The morning came slowly.
A pale mist clung to the canyon floor as soft beams of sunlight filtered through narrow cracks in the rock above. Calypsius stirred first, eyes fluttering open to the quiet crackle of the dying embers and the rhythmic whisper of wind sweeping between stone walls.
For a few blissful seconds, he forgot where he was. He was just a man lying beneath an open sky, surrounded by silence.
But then Valenyr pulsed faintly at his side—just once, like a heartbeat—and the weight of everything returned.
He sat up, careful not to disturb Ellara, who still slept beside the ashes of the fire. Her face, usually so composed and alert, looked impossibly soft in rest. He watched her for a moment, something stirring in his chest he wasn't ready to name.
Then the blade pulsed again—twice this time—and his attention snapped back to the world around him.
Something's wrong.
He rose quietly, brushing the dust from his tunic. The mist wasn't just clinging anymore—it was rising. Thickening. The warmth of morning was already giving way to a creeping chill.
"Ellara," he said, gently touching her shoulder.
She blinked awake, her eyes instantly sharpening at the unease in his tone. "What is it?"
He gestured to the mist curling around their ankles. "It wasn't like this when I woke up."
Ellara stood, brushing her braid over her shoulder. "Magic. Old, damp magic. This place is warded."
"Warded for what?"
"Not what," she said, already scanning the canyon walls, "who."
As if summoned by her words, the mist surged.
A shape emerged—then another. Humanoid, but wrong. Stretched. Shadowed. They glided more than walked, cloaks of drifting smoke and robes that whispered like falling sand. Eyes like shards of glass flickered beneath their hoods.
Calypsius reached for Valenyr. The blade answered, erupting into golden flame, the runes along his arms glowing brighter than ever.
"They're not Shrouded Court," Ellara said, stepping beside him, daggers drawn. "But they're ancient. I've heard stories—Guardians of the Threshold."
"Threshold to what?"
The figures stopped just outside the fire's faded circle. The tallest raised a long, bone-like staff. Its voice, when it came, was neither male nor female, but something deeper—like wind through a cave mouth.
"The bearer of the Flame has trespassed upon sacred ground."
Calypsius's breath caught. "I didn't choose this path," he said. "It chose me."
The Guardian tilted its head, the glass in its eyes glinting.
"And will you walk it blindly? Or will you seek what lies buried in the fire's heart?"
Ellara stepped forward, expression fierce. "He's already risked everything. If you have something to show him, do it. If you've come to kill us, try."
A second Guardian moved—gliding to the center of the clearing—and touched the earth with its fingers. A ripple spread outward, revealing a circle of runes glowing faintly beneath the ground.
A test.
Valenyr vibrated violently in Calypsius's grip.
"Step forward, Flamebearer. Show us you are not a child playing with a god's weapon."
Calypsius hesitated, then nodded to Ellara. "If something happens…"
"It won't," she said firmly. "I'll be here."
He stepped into the circle.
The moment his foot touched the runes, the world dissolved.
The light swallowed him whole.
Calypsius stumbled as the world around him shifted. One moment he stood in the canyon, mist curling at his feet; the next, he was suspended in endless twilight, surrounded by floating embers drifting through the air like fireflies.
He turned in a slow circle, eyes wide. The ground beneath him was translucent, like glass holding back an inferno that pulsed with a deep, steady rhythm—like the heartbeat of something impossibly vast. Above him, nothing but stars. Below, fire and shadow.
A voice echoed through the space. Not Valenyr's. Not the Guardians'.
"You seek to wield a power you do not understand."
Calypsius turned toward the sound, and a figure emerged from the flame-glass beneath his feet. Not a shadow. Not a Guardian.
It was him.
Or rather—it looked like him, but older. Worn. The same mismatched eyes, the same scar above the brow… but this Calypsius radiated something ancient. Something broken.
"You're me," Calypsius said quietly.
"I'm what you could become," the reflection replied, stepping forward. "If you let the blade rule you."
The ground around them shimmered, and suddenly they stood amid a battlefield—bodies strewn in every direction, flames eating through forest and stone. The sky was blackened, the air thick with ash.
Calypsius turned in horror. Elves. Humans. Creatures of light and dark. All fallen.
"What is this?" he whispered.
"A possible future," the reflection said. "You asked why the Court hunts you. Why the blade whispers to you in your sleep. This is why."
He pointed to Valenyr, which still glowed faintly in Calypsius's grip.
"That sword was never just a weapon. It's a key. A memory. A tether to something that should never be awakened."
Calypsius stepped back. "Then why give it to me?"
The reflection's gaze was piercing. "Because something worse is coming. Something older than the Court. Something even they fear. And Valenyr does not choose heroes. It chooses survivors."
The battlefield dissolved into flame. The embers swirled again, and this time, Calypsius saw Ellara—bloodied, her back against a crumbled wall, fighting three shadowed figures alone.
"No—" he stepped forward, reaching for her, but the vision flickered and faded.
"You must choose," his reflection said, now standing at the edge of the glass with his back turned. "Become the fire… or be consumed by it."
Calypsius felt something stirring deep within him. The blade. The sigils. A pressure in his chest, like a rising tide.
He clenched his fists. "I won't be your puppet. I won't become you."
The reflection smiled faintly. "Then prove it."
Suddenly, the reflection attacked—blade drawn in a flash of golden fire.
Calypsius raised Valenyr just in time.
The duel began.
Steel and flame clashed in the star-drenched void, each strike echoing with power. His reflection moved like a mirror—faster, more precise, but every blow felt like he was fighting his own fear, his own anger.
"I'm not afraid of what I've become!" Calypsius roared, swinging harder.
The reflection deflected it, eyes burning. "Then why do you hesitate?"
"I'm afraid of losing myself!"
With a final cry, Calypsius drove Valenyr into the ground. A shockwave of light burst outward, and the reflection staggered—cracks spreading across its form.
Calypsius stepped forward, panting. "I'll be more than what the blade wants me to be. I'll forge my own path."
The reflection looked up at him… and smiled.
Then it shattered—turning into a thousand fragments of light that rose like sparks into the air.
The battlefield vanished. The stars faded. And with a sharp breath—
—Calypsius was back in the canyon.
He gasped, stumbling out of the rune circle, smoke rising faintly from his skin. Ellara caught him before he could fall.
"What did you see?" she asked, voice urgent.
He looked at her, his grip tightening on Valenyr. The blade was quiet now. Waiting.
"I saw… what I could become. What I have to fight to avoid."
Ellara's eyes searched his. "And?"
"I'm still me," he said firmly. "But I don't think that will be enough much longer."
Behind them, the Guardians silently faded into the mist—judgment passed.
But the real trial was only just beginning.