Chapter 41
?──── Koen ? ────?
The dream comes heavier than the rest. Like iron shackles wrapped around my lungs. I know I’m dreaming, yet I can’t tear myself out of it.
Light flickers. I’m in a hall again, but…different. Wider. Taller. The ceiling arches into forever, constellations glittering above. Beneath me stretches a floor of water instead of stone, glowing faintly as if lit from beneath. My steps ripple across it, soundless.
Ahead, two figures stand before me. One tall, broad-shouldered, familiar in ways that shouldn’t be possible. The other is smaller, with white and black hair, violet eyes glinting even from this distance. Serenya.
I can’t move. I can only watch as Kallan places a hand on her shoulder. My stomach knots. His touch is protective and gentle. She leans toward him, trusting.
The sight claws something primal in me, a surge of anger and pain all at once. Before I can take a step, Kallan turns his head.
Our eyes lock.
This is the first time I’m able to see him clearly. I see those gray eyes, the scar on his jaw, the quiet weight he carries. He’s not threatening, but he is studying me.
The hall shudders, and Serenya flickers like a candle about to gutter out. My chest constricts. I try to shout, to call her name, but my voice is swallowed by the silence. She flickers again, her outline fading like smoke.
“No!” I try to lunge forward, but I don’t move at all. My legs refuse me, pinned like I’m part of the water itself.
Kallan’s voice rumbles through the air, low and certain. “If you are too weak, she will fall.”
The words slice into me. Weak? I’ve fought, bled, clawed my way through every step of these trials. I can’t… No , I won’t let her fall.
Serenya looks straight at me. There’s sorrow in her violet gaze. Sorrow, and something like a farewell.
The rippling floor shatters into shards of glass. Serenya and Kallan dissolve, and in their place stands Phynnera.
Radiant. Ageless. Terrifying in her beauty.
“You will break before the end,” she says softly, her voice everywhere at once. “But remember, breaking is not the same as failing.”
I can barely breathe. My knees buckle, the weight of her presence crushing me down. “What does that mean?” I manage to rasp.
Her expression softens, though her gaze never wavers. “You will understand soon.”
Her hand lifts, palm open toward me. Light surges around her fingers, blinding, drowning everything.
I wake gasping, drenched in sweat.
Every breath feels like knives to my lungs. My heart won’t slow. My hands won’t stop shaking. I scrub one down my face, trying to clear the fog, but the words linger. Too weak. She will fall.
I can’t go back to sleep. Not after that. Not with Phynnera’s voice still echoing in my skull.
The sky outside my window is still black, stars shimmer faintly against the creeping gray of dawn. Hours before the trial. My mind won’t stop racing. So I drag myself from bed, pulling on my leathers, tugging boots tight, and strapping my sword to my side.
Part of me wants to go to Serenya. To wake her. To ask what she’d meant to tell me yesterday before Torin interrupted. To demand the truth because the not knowing is gnawing at me, worse than hunger, worse than fear.
But I don’t. She deserves her rest. She has her own trial today, whatever it may be. And maybe I don’t actually want the answer. Not if it’s that I was wrong. That I don’t have the right to claim her.
So I walk.
The corridors are still, lined with torches burning low. My footsteps sound too loud in the emptiness. I head toward the kitchens, needing something to ground me.
Inside, it’s already bustling with clatter and laughter. Steam rises in clouds. The main cook, a stout human woman with salt-and-pepper hair, spots me instantly. She tuts at the shadows under my eyes, presses a warm lemon pastry into my hand, and mutters, “For luck, boy.” Then she bustles away.
I manage a faint smile, even though my stomach knots at the thought of food. Still, I force myself to take a bite. My body will need it.
The courtyard is empty when I arrive. I sit on the stone bench, chewing without taste, watching the sky lighten. Thoughts gnaw at me. What will today bring? What are these dreams? Why won’t they stop ?
Eventually, footsteps echo. Lioran and Asbel stroll in, not dressed in leathers. I blink, confused. Shouldn’t they be ready too? My questions burn, but before I can voice them, she arrives.
Serenya strides into the courtyard, shoulders squared, confidence radiating off her like armor. The morning light catches her white hair, her violet eyes alive with fire. She’s so beautiful it actually hurts.
That feeling slams into me again—that impossible, unbearable need to cross the distance between us, to wrap her in my arms and never let go. It takes every shred of restraint I have to stay rooted in place.
