The trench didn't widen this time.
It narrowed.
Not from damage or collapse—but like it wanted to.
The path stayed open, but each step seemed to curve inward. The walls didn't press. They leaned close, like they were listening for something just under your breath. Like a throat, mid-swallow, trying to hum.
Hero stepped in first.
Nahr followed.
The others—
Weren't there anymore.
Slate disappeared back in the heat-sync zone. Kelar hadn't made it past the mirror gate.
Now it was just them. Two.
The Cohort Tag still blinked in Nahr's HUD:
[TEMPORARY UNIT | 2-BURDEN SYNC: 69.0]
But the numbers looked flimsy, like they'd been pasted over something else. Something heavier.
Twenty steps in, the slope changed.
Down shifted sideways.
Stone became smooth-grain metal.
And color?
Color went missing.
It wasn't even dark. Just... blank. Like the whole corridor forgot how to commit to being real.
Then the trench's attention twitched.
Not loudly. Just enough to notice.
It felt distant. Like a teacher suddenly realizing a test wasn't worth grading.
Hero gripped his Galieya tighter. Didn't raise it—just balanced it behind his shoulder, the way people do when they're trying not to flinch.
Nahr caught it.
Filed it.
Didn't say anything.
The trench noticed things like that. And it didn't like being noticed back.
At a hundred steps, the wall on the left glitched.
Once.
Twice.
Then finally: image.
A door appeared, without lines or seams—just suggestion.
It opened like it had already decided they were coming.
Nahr looked at Hero.
No signal. Just a nod.
They entered.
The room inside was... too perfect.
A square made on purpose.
Every wall measured exact, which made the whole thing feel like it had been designed by someone allergic to natural error.
In the center: a Core.
Kneeling. Breathing. Pierced. But not gone.
A Galieya jutted through their center mass, spiral veins still blinking dimly.
Hero scanned.
HUD returned nothing.
Just a tag that surfaced once, like it had second thoughts:
[Unit 73-B | INITIATION FROZEN]
Then gone again.
Nahr crouched.
The Core turned. Barely.
Just enough to look at them.
Just enough to stay silent.
It gestured instead. Slow, like underwater.
Chest → Mouth → Floor.
Burden was voice. I chose silence.
Nahr returned the sign.
We carry what you won't.
Hero didn't move. But he nodded. That was his version of agreement.
The door behind sealed.
The opposite wall shimmered, forming a thinner hallway.
They entered.
Memory didn't follow them.
Nahr didn't notice until five meters in.
He tried to remember the Core. The gesture. The look in its eyes.
But his brain fogged—like it was buffering a memory that didn't load right.
Hero slowed beside him. Not enough to comment on. Just enough to confirm he felt it too.
Then a sound.
Not noise. Just... a feeling of approval.
The trench agreed with their forgetting.
(Also, Nahr briefly remembered the time he misspelled "Galieya" on a training form and got silently corrected by a HUD blink. It never mattered. Still remembered it.)
They stepped into a chamber made from recycled pain.
Stone chunks. Memory shards. Splintered Galieyas holding it all together like crude rebar.
In the middle: an elevator.
Old. Real. Flickering. Waiting.
Its screen pulsed with two words:
[GO BACK]
[GO FURTHER]
Hero didn't move.
Nahr joined him.
Then a voice—not trench, not Core. Machine-born.
"You must leave something behind."
They turned.
No speaker. Just sound.
Hero pointed to himself, then Nahr. Then down.
Transfer suggestion?
Nahr shook his head. "Not this time."
The screen changed:
[WHAT WILL YOU LEAVE]
Options appeared. None typed. All known.
Memory. Vision. Clarity. Trust. Name.
Nahr picked fast.
Clarity.
The screen dimmed.
The lift dropped.
The next tunnel felt like walking through a headache.
Wires buzzed under stone. Echo-scars blinked on the walls. Burnt-in glyphs whispered wrong syllables in loops.
Nahr staggered.
Hero steadied him—without touching him. Just being there.
Sometimes that was enough.
Then the air tensed.
Red light flared.
A message:
[DUEL INITIATED | CHALLENGER: LAST WEIGHT]
Their weapons snapped into hand—summoned, not drawn.
From the far side: a figure.
Cape. Mask. Spiral Galieya.
The mask had a message scratched into it:
"I chose silence. Now choose truth."
Hero stepped forward—
The figure stopped him.
This was for Nahr.
Because the opponent wasn't a mimic.
It was memory.
The one Nahr gave up.
Now wearing a face.
And a weapon.
