowned slightly, like it sensed its grip slipping.
Arena stepped forward, lifting the dagger. "You're right about one thing," she said, voice trembling. "I did bury you. Because I outgrew you."
The reflection's smile dropped.
With a cry, Arena plunged the dagger into the symbol glowing above the bone gate.
Light exploded from the strike—red, gold, and silver crashing together in a shockwave that knocked her back into Peter's arms.
The reflection shrieked, its face melting like wax, crumbling into ash that scattered through the tunnel.
The gate groaned. Cracked. And then shattered.
The mark on Arena's wrist dimmed.
Her chest heaved, her knees weak—but she was standing.
"You did it," Peter whispered, staring at the shattered remains of the first gate. "You survived the first trial."
She looked down at the dagger, now stained with black blood. "How many more?"
Peter's jaw clenched. "Three. Maybe four."
She turned to him, eyes wild. "Maybe?"
"This realm doesn't follow rules, Arena. It shifts depending on who enters. But the more gates we break, the closer you get to waking up."
Her shoulders tensed. "And if we don't make it?"
Peter hesitated. "Then your soul merges with the realm. You become one of them."
Arena closed her eyes for a moment.
Then she looked at the next tunnel, stretching into darkness, colder than before.
But before they could move—
A shrieking horn echoed through the stone.
Then voices.
Dozens.
Maybe more.
Peter turned pale.
"They know we broke the gate. And they're coming."
Arena tightened her grip on the dagger, spine straightening.
"Then let them come."
TO BE CONTINUED...