The platform dimmed until it was only a pale ring of light suspended over nothing. The sky above had healed, but not completely. Thin scars remained, faint lines where reality had once split and argued with itself.
Salemadon stood at the center, breathing slow and controlled.
Every breath hurt.
Not his body—his core.
Pahtem pulsed inside him, uneven now, like a drum that had lost its rhythm. He could still feel the sky's grip on his arms, the moment he had caught what should never be caught.
Brughan broke the silence first.
"So," he said carefully, "on a scale from 'fine' to 'we should run,' where are we?"
Salemadon didn't answer right away. He flexed his fingers. Light flickered, then steadied.
"We stay," he said.
Brughan sighed. "Of course we do."
Althara watched Salemadon closely. Her eyes weren't on his armor or the fading scars in the air. They were on his face.
"You didn't just hold it," she said. "You let it rest on you."
Salemadon met her gaze. "I didn't know how to push it away."
"So you chose to stand," she replied.
That word lingered.
Stand.
THE AFTERSHOCK
Without warning, the platform dipped.
Not a collapse.
A test.
Brughan stumbled, catching himself at the edge. "It's doing that thing again."
Salemadon spread his stance instinctively. Threads extended, anchoring the platform. This time, the strain was different—slower, heavier.
Like gravity had learned patience.
Althara knelt, placing her palm against the glowing surface. "It's not attacking," she said. "It's measuring."
"Me?" Salemadon asked.
"You," she confirmed.
The platform dipped again, deeper.
Salemadon gritted his teeth. Pahtem surged, then faltered.
"Easy," Althara warned. "Don't force it."
"I don't know another way," he said.
A ripple passed through the air—soft, controlled.
Mahira stepped out of a thin seam of light, landing without sound.
Brughan didn't even flinch this time. "She's back."
Mahira looked only at Salemadon. "You are trying to lift the weight," she said. "That is why it grows heavier."
Salemadon snapped, frustrated. "Then what am I supposed to do?"
Mahira walked to the edge of the platform and pressed her foot down gently.
The platform stopped moving.
Not because she pushed.
Because she settled.
"Do not carry it," she said. "Let it carry you."
Salemadon frowned. "That makes no sense."
Mahira turned to face him fully. "It will."
THE LESSON WITHOUT WORDS
Mahira stepped back and did nothing.
The platform dipped again.
Salemadon felt panic rise—sharp, instinctive. He threw more power into his Threads.
The platform dipped further.
Althara shouted, "Salemadon, stop fighting it!"
He froze.
The platform steadied—just slightly.
His breathing slowed.
He loosened his grip on Pahtem, not releasing it, just… trusting it.
The Threads shifted. They stopped pulling upward and began spreading outward, wide and calm.
The platform leveled.
Brughan blinked. "Did you… stop trying?"
Salemadon nodded slowly. "I stopped insisting."
The weight didn't disappear.
It became manageable.
Mahira's voice cut through the quiet. "You cannot dominate everything you protect. Some things demand balance, not control."
Salemadon closed his eyes for one second.
When he opened them, the glow in his armor was steady, soft, complete.
THE SECOND TEST
The air darkened—not violently, but deliberately.
A low hum returned, different from before. Deeper. Older.
Althara stiffened. "This isn't the fracture."
"No," Mahira said. "This is consequence."
A line of light formed in the air ahead of them, vertical and thin. It widened slowly, revealing not another world—but a reflection.
Salemadon saw himself.
Not armored.
Not glowing.
Standing alone.
The reflection spoke, but its mouth did not move.
"How long can you stand when no one is watching?"
Brughan stepped forward angrily. "Oh no, I don't like mirrors that talk."
Salemadon raised a hand, stopping him.
He stepped toward the reflection.
"What are you?" Salemadon asked.
The reflection tilted its head.
"I am what remains when power runs out."
The platform trembled.
Mahira moved beside Salemadon. "This test is yours alone."
Althara's voice was tight. "What happens if he fails?"
Mahira didn't answer.
Salemadon faced the reflection fully.
"Then watch," he said.
STANDING WITHOUT POWER
Salemadon released Pahtem.
Completely.
The glow faded.
The Threads withdrew.
The platform dipped sharply.
Brughan shouted, "That was not the plan!"
Salemadon staggered—but didn't fall.
His knees bent. His muscles burned.
He stood.
The reflection watched silently.
Salemadon's voice was calm, even as sweat formed on his brow. "I am not Pahtem," he said. "It moves through me. It does not hold me up."
The platform stabilized.
The reflection began to fade.
"Then remember this," it said softly. "There will be a time when no power answers."
Salemadon nodded. "Then I will still stand."
The reflection vanished.
The hum stopped.
AFTERMATH
Mahira exhaled slowly, as if satisfied.
"You passed," she said.
Brughan dropped to the platform, sitting hard. "I passed out just watching."
Althara approached Salemadon, placing a steady hand on his arm. "That was different," she said. "You didn't fight. You endured."
Salemadon looked at his hands. No glow. No Threads.
Yet he felt stronger.
Mahira stepped back toward the seam of light. "The tests will change now," she warned. "They will stop asking what you can do—and start asking who you are."
"Will you be there?" Salemadon asked.
Mahira paused. "Sometimes."
Then she was gone.
QUIET BEFORE WHAT COMES
The platform brightened slightly, stable and calm.
Brughan stood and stretched. "So… what now?"
Salemadon looked up at the scarred sky.
"Now," he said, "we prepare for the moment standing is no longer enough."
Althara followed his gaze, her expression unreadable.
The world did not answer.
But it listened.
The world did not break this time. It leaned—and waited to see who would fall.
Power had been tested. Control had been stripped away. What remained was the hardest thing of all—standing when nothing holds you up.