The Final Lock
The path had narrowed to a solemn silence, the air saturated with mana so thick it seemed to press against their skin. Every step felt heavier—less like walking, more like approaching judgment.
Then they saw it.
The final gate.
It stood like a wall carved from the night itself—twelve meters tall, forged from obsidian black stone veined with silver and deep violet light. Six concentric rings rotated slowly around a suspended crystalline orb at its center. Ancient runes shimmered along its surface, rearranging as if responding to their presence.
The group stopped.
Jullian stared at the gate. "What now? There's no handle, no seal, no inscription."
Saryn touched the edge. A ripple of mana pulsed outward and forced him back.
"It rejected me," he muttered.
Nyssara narrowed her gaze. "It's not locked by force. This is an intelligent seal."
Nyx, arms crossed, added quietly, "This kind of gate doesn't open with power. It opens only when you're worthy."
Jullian let out a frustrated sigh. "So if we can't figure this out, everything we did was pointless?"
Arthur didn't speak.
He stepped forward slowly, staring at the rotating rings and the glowing orb at the gate's heart.
(Elaris.)
"I see it," a calm, familiar voice echoed within his mind—not cold or mechanical, but alive, clear, and composed.
Arthur's Divine Core pulsed. "Can you analyze it?"
There was a pause.
"Yes. Beginning interpretation."
The rings began rotating faster as the orb pulsed in response to Elaris's presence. Glowing glyphs spiraled outward like a language meant only for her.
"It's more than a lock," Elaris said softly, her tone laced with weight. "This is the culmination of the dungeon's will. The final trial is not meant to be survived—it is meant to be understood."
Arthur frowned. "What does it want?"
"Three offerings: memory, meaning, and motive. Not spoken. Felt. It demands emotional resonance strong enough to shake the gate's soulprint."
"…So it tests the soul."
"No, Arthur," Elaris said quietly. "It reveals it. The gate is not your enemy. It is your mirror."
Arthur was silent, absorbing that.
"Each of you must offer a piece of your truth," she continued. "Not strength. Not blood. But the burdens you carry, the reasons you fight, the scars that shaped you. The gate will judge whether you are fit to move forward."
Arthur looked down. His grip tightened on Ashbreaker.
"And if we fail?"
"Then the dungeon will collapse this layer into void stasis. You will be sealed here permanently… or consumed."
Another silence.
Then Arthur exhaled, eyes hardening with resolve.
"Understood. Thank you, Elaris."
He opened his eyes.
The others were watching him.
Nyssara tilted her head. "What did you figure out ?"
Arthur turned toward them, his voice clear.
"It's not a riddle. It's not a trap. This gate is a mirror."
They blinked in confusion.
Arthur continued, "It doesn't want strength. It wants truth. It asks for three things from each of us—memory, meaning, and motive. Who we are. What we've lost. Why we fight."
Nyx's eyes narrowed. "Like… a soul trial."
Arthur nodded. "Exactly."
"And if we're not worthy?" Saryn asked.
Arthur's gaze darkened. "Then the dungeon collapses. This room becomes a void. We'll be sealed here… possibly forever."
Silence.
Jullian rubbed the back of his neck. "So we don't get to fight this time. We have to bleed from the inside."
Nyssara looked at the gate again. "Only those willing to bare their hearts can walk through."
Arthur looked at them all.
"This is the final test before what lies beyond. Whatever happens… we do it together."
And without another word, they stepped forward—toward the gate that would see into their very souls.
The gate shimmered as they stepped forward, light coiling like mist across its surface. The crystalline orb pulsed once—then again—its rhythm like a heartbeat.
Then, a deep voice echoed—not aloud, but within their minds.
"One by one. Step forward. Reveal your memory. Speak your meaning. Offer your motive."
"Truth cannot be hidden here. Only accepted."
The world around them seemed to fade. A void formed between the gate and the group—quiet, heavy, and watching.
Arthur stepped back. "It must be done alone. No one else will hear what you say—not even me."
They nodded, and the first to move was Nyssara.
Nyssara
She stepped into the circle of light.
The gate pulsed, then spoke in her mind:
"Offer memory."
She saw the house. Not the battlefield—but home. Fifteen years ago.
A quiet night. Her mother—the famed Sword Empress—arguing with her father.
He didn't shout. He didn't stay.
He just placed a hand on Nyssara's head… and left.
That night, she heard her mother cry for the first time. The strongest woman she knew, weeping when no one could see.
"That night," she whispered in her heart, "I promised I would never let her cry again. I would become so strong that no one—not even my father—could break her."
"Offer meaning."
"Every strike I deliver is a vow. I fight not because I hate, but because I remember."
"Offer motive."
"And I walk this path to find him. To ask—not with hate—but with strength: Why did you make her cry? Why did you leave us?"
The orb dimmed. The gate accepted.
Nyssara returned, her expression unreadable, but her steps steadier than ever.
Saryn
He stepped forward, shoulders squared but eyes distant—like he was walking toward a memory rather than a gate.
The orb pulsed.
"Offer memory."
The image bloomed in his mind—the royal throne room, bathed in cold, sterile light.
He was younger then, standing tall in his new knight armor, hope burning in his chest.
But the man on the throne—the Emperor, his father—looked at him with contempt.
"You want to become a knight?"
"You're a prince. You were born to be Emperor—not a sword for hire. Weak-minded fool. Just like your mother."
His voice hadn't cracked then. But he remembered it now, the pain in his chest, the fury in his throat.
His mother had died because of a decision his father made—a sacrifice she didn't choose.