When her gaze finds mine, all the air leaves me in one sharp rush. Stars . Her eyes are stars, and I can’t look away. Not until she does first, moving to take her place beside me.
Her hand brushes mine. Just a quick brush. Accidental, maybe. But lightning jolts through me all the same.
I force my eyes up as Queen Zephyra steps onto the marble stairs, flanked once more by the council. Only two pixies hover at her side. No Orbs of Vaelith this time.
The queen’s voice rings clear. “Good morning. Today is the day the Trials of the Fated of this generation come to an end. Only one champion remains.” Her gaze lands on me. “Koen Moriver, if you survive today, you will become the next King of Sytheriel.”
I wait for the panic to come over me. I never wanted to rule over a kingdom. I didn’t even plan to stay once the trials came to an end. But standing here next to Serenya, I know this is it. This is what I want. It should scare me, but it doesn’t, because she will be by my side.
The queen's eyes flick to Serenya. “Princess Serenya Eldarien, you have proved yourself worthy to your court and your people. Now, today, you must prove yourself worthy to the goddess and…to yourself .”
She lifts a hand. “This trial will not be watched, as we believe it is too personal. The chamber chooses what you will face. None of us knows what awaits.”
The pixies sweep forward. Portals bloom in the air, humming with otherworldly light.
Serenya’s eyes catch mine one last time. Fear flickers there. Maybe for herself. Maybe for me. Maybe both.
I give a small nod that she returns.
Together, we step into the portals.
My knees abruptly slam into rough ground, my palms scraping over it. I push up, squinting, expecting to see the chamber from before, but there are no walls, no ceiling—just an endless plain under a star-filled sky. The air itself is heavy, almost viscous, pressing against my skin and lungs.
It’s too quiet. Too still.
I take a step forward, and the floor shudders beneath me.
Chains of gold light erupt from the ground, coiling around my ankles, spiraling up my legs and arms. They thrum with raw power, cold and insistent.
I keep walking. Every step I take is met with sharp resistance, pain crawling through my muscles like fire.
A voice, calm yet cruel, resonates through the air. “Only the strong endure. Only the worthy hold that which they cherish most.”
I grit my teeth. The chains pulse with every word, like they’re alive—digging in deeper.
Fear creeps in, sharp and unfamiliar. I can’t even name it.
My magic is just out of reach. The chains are draining it. Feeding off it. I try to summon something, anything—a flash, a beam—but even the lines that usually light my skin barely react. Just a faint shimmer emerges.
One flicker. That’s it. One fragile glow in all this dark.
The chains snap tighter around my wrists. Sparks flash, and I flinch.
I glance across the plain. Shadows writhe there, tangled and alive. Movement. A struggle. In that moment, my chest clenches with something deeper than fear.
I am not strong enough to help. I’m going to lose her.
I force myself to breathe and count the seconds.
Then I push forward, forcing each step through pain and resistance.
My arms burn, my muscles scream, every motion a battle with the ground, with the chains, with my own rising panic.
My pulse hammers in my ears, every beat counting down the time I have… or don’t have.
I try to summon my magic again, but the chains twist tighter, punishing me. Sparks bite my skin, singe hair and clothing. I stagger, nearly collapsing, but I force myself upright.
I have to get to her. I won’t fail her. I cannot fail her.
Another surge. I yank against the chains, twisting and pulling, muscles screaming. My light flares along my skin, trying to push back the bindings. Pain bites harder, white-hot along my forearms and back, causing me to nearly scream, but I bite it down.
Another flicker of movement in the shadows, just at the edge of my vision. My pulse jumps. Fear, panic, and desperation flood through me.
She’s struggling. And I— I swallow hard. I can’t reach her.
I stumble. Step by agonizing step, my arms threaten to give out, my legs wobble beneath me, and every surge of light I summon is weaker than the last.
Yet I do not stop. Pain coils like a snake through my body, my fingers tremble, my jaw aches from clenching.
Every fiber of my being screams for me to quit.
My pulse continues to race, and sweat pours down my face.
But the image of her struggling, the thought of losing her, hurts me more than chains ever could.
So I move forward. Step by step. Pulling and straining.
I have to get to her. I won’t fail her. I won’t .
────────────? ? ? ? ?────────────
Serenya
Chains made from shadow bite into my arms, my legs, my torso. They tighten with every motion I make. My magic lashes out, black tendrils writhing, trying to fight the bonds, but they resist.
I glance across the open plain, sensing him in the gold light, trembling in his own struggle. A wave of helplessness strikes me, icy and sharp.