The Forgotten Trial

Kael awoke to the cold bite of stone beneath his hands. He lay still for a moment, his senses slowly returning, the memory of the endless darkness still lingering in his mind. His breaths came shallow and ragged as he tried to orient himself, his heart pounding in his chest. The overwhelming stillness around him was suffocating, but at the same time, it was a sharp contrast to the void that had held him for what felt like an eternity.

He was no longer in the void.

The air was dense, thick with something that felt both ancient and unsettling. As Kael pushed himself up to his knees, his gaze swept across the dimly lit chamber. Worn stone walls surrounded him, their surfaces etched with runes and symbols that pulsed faintly with a strange energy. There was something eerie about the room, a weight in the air that made his skin prickle.

Kael rose shakily to his feet, his white hair falling loosely around his face as he steadied himself. His body felt unfamiliar, weak and unbalanced, as if the years in the void had stripped him of his strength. He shuddered, the sensation of the cold stone beneath his feet grounding him back into reality.

He turned, his eyes catching sight of a figure at the far end of the chamber—a cloaked figure standing near a well of dark, shimmering water. The figure's back was turned, and for a moment, Kael hesitated. He hadn't heard them approach. They had been standing there the entire time, silent and still, like a statue lost in the shadows.

Swallowing his unease, Kael took a step forward.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice hoarse and unsteady from disuse.

The figure turned slowly, their movements deliberate, as though there was no rush to acknowledge his presence. When they faced him fully, their face remained obscured by the hood of their cloak. Only the faint glimmer of pale eyes peered out from the shadow, watching him with an unreadable gaze.

"Ah," the figure murmured, their voice soft and distant, as if speaking from somewhere far beyond the present.

"So, you've finally emerged."

Kael felt a shiver run down his spine. There was something about the figure's tone—calm, almost amused—that unsettled him.

"Where am I?" Kael asked, taking another step forward. His mind was a storm of questions, but this seemed like the one answer he needed most.

"What is this place?"

The figure let out a faint chuckle, the sound too low to carry any real warmth.

"You are where the forgotten are remembered," they replied, their voice as cryptic as their appearance.

"The Tower has many places like this. But few are meant to be found."

Kael's brow furrowed in confusion.

"The Tower?"

The figure didn't answer immediately. Instead, they tilted their head slightly, as if considering how much to reveal.

"A name that will become familiar to you soon enough," they said at last.

"But for now, it is enough to know that you have been brought here, whether you remember why or not."

Kael took another step toward the figure, his suspicion growing.

"Brought here by who? By you?"

The figure's lips curved into a slight smile beneath the hood, though there was something cold about it, something that sent another shiver through Kael.

"I? No," they said, shaking their head.

"I am merely… a watcher of sorts… The Seer. A guide, perhaps, though the Tower itself has far more power over your fate than I do."

Kael clenched his fists, frustration gnawing at him.

"I don't understand. Why am I here? What do you know about me?"

The figure stepped closer, their presence unsettling, as though they were both tangible and intangible at once.

"What do I know?" they echoed, their voice dipping into a whisper.

"I know you, Kael. I know that you emerged from the void. And I know that the answers you seek… lie ahead."

Kael's heart raced.

"The void… I—" He hesitated, the memory of the endless darkness creeping back into his mind.

"What happened to me?"

The figure remained silent for a moment, then turned away from him, their gaze drifting to the dark waters of the well beside them.

"That," they said quietly, "is something only time will reveal."

Kael felt his frustration grow. The figure was speaking in riddles, answering without answering, leading him in circles. He needed more—more than just cryptic half-answers and vague promises of revelation.

"What do you know about the void?" Kael pressed.

"And about… Acheron?"

The figure's shoulders stiffened, just barely, but it was enough to tell Kael that the name had struck something. Slowly, the figure turned back to him, their pale eyes gleaming beneath the hood.

"A name," they said softly.

"A name that carries more weight than you understand. But not a name that is yours to worry over. Not yet."

Kael's brow furrowed deeper.

"What do you mean? Why do I remember it?"

The figure's smile returned, faint and cold.

"Memories are fickle things," he mused.

"Sometimes they fade, and sometimes they linger. But what matters is not what you remember, Kael, but what you will come to know."

Kael opened his mouth to demand more answers, but the figure raised a hand, silencing him with a gesture.

"There is no point in asking what cannot yet be told," they said.

"The Tower does not reveal its truths so easily. If you wish to learn, if you wish to understand, you must walk the path laid before you."

Kael felt the weight of those words settle over him like a shroud.

"What path?"

The figure turned slightly, motioning toward the far end of the chamber, where an archway stood draped in shadows.

"The first step," they said simply. "A trial awaits you."

Kael stared at the archway, his unease deepening.

"A trial? What kind of trial?"

The figure chuckled softly, though it was a sound that held no real mirth.

"The kind that tests more than just your strength. But worry not," they added, their tone oddly soothing.

"The Tower does not call to those unworthy. You have already been chosen."

Kael felt a chill run through him. He didn't know why, but something about the figure's words—about the idea of being "chosen"—made his skin crawl.

"Chosen for what?"

The figure didn't answer. Instead, they began to walk slowly toward the archway, their movements fluid and deliberate.

"It matters not whether you understand now," they said as they passed beneath the shadows.

"What matters is that you take the first step."

Kael hesitated, every instinct telling him to turn back, to demand more clarity. But there was something else, something deeper—an urge to follow, to uncover whatever lay beyond the darkness.

With a deep breath, Kael took a step forward, following the figure into the shadows.

As he crossed the threshold, a cold wind swept through the chamber, and the air around him seemed to thrum with energy. The figure—Seer, as they had called themselves—vanished into the darkness ahead, leaving Kael alone.

The chamber behind him faded from view, and in its place, the world around him seemed to shift, the shadows growing heavier. Suddenly, a voice—deep, resonant, and echoing from all directions—filled the space around him.

[Welcome, Challenger Kael, to the Tower of Illyria.]

The voice seemed to vibrate within his bones, its tone cold and final. Kael's breath hitched in his throat as the shadows pressed closer, wrapping around him like a shroud.

[We shall now commence the first trial.]

The darkness seemed to move, swirling with unseen energy. And then, just as the voice began to fade, there was a pause—followed by a whisper that sent a chill down Kael's spine.

[The Remnants of Acheron have Awoken. Glory to the Neverborn God.]

Kael's heart froze in his chest. He didn't understand the words, but the weight of them—Acheron, the Neverborn God—hung heavy in the air, pressing down on him with a force he couldn't explain.

And with that, the darkness swallowed him whole.