Red light throbbed along the walls, pulsing in rhythm with Nahr's heartbeats, as he lowered his hand. The mimic's mask—an echo of silence—faded with the dust that formed when broken memories return to earth. The air felt thick with expectation, as if the trench itself was waiting to see whether Nahr would do the honorable thing: finish it cleanly. But the trench didn't like unfinished business.
Nahr stared down at the masked mimic. It lay motionless, but its Galieya—his old one—rested at an angle that suggested it was listening, still hungry for purpose. Not just a weapon. A memory. A choice.
He bent down slowly and brushed a finger across the hilt. It was cold, mechanical, but also strangely familiar—like the first time he touched a chair he'd stolen. He hesitated. He could pick it up, tuck it away, act as if nothing had happened. Or leave it here, as a sacrifice—an acknowledgment that some burdens should not be picked up again.
Hero's quiet footfalls behind him pulled Nahr back. He blinked and slowly stood.
"What are you doing?" Hero's voice was low, unsettled. He sounded… hopeful.
Nahr exhaled slowly. "Let it stay." He took a step back from the mimic. "That weight… I left it behind when I chose clarity." He nodded down at the mimic. "You can't carry this again."
Hero placed a steady hand on Nahr's shoulder. "Then come on. We need to move."
Nahr didn't argue. He gave the mimic's Galieya a final glance and turned away. They walked toward the steel wall that led out. The red light dimmed as they passed, as if acknowledging Nahr's choice.
They emerged into a long corridor with walls of coated metal. Panels flickered between ice-blue chill and waves of warm orange. The space sighed, shifting around them.
Nahr paused. He realized
his boots left no tracks—no indentation. In the silence, he rubbed his hand along the paneling; it buzzed faintly, like a disrupted heartbeat. Hero mirrored him with one hand on his Galieya hilt, thumbs hovering at its guard. They didn't speak.
Five steps in, Nahr cleared his throat. "Sometimes I wonder if they make these trials to punish or to teach."
Hero glanced at him. "Maybe both."
Nahr kicked lightly at a seam in the metal floor. "Dumb thought: reminds me of the time they had us do calibration drills in sand corridors. I hated the sound of sand shifting underfoot. Nothing feels solid."
Hero cracked a small smile. "Neither do these walls."
Nahr stared at his reflection, or what passed for one. "Yeah. Everything's a facsimile here. Memory made metal."
A wave of cold washed the corridor mid-step. Hero yanked his cloak tighter. They moved forward. Another wave—warmth. Hero slowed.
Nahr frowned. "It's testing… how we handle change."
Hero nodded. "We adapt."
They fell into silence, listening to the trench's thermal tantrum.
The corridor opened onto a chamber lit by flickering neon lines on the walls. Along the surfaces, fragmented reflections. Not full mirrors—more like broken shards shaped into rectangles. Each showed a version of them, but distorted: taller, older, younger, missing burden tags.
Nahr stepped in. He watched a reflection where his face was half-shadowed. His eyes—no spiral gleam. The tag under the reflection: [CLARITY: LOADED]. Another shard showed him with blank eyes: [CLARITY: BURNED OUT].
He swallowed. The reflections whispered bad variations of himself.
Hero moved
into another shard. He looked at a version labeled [LOYALTY: FADED]—and his shoulders slumped before he caught himself. Hero shook his head, and the label beneath flickered away. The trench's soft correction: these weren't who they could be.
Nahr stared at his fractured selves. "Which are real?" he whispered.
Hero placed a hand on his back, gently. "The ones we choose to be."
Another reflection sparked up. A version of Nahr with half his face smooth and human—no spiral. [CLARITY: INTEGRAL]. But his eyes weren't his. They were glassy. Not alive.
Nahr closed his eyes. He felt his chest tighten, but refused to let the trench pull his breath into doubt. He felt the burn of the choice—the one he made in the duel and before. This was a test of whether clarity could be integrated or if it would break him.
He nodded. "I'm still me."
Hero's nod was firm. "Then let's go." They stepped forward—through a glowing shard panel that blinked a final time, like a door acknowledging their conviction.
They reached a wide, circular room that rose like an amphitheater. Stone benches lined the outer ring. At the center, a gravity-defying chair hovered above a pit of leached memory mist. It looked worn. The framework looked familiar—a combination of the Vault chair's shape with a Transparent Risk-Scale floating beside it, reflecting nothing.
They entered. The chair remained suspended, refusing to let go of either gravity or memory. The trench's rules hung in the air.
A mechanical whine echoed. Overhead lights turned cold blue.
