Time didn't flow here.
It fractured.
Shards of past, present, and never shimmered across a space that should not exist.
Matt stepped forward—
And the world recoiled.
This wasn't air.
It wasn't space.
It was memory, stretched thin over the bones of eternity.
A wound where destiny bled.
Moments drifted like ash caught in a dying sunbeam:
Laughter that never happened. Battles not yet fought. Kisses never shared. Blood not yet spilled.
Above him: a spiral of broken constellations and shattering clocks.
Below: a mirrored floor that reflected impossible futures—Matt crowned in flame, sword in hand, surrounded by uncounted graves.
This was the Third Trial.
The Realm of Time.
And already… something was wrong.
---
Figures emerged from the fog.
Twelve of them.
Each bore Matt's face.
Each wore his scars—distorted by madness, power, or grief.
One in black Voidflame armor, hatred blazing from his eyes.
One radiating golden divinity, his gaze cold as prophecy.
One kneeling in chains, whispering apologies to ghosts no one else could see.
Matt's breath caught.
"What… is this?"
The answer came—not from one, but all.
"We are what you could have been."
The fog parted further.
And from it stepped something worse.
An older Matt.
Taller. Broader. Cloaked in coiling Voidlight.
Crowned in living flame.
The world bent around him. Time obeyed him.
The Void King.
His voice was Matt's—
But deeper. Hollow. Monumental.
"This is your greatest threat.
Not Thermuz.
Not the Paladins.
Not even death."
He raised a hand.
A crown of fire bloomed within it.
"Your greatest threat… is what you might become."
---
The Trial Begins
They moved like storms—
Warnings given form.
The Tyrant struck first.
A void-tempered blade screeched through the air, vengeance in every motion.
The Slave followed, shackled, bleeding, broken—fighting not to win, but simply to endure.
To suffer.
And the King watched.
Silent.
Waiting.
Letting fate wear him down.
But Matt didn't fight them with fury.
He fought them with choice.
He caught the Tyrant's blade mid-swing.
Stared into his own burning eyes.
"I know your rage.
But I'm not your weapon."
He tore the blade away—
Let it shatter like illusion.
He knelt before the Slave.
Broke his chains.
"You carry guilt.
I carry truth.
And we move forward."
The chains hit the ground like thunder.
The fog began to lift.
Last, he faced the King.
"I won't wear your crown," Matt whispered.
"But I'll carry the fire."
The King said nothing.
He only looked.
Then nodded—once.
He turned to ash.
And the others followed, vanishing into silence.
---
The mirrored floor pulsed—then cracked.
From its heart, a new sigil burned upward through the void.
Seal of Chrona-Echo: The Unbroken Path
Time stilled.
The storm fell silent.
Ahead, a single door materialized—suspended in the void, glowing faintly with quiet fate.
Three Trials. Three Seals.
Matt stood motionless, his chest rising and falling.
His hands trembled—not from fatigue, but from reflection.
So many versions of himself.
So many reasons to fail.
"Three down," he muttered.
"And I still don't know if I'm becoming something better…
or something worse."
He stepped through the door.
On the other side—
The wind howled.
And the ground bled.
---
Next Realm: The Trial of Beasts