The heat inside the cavern was unbearable now. Victor’s skin blistered where Shanny’s arms touched his. Every breath seared his lungs as though he’d inhaled fire itself. Still, he refused to let go.“Victor,” Sarah warned, her dagger quivering in her grasp. “If you wait any longer, you won’t have the choice. The serpent will.”But Victor only pressed his forehead against Shanny’s, his tears sizzling as they struck her fevered skin. “I won’t lose you again.”Her lips trembled. For a fleeting moment, she looked almost human again, the faintest smile curving against the agony twisting her features. But then her mouth snapped open in a scream that wasn’t hers.From her throat poured black smoke alive with shapes—faces screaming, serpents writhing, hands clawing from the void. The cavern ceiling rippled as though reality itself bent to make room for the flood.The smoke spoke.“Bride of flame, mother of ruin. His love binds her, and through his weakness, we rise.”Victor’s knees buckled. H

The valley was quiet. Too quiet. A morning sun, stretched thin and cold, turned the river into a slick of broken light. Victor felt the world inhale around him, and in that silent pause, the air thrummed with a power both ancient and cruel. He was a tuning fork, and every unnatural hum in the valley now resonated in his bones. The trial had begun.He sat against a jagged boulder, a raw, angry scar on his side where the dagger had pierced him. The wound was a faded memory now, but the serpent—Beatrix Malunda—was not. She lived in the marrow of him, a coil of molten steel. Her whispers were a constant, insidious hum: a subtle suggestion to turn his thoughts to power, to let her claim the new bride, to let her rise.I am eternal. I am destiny. You feel me. Why fight it?“Not today, Beatrix,” Victor murmured, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. “Not ever.”Shanny knelt beside him, her touch a faint pressure against his chest. She could feel it too, a second-hand chill from the darkne

The Court had transformed. Its walls no longer simply spiraled; they bent into grotesque reflections, twisting reality into a funhouse of fear and memory. The first trial had been survived, but Victor knew the serpent, Beatrix Malunda, would not relent. She was cunning, patient, and relentless.The new bride stood at the center, her silver hair a beacon in the fractured light. Her hands still glowed faintly from her triumph, but her eyes betrayed a profound exhaustion. She had faced terror and survived, yet the Court’s trials were far from over.Victor’s chest burned faintly as Beatrix stirred within him. She grows stronger… she could wield me… she could ruin you all…He clenched his fists, forcing the thought away. “Not while I fight. Not while I decide her path.”Shanny stepped closer, her voice firm. “The next trial will test everything, Victor. Not just her, but us. It will draw out every fear, every betrayal, every doubt.”Lena’s hands trembled over the Book of Echoes. “The Mirro

The Court shuddered, its walls twisting violently as if reality itself were unraveling. The Labyrinth of Broken Promises had tested their guilt; now, the third trial awaited—the Pit of Forgotten Echoes. It yawned before them, a vast chasm shrouded in darkness, with endless whispers rising like smoke. Every voice carried pain, betrayal, and fear, echoing the failures of those who had walked this road before.Victor’s chest burned as Beatrix Malunda writhed inside him. They will fall. They will fail. She will be mine…“No,” Victor growled, pressing a hand to his heart. “Not her. Not now. Not ever.”Shanny stepped closer, her hand gripping his arm. “Victor… this pit tests the soul. Every fear, every doubt, every failure will rise from the echoes. We cannot falter.”Lena opened the Book of Echoes, chanting, her voice trembling but firm. “The Pit strips memory from reality. It tests resolve, loyalty, and courage. Every misstep will become a shadow to haunt you.”Sarah’s dagger glinted fain

The town held its breath, a deceptive calm that felt more like a held note than a true silence. The air was taut, stretched thin over a quiet that was more unnerving than any noise. Victor led his companions to the center square, their footsteps a muted counterpoint to the distant clang of a blacksmith’s hammer. They kept a careful distance from the three newcomers—Emrys, Elroy, and Indhabhire—as if their very presence might contaminate the peaceful town.Emrys, the scholar, pulled a small, leather parchment from his satchel. It was old and worn, the color of dried bone. As he unfurled it, strange, geometric symbols shimmered across its surface before fading like mist. “The Court’s fragments are learning again,” he said, his voice a low, scholarly hum that seemed to vibrate with ancient knowledge. “Every friendly smile, every whispered hope… it feeds them.” He ran a finger over the parchment, and the symbols pulsed faintly in response.Lena’s hands tightened on the Book of Echoes. “So