And his father never once said her name again.
"Offer meaning."
"I left not to run—but to chase strength. The kind of strength I couldn't find in that palace. I didn't want the throne. I wanted to protect people. That was my dream—hers too."
"Offer motive."
"I follow Arthur because he didn't ask me to be royalty. He let me be me. A knight, not a crown. I will grow stronger—not to prove my father wrong…"
"…but to stand before him, look him in the eye, and ask: How did Mother really die? Why did you let it happen?"
"And when I have my answer—I'll decide who I want to become."
The orb dimmed, and the gate allowed him passage.
Saryn returned to the group, face calm, but his fingers curled tightly into fists—holding back more than just words.
Nyx
He stepped forward, his cloak dragging across the stone. The moment the orb pulsed, the cold returned—the same cold he felt the day everything shattered.
"Offer memory."
He saw the small cottage, the warm glow of lanterns inside. He had just returned from training, proud of a minor breakthrough in his aura.
Then the messenger arrived.
"I'm sorry. Your parents… they're gone."
The words didn't land at first. But the name that followed did.
Angel Guild. Possible conflict. No survivors.
And then the whisper that never left him:
"Some say the Ice Queen herself ordered it."
His fists had been too small. His aura too weak. His screams unheard.
"Offer meaning."
"That day, I learned that the world doesn't care about fairness. Power decides what truth is."
"I had no right to ask questions. No strength to demand answers. So I stayed silent… and promised myself I would become someone who could."
"Offer motive."
"Arthur looked at me—curse and all—and didn't flinch. He didn't ask what I lost. He asked what I wanted."
"I want to know the truth. Not rumors. Not mercy. The truth."
"And when I'm strong enough, I'll find her. The Ice Queen. And I'll ask her to her face: Why?"
The orb flickered. A jagged flash of light ran through the stone beneath him.
Then it accepted.
Nyx stepped back. His expression was unreadable—yet his presence had shifted. He didn't look lost anymore.
Just waiting.
Jullian
His turn came last—before Arthur.
He walked forward slowly, as if the weight of his past dragged at his steps. His dark flame barely flickered around him, reduced to embers. The orb pulsed.
"Offer memory."
He saw the estate gates—tall, gilded, suffocating.
Then the blood. On his hands. On the floor. On her dress.
His stepbrother's voice, choked and broken:
"You killed her!"
Their mother—gentle, kind, the only one who had ever held him without flinching—lay cold on the marble.
He hadn't meant to. He didn't even understand what had happened.
Then his father came.
The man didn't cry. He didn't scream. He simply looked down at Jullian like he was filth.
"You're the reason she's dead. My only love—gone, because of you."
Even then, Jullian had wanted to die. But his father didn't strike him. Didn't exile him.
He just said:
"Even if I hate you… you're still the heir."
That made it worse.
His stepbrother—adopted but beloved—looked at him with nothing but loathing. And yet it was Jullian who inherited the future. The name. The blood.
"Offer meaning."
"I thought I had to kill. That I had to become a monster to survive in a world where no one wanted me alive."
"I trained, bled, and clawed forward—not to prove anything to myself, but just to silence the voice that kept asking: Why wasn't I enough?"
"Offer motive."
"But Arthur… he didn't try to save me. He didn't pity me. He just stood beside me. Like I wasn't a burden."
"I want to become strong—not for revenge. Not even for love. But to look my father in the eyes and ask: If you hated me for being born… then why didn't you kill me when I was still a baby?"
"And if I wasn't supposed to die—then damn it, I want to live for something real."
The orb trembled. For a moment, the flames around it matched his own—dark, uncertain, aching.
Then the gate accepted him.
Jullian stepped back, avoiding everyone's eyes. He didn't need pity. He didn't need forgiveness.
But somewhere deep in his chest, something loosened.
For the first time in years… he could breathe.
Arthur
He stood before the orb, silent.
The others had all stepped back. Their gazes were downcast, respectful—or too afraid to look at him. He didn't blame them.
The orb pulsed. And time unraveled.
"Offer memory."
He saw the snow-covered steps outside the Valerian estate.
Rein's mother—Lady Solenn—on her knees, screaming. Rein's father with tears burning in his furious eyes.
Rein's body had just been returned from the mission—unmoving. Barely alive.
Arthur had been the one leading it.
Lady Solenn's voice cracked like thunder:
"Get away from him! Haven't you done enough?!"
"You said he would be safe!"
"You… You're a monster hiding behind that Valerian name. Just like your father!"
Rein's father didn't scream.
He just looked at Arthur.
And said:
"I hope the weight of his breathless body follows you into every dream. If he dies… I will never forgive you. And if he lives, it will be in spite of you—not because of you."
Arthur hadn't said a word.
He just stood there, soaked in their grief. Their rage. Their truth.
And he accepted it.
"Offer meaning."
"I wasn't born into this world. I came with the soul of another. I thought I could live freely, shape my own fate."
"But fate doesn't ask permission. It demands payment."
"And Rein… he paid a price that was meant for me."
"Offer motive."
His breath trembled.
"I will save him. No matter what it costs."
"Even if the world spits on the Valerian name. Even if I am hated by the only family that treated me like a brother—"
"—I will give him his future back."
"Even if it means I lose mine."
The orb pulsed—then exploded in light, not rage, but sorrow. As if the very dungeon mourned what it asked of him.
When Arthur stepped back, the others could feel it.
His presence was heavier now. Like he had accepted a burden too big for one lifetime.
But he stood straighter.
Because now… he had chosen to carry it.