The chamber fell silent after the last echoes of battle faded. The shattered remains of their mirrored selves dissolved into dust, vanishing as though they had never existed. For a long moment, no one moved. The Circle stood in place, their bodies stiff, breaths ragged, and their eyes darting between each other as if unsure whether the reflections were truly gone.
Seraphina's hand trembled as she lowered her sword. Her reflection's words lingered in her mind like poison: You will burn them all. Fire doesn't know mercy. Neither will you.
The weight of those words pressed down on her chest. She forced herself to breathe, but every inhale felt sharp, almost painful. The reflection had looked at her with a familiarity too close, too knowing. It hadn't just been an illusion—it had been a truth, dragged from somewhere deep within her soul.
Elijah noticed her faltering. He always noticed. "Sera," he said softly, his voice carrying a steadiness she envied. "It's over. They're gone."
But she shook her head. "No. They weren't just shadows. They knew us. They knew me."
Across the circle, Darian cursed under his breath, pacing like a caged wolf. His reflection's mocking grin still haunted him, reminding him of every weakness he tried to bury. The others were no better—faces pale, shoulders tense, eyes filled with the unspoken terror of being confronted by themselves.
"We're wasting time," Mistress Soren snapped, though her voice lacked its usual sharp edge. It was thinner, taut, like a rope stretched too far. "The Vault isn't finished with us. We need to move."
Headmaster Thorn stepped forward, studying the now-silent chamber. His expression was unreadable, but his hand rested tightly on his staff, knuckles white. "No… the Vault is watching. Testing. Reshaping." His gaze swept across them, lingering on Seraphina. "What you saw was not illusion. It was a mirror of your essence. That is the nature of the Sanctum's trials."
Seraphina swallowed hard, a bitter taste in her mouth. A mirror of my essence? Then is that really who I am? A destroyer?
Her chest tightened, but she refused to let anyone see her weakness. Not now. Not when they needed strength. She forced herself to stand straighter, her chin high, even as her stomach twisted.
The silence between them grew heavier, pressing down like the weight of the mountain above their heads. Finally, Elijah broke it. "What's next?" he asked, his voice calm but firm, directed at Thorn.
The Headmaster didn't answer immediately. Instead, he raised his staff, and the crystal shard Seraphina had retrieved from the earlier chamber began to glow faintly, humming in resonance with something unseen. Light bled from it, spilling onto the stone floor until lines of silver etched themselves across the surface—an intricate sigil unfolding like veins of light, forming a path deeper into the Vault.
"There," Thorn said, pointing as the light coiled into a spiral leading toward a new passage. "The shard has revealed the next gate."
Mistress Soren's eyes narrowed. "And what lies beyond it?"
Thorn's gaze darkened. "Truth. Or madness. Perhaps both."
A cold shiver ran through Seraphina. She didn't like the way he said it, as though madness was not just a possibility, but an inevitability.
They moved forward as one, though their unity was fragile now, cracked by what they had faced. The stone corridor stretched into darkness, the air growing colder with every step. Seraphina felt the weight of unseen eyes, the Vault itself pulsing faintly like a heartbeat around them.
Elijah walked beside her, silent for a time, though his presence was enough to ground her. She could feel the tension radiating from him, though he masked it well. He had fought his reflection with ruthless efficiency, but she had seen the flicker of hesitation in his eyes when his other self had whispered something only he could hear.
"What did it say to you?" she asked quietly, surprising herself with the question.
His jaw tightened. For a long time, he didn't answer. She thought he might ignore her, but then he murmured, "That I would fail you. That no matter what I do, I'll never be enough to protect you."
Her breath caught. She turned to him, but he wasn't looking at her—his eyes were fixed on the darkness ahead. His expression was carved from stone, his voice flat, but she could feel the storm beneath.
"Elijah…" she began, but he cut her off with a shake of his head.
"It doesn't matter. It was just a reflection."
But she could tell he didn't believe that. Just as she didn't believe her own reflection was "just" a shadow.
