As he crossed the portal, everything around him disappeared in an instant. There was nothing to see. Nothing to smell. Nothing to touch.
He was floating in a sea of darkness.
He didn't know how long he stayed in that state. But suddenly, walls began to form around him. Then he felt his feet touch something. Trying to orient himself and see what it was, he realized it. He was in a corridor.
The corridor stretched for kilometers with ease, with the portal to the next zone at the far end. The walls around him were made of gray stone with purple details. Looking closely, he realized those purple details weren't decorative. They were runes, written in some ancient language.
'Could this be the language used by those who created this place?' he wondered.
The wall wasn't very far, so he tried to get closer to read them better. To his surprise, every time he took a step toward the wall, it felt like he took two steps back. He tried for what he considered a few minutes, but he couldn't advance at all. After every attempt, the wall was still there, and he hadn't moved any closer.
'What the hell?'
'Maybe those runes have something to do with this effect?'
Abandoning the plan of reading the runes, Arthur focused back on observing the corridor. There were no threats at first glance, and he didn't detect any interference with his aether sense either. All that was left was to start walking forward with his guard up.
Looking back at the portal, at first he thought it might be a few kilometers away and that he would eventually reach it. But now, knowing that the wall seemed much closer and yet he still couldn't approach it, he didn't want to think about how far away the portal truly was. This was going to be a long journey…
He summoned Dawn's Ballad in his right hand and started walking down the corridor. He must have walked for almost half an hour without seeing any progress. The floor was the same, the walls were the same, and the portal remained at the same distance.
'I have an idea!'
To check whether he was actually making progress, Arthur decided to use Dawn's Ballad to leave a mark on the floor and use it as a reference. He stopped and tried to draw a straight line on the ground with the sword. When the blade passed over the surface, no mark was left.
He tried again.
This time he gripped the sword more firmly and even reinforced his arms. Nothing happened.
When he was lowering the sword for a third and final attempt, he felt a change in the environment. It was as if a sudden wind had risen. His pale blond hair fell into his eyes, and through his aether sense he began to feel distortions in the surroundings.
It felt as though all the aether around him had entered a state of madness. On impulse, he activated [Realmheart], and what he saw made him deeply uneasy.
All the aether particles were spinning around him without any clear direction, obeying a will he couldn't perceive.
It was as if he were standing at the center of a phenomenon that had nothing to do with him, while everything around was being dragged along.
As time passed, the speed kept increasing, and Arthur began to feel himself lifting off the ground. Panic started forming in his chest. He didn't understand what was happening.
He tried to think of what to do, to manipulate the aether and calm it down, but he couldn't. He never could. He tried absorbing it, but there was too much. His entire body began bleeding aether, and at some point he had to stop trying. He didn't keep it inside his body. When he expelled it, he tried to give it intent, to influence it in some way…
He expelled everything at once, with the intention of making it stop and support the rest. The expelled aether had once been his and responded to his will. So he tried to guide the aether being expelled, forcing it to follow his will even though it no longer belonged to him.
The first thing Arthur felt was his body weakening all at once. The change was so abrupt that his brain struggled to process it. First came discomfort in his muscles, followed by small spasms. Then came the sensation of his tissues being torn apart and reconstructed at the same time.
The mental impact was no less severe. He felt his entire mind trying to understand what was happening, searching for answers in the movements of the surrounding aether, desperately trying to find solutions. He even tried to activate [Former King] again, but the pain made it impossible. First came a ringing in his ears, a sharp sound that vibrated throughout his body. Then came discomfort in his eyes that forced him to close them and deactivate [Realmheart].
Throughout all this pain and suffering, Arthur never stopped absorbing aether. He could feel it dripping from his pores, feel his aether channels throughout his body becoming saturated and beginning to expand. And whenever he expelled it, he did so all at once, still trying to influence the storm around him to make it stop.
He didn't know how long he stayed like that. Minutes, hours, days. His mind was on the verge of breaking, his body was already broken, but his will never yielded. It felt as if the world itself wanted to erase his existence. He felt suspended between something corporeal and incorporeal.