Hero reached out to the chair. A text line scrolled on a floating HUD display overlaying his vision:
[JOINT BURDEN TEST INITIATED]
[DECISION REQUIRED: 1 SIT, 1 STAND]
Hero's gaze met Nahr's. Neither of them spoke fro a beat too long. They both felt the weight of the test.
Nahr looked at the mist swirling below. He thought of defeat, of fallout. He thought: maybe if he sat, he could accept the chair's burden again—for control. But would it reforge or break him anew?
He noticed Hero shifting off-center, looking unsure. For the first time, Nahr felt fear—not for his own fate, but for Hero's. Because Hero hadn't asked for burden. He merely followed.
Nahr exhaled. "You…sit." His voice surprised both of them. "I'll take the stand."
Hero stared. "Why?"
Nahr swallowed. "Because you stayed. You didn't have to. But you did. You earned this. And… I still have to carry burden alone."
Hero fought a small tremor in his hand. He nodded. Neither of them looked away. Hero slipped into the chair. A soft click, as it reconnected.
The chair shuddered, humming with internal power. Biofeedback data on Hero's HUD displayed a line: [BURDEN 0 → JOINT: 35.5]. The mist below pulsed.
Nahr stepped onto the standing platform, empty beside the chair. A second charge tapped into him. His burden tag flickered: [CLARITY: TESTING].
Then: [TEST START]. The floor lit. The mist glowed below. The trench parted around them.
As the standing platform ascended, they entered another corridor—this time transparent glass walls on either side. Beyond them floated floating memories: Halls of training, laughter that once was, faces, failures. Each pane flickered between images—some joyful, some broken.
Hero slumped in the chair. His eyes were closed. He breathed slowly.
Nahr walked beside him—sometimes curled fingers around the chair's armrest handle, supporting. He felt the hum of thoughts pressing in.
They passed ten panes. In the third, Nahr recognized Haldrin's face. It waved. She wore a smile he knew. The pane flickered. She blinked. Then covered her mouth and disappeared. Beneath the glass, the text scrolled: [REGRET: LOADED].
Nahr wrenched his head away. He always wondered what she'd say. He thought about the day he abandoned her. Why he hadn't slowed down.
Another pane: Hero's ERA before he met Nahr. Training with rank markers. There was Hero's hesitation during the seminar, when he volunteered solidarity. That moment imprinted behind his eyes. The pane labeled: [LOYALTY: SEALED].
Nahr exhaled. He didn't look again.
They marched onward.
Convergence at the center pane, fifty meters in. A gap.
Nahr halted. The chair stopped with him. The glass parted.
They stood facing each other across impossibly narrow chasm—no floor beneath. The mist swirled in black void.
Overhead, neon-blue text:
[FINAL CONFRONTATION]
[DECLARE WINS OR RELINQUISH BURDEN]
Silence pressed.
Nahr swallowed. He felt everything. His regrets. The choice of clarity. Hero's presence beside him.
Hero opened his eyes. They were calm. "We finish together."
Nahr stared at him, then at the abyss. He let clarity sharpen into something heavier. "Then let's do it."
The trench waited.
Nahr took a step into the void. Gravity resisted—but he didn't fall. Hero leaned forward. The chair tilted slightly—but stayed balanced.
It was a void of pressure and memory. Every step carried risk.
They advanced slowly, inch by inch, no floor. The trench let them pass—but each step glowed beneath them, like platform lights marking progression. They heard their reflections faintly. Not spoken words, just mental echoes.
At midpoint: tremor. The corridor quaked. Glass shattered around them—fragments suspended midair. A window: Hero closing his eyes, truly.
Nahr's grip tightened. Pillar of trust.
He took his hand and placed it lightly on the chair's back. "I've got you."
Hero exhaled. Breezes stirred the mist. The trench's subtle breeze flood.
They walked on.
Steps number seventy-seven; the final steps. Just ten more.
The trench's breath held.
They reached the opposite wall—a console with two buttons: SHINE or FALL.
They looked at each other. Words hung unsaid. Only two paths.
Nahr pressed SHINE. Hero pressed the same.
A buzzz. Light flared. The mist subsided. The void collapsed. The stand and the chair collapsed inward.
The chamber dissolved around them.
They found themselves in soft daylight. Real blue sky. Rustle of grass. Bird calls. Sun on their faces.
Nahr blinked. He felt fullness—the totality of clarity. No illusions. No masks.
Hero exhaled too. "We did it," he whispered.
Nahr nodded. For a moment he almost asked, "What next?" But then: he already knew. They'd carry on—carrying none the less, but clearer.
They walked forward, together.