They walked in silence after that, but something unspoken hung between them. A thread, taut and electric, pulling tighter with every step.
The corridor finally opened into another chamber, this one vast and circular, with high vaulted ceilings that shimmered faintly with runes. At the center of the room stood a pedestal of black stone, and upon it hovered another shard, larger than the last, pulsing with a dim, ominous light.
But between them and the shard stretched a labyrinth of floating platforms suspended over an endless abyss. The platforms shifted slowly, grinding stone against stone, rearranging themselves in patterns that never quite repeated.
"The Path of Shards," Thorn said grimly. "Every step is a choice. The wrong one will lead to ruin."
Mistress Soren sneered. "Lovely. A game of chance with our lives."
"Not chance," Thorn corrected. "Truth. The platforms will respond to the essence of those who step upon them. If your heart wavers, if your will falters, the Vault will reject you."
A hush fell.
Seraphina stared at the platforms, her stomach twisting tighter. The endless drop below seemed to swallow light itself. One misstep, and they would be gone.
Elijah placed a hand on her arm, grounding her. "We'll get through it. Together."
His touch burned through her sleeve, sending a shiver up her spine. She nodded, even though her chest was tight.
Darian was the first to move, leaping onto the nearest platform. It held, steady beneath him, though the runes on its surface glowed faintly red. He clenched his jaw but said nothing, motioning for the others to follow.
One by one, they began crossing. Each platform lit in different colors depending on who stepped upon it—green for steadiness, blue for clarity, red for turmoil. When Seraphina finally stepped onto one, the rune beneath her feet flared white.
Gasps rippled through the Circle. Even Thorn's eyes widened slightly, though his expression quickly shuttered.
White light. Pure, blinding, almost holy. Yet Seraphina felt no purity within herself—only the storm, only fire. The platform trembled faintly as though unsure whether to hold her or cast her into the abyss. She swallowed hard and forced her steps forward.
Elijah followed close, his platform glowing deep blue. Together they navigated the shifting path, the platforms grinding and shifting beneath them, always threatening to split apart.
At one point, the platform beneath Seraphina's foot shuddered violently, as if rejecting her. She nearly slipped, the abyss yawning below, but Elijah's hand shot out, gripping her wrist and pulling her back. Their eyes met, breathless, and for a moment the world narrowed to just them.
His hand lingered, his grip firm, his gaze intense. Something unspoken passed between them—something sharp, dangerous, and undeniable. Then he released her, and the spell broke.
They pressed on.
By the time they reached the central pedestal, sweat slicked their brows, and their hearts thundered from the tension of every step. The shard pulsed before them, its light rhythmic like a heartbeat.
Seraphina reached out, but before her fingers touched it, the shard flared. A surge of energy lashed out, slamming into her chest. She cried out as visions flooded her mind—flashes of fire consuming everything, screams echoing in the night, her own hands drenched in flames she couldn't control.
She staggered back, gasping, her body trembling violently.
Elijah caught her again, pulling her against him, his arms steadying her as the vision faded. But the terror in her eyes remained.
"I saw it," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I saw myself destroying everything. I can't—"
"Stop." His voice was sharp, commanding. His hands tightened on her shoulders. "That's what it wants you to believe. That's not who you are."
Her eyes burned with tears she refused to let fall. "What if it is?"
"Then I'll fight it with you," he said fiercely, without hesitation. His gaze locked with hers, unflinching, as though daring fate itself to challenge him.
For a long, breathless moment, the world seemed to still. The shard pulsed faintly, the abyss whispered below, but none of it mattered. Only the fire between them, dangerous and undeniable, held sway.
Then the shard dimmed, its energy settling into Seraphina's chest like a brand. She gasped, the mark of the trial embedding itself within her.
The Vault had given her power—but at what cost?
Elijah's hands lingered on her shoulders longer than necessary before he finally let go. But his eyes never left hers.
And Seraphina knew, with a cold certainty, that the trials ahead would not just test their strength. They would test their hearts.