After countless attempts, Arthur perceived the aether around him suddenly come to a halt. His body began to feel real again. His mind started to reconstruct itself, slowly at first, gradually regaining clarity. Eventually, he could form coherent thoughts again, and that's when he realized it.
The storm was still there, but it was completely frozen.
He tried to activate [Realmheart], but it was a bad decision.
His mind had reorganized itself, but the exhaustion was still there, and attempting to activate the attribute was the last thing he perceived before losing consciousness…
***
Arthur opened his eyes.
Or at least, that's what he tried to do.
There was no light. No darkness. Nothing that could be called vision. By reflex, he tried to blink, but he didn't feel any eyelids. The motion vanished into nothing before it could even complete.
Something was wrong.
He tried to move. He felt the intention clearly, automatic, like always… but there was no response. Not because he was paralyzed, but because there was nothing that could move.
He tried to touch his face. He felt no hands. No skin. No resistance.
The silence was absolute, but not like a place without sound. It was silence as a concept. There was no air to vibrate, no space to carry an echo. No cold, no heat. No discomfort, no relief.
Only absence.
By instinct, Arthur expanded his aether sense.
There was an immense amount of it around him. So dense that, at any other time, it would have been impossible to ignore. And yet, it didn't respond. It didn't stir. It didn't acknowledge him.
It was like shouting in a place where sound doesn't exist.
That was when fear appeared.
It wasn't sudden. It wasn't explosive. It formed gradually, like pressure with nowhere to settle. He had no chest for it to tighten, no breathing to accelerate… and yet it was there.
A pure, shapeless fear.
He tried to reason. To force calm. To organize his thoughts the way he always did in combat. But logic collided with a reality too simple to deny.
He had no body.
He wasn't injured. He wasn't unconscious on the ground. He wasn't trapped.
He simply… didn't exist the way he always had.
In this space, he was neither flesh nor aether.
Only consciousness.
That realization should have calmed him. Instead, it made the fear denser. More real.
That was when something changed.
Not in front of him—because there was no "front"—but within his perception. As if the void itself began to organize.
One form appeared, and then another.
They weren't objects. They didn't occupy space. They didn't emit light. And yet, he knew exactly where they were.
If he had to describe them, he'd say they resembled screens.
Two defined structures, suspended in nothingness.
Waiting for him.
At that moment, Arthur heard a voice that seemed to come from inside him.
No. It was exactly his voice.
The spell wasn't speaking to him, nor any other entity. It was him.
"Power always demands a choice."
The two screens reacted to those words.
They didn't light up like an artifact would. There was no light or clear images. It was more as if the emptiness before him became… meaningful.
The first screen conveyed a heavy sensation. Finality. Absolute silence.
No fear. No pain. Just the complete cessation of all intent.
There were no images, but Arthur understood the message instantly.
To give up.
To stop moving forward.
To accept that everything ended there.
The second screen was different.
It didn't promise peace.
It didn't offer relief.
It conveyed weight. Continuity. Responsibility.
Future pain. Difficult decisions. Bonds that could break.
And yet… movement.
To keep existing.
To keep choosing.
To keep carrying consequences.
He didn't need anyone to explain what each one represented.
Arthur understood them because both possibilities had crossed his mind before.
He stared at them for what could have been seconds or an eternity. In that place, time had no shape, but pressure did, and he felt it clearly.
The two screens remained suspended before him, unmoving, not explicitly demanding anything, and yet impossible to ignore. He tried to understand what he was supposed to do. There were no instructions, no obvious gesture, no clear action that marked a choice. He thought it might be enough to lean toward one of them, to want it strongly enough, but nothing happened. It was as if this place didn't respond to simple impulses.
For a moment, Arthur considered that the answer was obvious. To live. To keep going. To not disappear. But as soon as he formed that thought, he realized how empty it was. Wanting to live simply to continue existing meant nothing. It was a basic reflex, something even intelligent Nightmare Creatures possessed. That couldn't be what this place was looking for. If it were, the choice would have no meaning.
