The light from the gate was cold.
It wrapped around Ashen like frost, numbing his wounds, his breath, even the beating of his heart. Time didn't flow normally inside it. There was no wind, no weight, no sound—just a drifting, endless space of swirling mist.
And then it spat him out.
He landed face-first on sand, groaning as the heat returned with a vengeance. His ribs ached, his arms trembled, and his hands were bloodied from gripping the rusty blade too tightly.
A familiar groan to his left. "Heh… we made it."
It was Kerr. He lay sprawled beside Ashen, smiling through cracked lips. "We're alive, right? We didn't die in there?"
"We're alive," Elira confirmed behind them, helping Lin to her feet.
The six of them were together again—barely. Lin's arm was cut, Reynor's shoulder was wrapped in a makeshift cloth from Sera's uniform, and Ashen felt like something inside him had cracked during the fall.
They had survived the centipede. The mirage. The desert. The gate.
But the drill wasn't over.
Because now they stood in another stretch of sand—but different. This place was still and unnaturally flat, the sky painted a pale violet, with no sun in sight. It felt like a world built by memory, faded and unfinished.
In the distance was a structure. Stone. Black. Towering.
"The final checkpoint," Elira said.
They moved slowly, each step heavier than the last. No one spoke of what they had seen. The mirage had shaken them more than the centipede. Even now, Ashen saw flickers of fire at the edges of his vision, memories that weren't his—or were they?
Kerr broke the silence. "You guys saw stuff in that mirage too, right?"
"No talking about it," Reynor snapped. "We're not here to cry about dreams. We're here to pass."
Kerr frowned but stayed quiet.
Elira glanced at Ashen, then at Reynor. "We survived because Ashen pulled you out of that thing's jaws."
Reynor stiffened. "I didn't need saving."
"No one does," Elira replied calmly. "But we accept it anyway."
Reynor muttered something under his breath and walked ahead.
Sera gave Ashen a small smile. "You were amazing back there."
Ashen didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.
The tower was closer now—twisting black stone and no visible entrance. As they approached, symbols glowed on its surface. Lines of red, like veins under stone.
"Trial evaluation likely begins now," Elira said, scanning the structure.
A deep voice echoed from nowhere.
"Final trial complete. Evaluation commencing."
The sky shimmered.
In front of them appeared a platform with six pillars, each with a sigil glowing faintly on top. A seventh pillar rose higher than the others, its symbol blank.
They approached cautiously.
One by one, their names and ranks appeared on the glowing surface:
Seraphine - Rank 1
Reynor - Rank 7
Elira - Rank 5
Lin - Rank 12
Kerr - Rank 15
Ashen - Rank 18
Ashen felt the others glance at him. Eighteenth. Near the bottom.
A lie, of course.
He had held back in every visible way. The only time he moved truly was during the centipede fight. Even then, he made it look like luck. Yet Reynor's eyes narrowed.
"You're hiding your weapon," Reynor said. "That rusted blade isn't real. Is it?"
Ashen looked at him calmly. "It's what I have."
"That's not an answer."
"I don't owe you one."
Reynor clenched his fists, but Elira stepped between them.
"Enough. We survived together. That's what matters."
The tower rumbled.
From the base of the stone, the sigils dimmed, then began to morph. Glowing red lines stretched from each pillar and converged at the central, seventh column.
Then it happened.
The top of the seventh pillar exploded with light. From it, a projection formed—an ethereal display of their battle against the centipede.
Everything.
Every strike. Every dodge. Every act of bravery.
And Ashen's moment—when he moved with unnatural speed, dragging Reynor from death's maw—played in slow motion.
Silence fell.
Even Reynor stared, eyes wide.
"You…" he whispered. "You're one of them."
Ashen's eyes didn't waver. "One of what?"
"I don't know yet. But I'll find out."
The projection faded. The tower's voice returned:
"Evaluation complete. Drill success. Return permitted."
The gate appeared again—different now. This one shimmered like water, showing glimpses of the outside world: tents, medics, officers.
Elira exhaled. "We did it."
One by one, they passed through.
Ashen was last again.
Before stepping through, he glanced back at the black tower.
It pulsed once, as if watching him.
And then he stepped into light.
—
The camp was chaos.
Medics swarmed them the moment they emerged. Stretchers, salves, healers channeling minor blood arts to seal wounds. Someone tried to take Ashen's sword—he held it tightly until Elira assured him it was safe.
They were led to a row of cots under a shaded tent. Elira debriefed with a lieutenant while the others were treated.
Reynor sat on his cot, arms crossed, still staring at Ashen like he was a puzzle he couldn't solve.
Kerr and Lin chatted quietly, grateful to be alive.
Sera sat beside Ashen.
"You really don't remember?" she asked.
Ashen looked at her. "What do you mean?"
"That moment… when you moved. You weren't thinking. You just did it. Like something took over."
Ashen didn't answer.
Sera continued, softly. "Sometimes power isn't something we choose. Sometimes, it chooses us."
Ashen clenched his hands. The memory of the whisper lingered.
"Remember."
That word again.
Not a command. A plea.
He glanced at his weapon—still rusted. Still unremarkable. Yet when he held it, it felt warm. Like a memory trying to return.
As night fell, the desert wind cooled the camp.
Ashen lay back on the cot, staring at the stars.
He was injured. Exhausted. Confused.
But somewhere, beneath all that… something inside him had awakened.
The drill was over.
But his true trial had just begun.