That was when he began to truly question what it meant to choose to live.
Not from fear. Not from habit. But from consequences. From what it meant for him to continue existing in that world.
His mind, free from physical distractions, began to walk paths he normally avoided. He thought of his father and his mother, of everything they had sacrificed, of how they always believed in him even when he doubted himself. He thought of his sister, her smile, her blind trust, and how cruel this world was to someone like her. He thought of Cassie, of the strange friendship they had built, of the times her presence had anchored him when everything else seemed to fall apart.
And then he understood.
Choosing to live wasn't about him.
It was about accepting that his existence carried weight in the lives of others. That as long as he kept moving forward, as long as he didn't give up, there were still things that could be protected, futures that could be changed, people who wouldn't have to face the world alone. Living meant carrying that responsibility, accepting that his decisions would bring pain and consequences, but also the possibility that something good might exist because of them.
He didn't need to touch the screen.
He didn't need to say anything.
When that thought settled into his consciousness, the second screen reacted. Not with light or movement, but with absolute certainty. Its presence stopped feeling distant and became part of him, as if it had always been there, waiting for him to understand what choosing it truly meant.
The first screen, meanwhile, vanished without resistance, as if it had never been a real option.
In that moment, Arthur knew he had chosen to live. Not for himself, but for all those he wasn't ready to abandon yet.
His consciousness felt drawn toward the second screen, as if he passed through it and continued along the path his choice had created.
The scenario advanced.
The absence twisted in on itself once more, and without a clear transition, the nothingness began to take shape. It wasn't immediate or clean. First came the sensation of weight, then the notion of space, and finally the certainty that he was no longer alone. He still didn't have a body, but he could perceive presences around him. Many of them. Too many. All moving in the same direction, all carrying the same exhaustion.
The world forming before him wasn't dying in a spectacular way. There were no cataclysms or burning skies. It was worse. It was wearing down. The structures were still standing, but cracked. People kept walking, but with contained urgency, as if they knew time wasn't on their side. This wasn't a world that could be saved by the will of one person alone.
And Arthur understood it without anyone having to tell him.
This world needed people. It needed cooperation.
And it needed sacrifices.
The voice manifested again, in the same neutral manner, without judgment or emotion, as if it were simply stating an unavoidable fact.
"Power defines the method."
The scene shifted subtly. The presences around him stopped being indistinct and began separating into possibilities. He could feel two paths forming at the same time, overlapping, both valid, both functional.
In one, survival was direct. Efficient. Brutal. Every resource taken from others was another step away from death. Every obstacle removed ensured that he would keep moving forward. There was no deception in that path. It worked. It always did. Crushing others was a simple way to reduce risks.
The other path was slower. Unstable. Shared. It didn't guarantee immediate results and multiplied variables. Surviving alongside others meant taking responsibility for their mistakes, carrying weaknesses that weren't his, and accepting that at some point, someone would fail. It wasn't a clean path.
Arthur didn't hesitate for long.
Not because it was nobler, nor because he thought himself better than anyone else.
He chose the second path because he knew the cost of the first.
Loneliness always charges interest.
He had seen what it does to the mind, how it erodes judgment and turns every decision into an act of desperation. Surviving by crushing others works… until there's no one left. And when that happens, the world doesn't become safer, only emptier.
Sharing risks wasn't altruism.
It was investment.
As Arthur advanced along that path, he felt the scenario stabilize, as if the world accepted the choice and adjusted its weight accordingly. It wasn't easier, but it was real. There was conflict, there was tension, but there was also something the other path didn't offer.
Continuity.
The voice didn't congratulate him.
It spoke only once more, confirming that the method had been chosen.
"The path defines what you are willing to lose."
And the scenario shifted again.
The change was immediate, but not violent. The world around him didn't collapse like in previous scenarios; it simply lost stability. The presences disappeared, the environment lost any clear direction, and the sensation of progress became diffuse. He wasn't in danger, but he wasn't moving forward either. It was as if the scenario itself were waiting for something more specific from him.
The voice manifested again.
With uncomfortable simplicity.
"What kind of person are you?"
The question came without images at first. It simply hung there, suspended in his consciousness, forcing him to face it without distractions. Then, slowly, the possibilities began to take shape. They weren't physical paths or complete scenes, but defined concepts, solid and impossible to ignore.
The first was clear.
To be a hero.
To save others even when the personal cost was absolute. To become a symbol, someone others could look up to and place their expectations upon. It was a familiar path. Inspiring. And deeply limiting. A hero couldn't fail. Couldn't doubt. Couldn't afford to be human.
The second wasn't better.
To do what is right regardless of morality.
Cold, surgical logic. Decisions made by outcomes, not values. Sacrificing what's necessary today to secure a more stable tomorrow. It was efficient. It worked. But it demanded something Arthur wasn't willing to give: the ability to justify anything if the result warranted it.
The third was the most honest.
To protect only his own, at any cost.
To close off the world and reduce it to a small circle. To prioritize without shame, even if that meant condemning others. There was no hypocrisy in that path. Only the brutal acceptance that not everyone mattered equally.
And yet…
None of them were him.
Arthur didn't hesitate because he didn't understand the options. He hesitated because they all tried to turn him into an idea. Into a fixed concept. Into something predictable. Each one demanded that he abandon an essential part of himself to fit into a clear definition.
The silence stretched.
The scenario began to degrade. Forms blurred, coherence fractured, as if the world itself were losing patience. He felt pressure. Not pain, but urgency. The trial was waiting for an answer.
And that was when he understood.
He didn't have to choose between those options because none of them were meant to be chosen.
He didn't want to be a hero.
He didn't want to be a judge without morality.
He didn't want to be someone willing to sacrifice others without looking back.
He didn't want to be an idea.
He wanted to be himself.
The realization wasn't explosive. It was calm. Clear. Inevitable.
"I don't want to be an idea."
The words didn't echo through the space, but something responded.
"I want to be myself."
In that instant, something changed.
A new presence appeared where there had been nothing before. It wasn't announced. It wasn't presented as another option. It simply… was there. As if it had always existed, waiting for him to reject the others.
A fourth possibility.
Not visible before.
"To remain myself, even when that doesn't fit."
It wasn't a clean path.
It didn't promise coherence.
It didn't guarantee that he would always make the right decision.
But it was real.
The moment Arthur accepted it, the scenario didn't dissolve.
It shattered.
Conceptual structures collapsed in on themselves, definitions fragmented, and space itself failed to hold. There was no resistance. No correction. As if the trial had reached exactly the point it had been waiting to reach.
And then, everything changed again.
There was no transition or warning. One moment he was in nothingness, and the next, air forced itself violently into his lungs, burning as it went down. The impact was so abrupt that his mind took a moment to catch up with his body. Pain. Fatigue. Weight. He had a body again, and it was in a deplorable state. Every breath was a conscious effort, every step a negotiation with muscles that no longer wanted to respond.
Arthur was running.
He didn't know since when, only that he couldn't stop.
His feet struck uneven ground as he ran through what looked like a ruined village. Wooden and stone houses lined both sides, many partially collapsed, others abandoned for so long that nature had begun reclaiming them. There were no signs of life. None. And yet, he wasn't alone.
Behind him, something moved with terrifying consistency. He didn't need to turn around to know it was chasing him. Its presence was heavy, oppressive, as if the air itself grew denser with every passing second. He had no memories of this place, no understanding of how he'd arrived there, but he knew one thing with absolute certainty.
If it caught him, he would die.
He had no powers.
He couldn't feel aether.
He had nothing to rely on except his exhausted body and the will to keep moving.
Arthur turned into a narrow alley, nearly stumbling as he did, and that's when he saw it.
A corridor.
Not one meant for people. It was narrow, enclosed, almost claustrophobic, but at the far end there was something different. A door. He didn't need to touch it or get closer to understand what it meant. That door was the exit. It was survival. It was the end of the chase.
If he reached it, he would live.
His legs reacted before his mind, accelerating despite the burning in his chest and the feeling that his lungs were about to collapse. But then he saw it.
On the ground, to the side of the corridor, there was an egg.
Arthur stopped.
Not out of curiosity.
Not out of surprise.
He stopped because something inside him refused to keep moving.
It wasn't an ordinary egg. He couldn't explain it with words, but the moment he saw it, he understood something that didn't require reasoning. That egg wasn't an object. It was someone. Life. Fragile. Defenseless. Completely dependent on a decision that didn't belong to it.
As he looked at it, Arthur felt the presence behind him drawing closer. It wasn't far anymore. He could hear the scrape of something heavy against the ground, the sound of a breath that wasn't human. Time compressed. There was no room to hesitate.
No voice appeared.
No options floated before him.
But he understood everything.
If he kept running and left the egg behind, he would survive. Alone.
If he took it with him, he had no guarantee of reaching the door. But at least that being wouldn't die abandoned in that corridor.
He didn't hesitate.
Arthur crouched down, ignoring the pain shooting through his legs, and took the egg into his arms. It was heavier than it looked, and at the same time incredibly fragile. He felt something inside him lock into place around that decision, as if there was no turning back.
He ran.
Each step was slower than the last. The corridor seemed to stretch, as if resisting his progress. The sound behind him was deafening now, far too close, and he knew he wouldn't make it in time.
Still, he kept going.
When Arthur reached the door, he felt the creature's breath almost at the back of his neck. He didn't have time to turn. He pressed one hand against the cold surface and pushed with everything he had left, clutching the egg to his chest as if it were the only real thing in that world.
The instant his fingers touched the door, everything stopped.
The scene collapsed.
Sound vanished, the weight of his body dissolved, and the sensation of falling wrapped around him once more. Before darkness claimed him completely, the voice spoke again…
With a tone utterly devoid of judgment or emotion.
Simply… with certainty.
"You have chosen to live."
"You have chosen to coexist."
"You have chosen to be."
There was a brief pause.
"And yet, you accepted the burden of another."
"The trial has been passed."
***
Arthur's balance was completely lost, and his entire world shattered once more, disintegrating until nothing remained but absolute darkness.
Consciousness returned to him all at once, and air rushed violently into his lungs. His eyes snapped open, and he was left dazed by the light. His body was so stiff that he had no choice but to remain in the position he was in.
He blinked several times to orient himself and realized he was staring up at the sky.
He slowly expanded his aether sense to avoid overwhelming his mind and realized he was lying on a stone platform. There was nothing else. Just the platform, him… and an egg?
'The egg of the choice!'
'Wait… the egg of the choice?'
Arthur tried to sit up to get a better look, but all his muscles screamed in protest. He considered reinforcing them with aether, but something told him he would regret it if he did.
He had no choice but to remain lying there, staring at the sky, while he reflected on everything that had happened.
'First, the entire zone… that city had once been inhabited by humans, and its hierarchical system was based on blood. Or rather, on the purity of it, maybe? My theory is that the deeper I went into the city, the stronger the creatures became, which would mean their blood was purer. Though in the end, they all became victims of corruption…'
'Then the Relicombs. I have a feeling that the first corridor zone was an area where space itself was being altered. I don't know how long I walked there without making any progress, and when I tested my idea, the zone reacted negatively and generated something like an aether storm. At one point, I felt like the storm was trying to erase me. I suppose my Aspect saved me, since it specifically states that my presence cannot be overwritten by the world.'
'And the rest… I don't know. It was extremely confusing. In the first choice, I literally felt that if I chose the first screen, I would die. Then the way communication worked was very strange, as if choosing required me to gradually become part of the choice itself. Very confusing. And the last scene… I lived it. Flesh and blood. And the worst part is that if that creature had caught me, I'm sure it would have killed me.'
Now the question was… how was he supposed to move around with the egg? Was it a Memory? An Echo?
'I guess there's only one way to find out. I'll have to open my runes.'
The moment Arthur thought of his runes, they appeared before him. And when he finally got a clear look at them, he couldn't understand what he was seeing.
"WHAT THE HELL?!"