The Immortal's Guide to Accidental Courtship

Chapter 7: Trial of the Star-Crossed

The golden herald’s voice still vibrated in the humid air of the Rose Garden as the crowd began to part, forming a nervous, whispering lane toward the center of the palace grounds. There, rising like a jagged needle of obsidian toward the swirling mists of the capital’s sky, stood the Pillar of Trials. It hummed with a low-frequency thrum that made the silverware on the banquet tables rattle.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Aetherion muttered, his last grape forgotten in his hand. “The Star-Bound Path? That sounds like a brand of expensive shoes, not a dungeon. Can’t we just tell the Emperor I’m allergic to pillars?”

Zinnia didn't look at him. Her silver eyes were fixed on the obsidian surface of the tower, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. “It’s not a joke, Aetherion. The Pillar is an ancient construct. It doesn't test your strength or your cultivation level. It tests your soul’s resonance with your partner. If the connection is false, the Pillar… it consumes the fragments of that lie.”

“Consumes? That’s a very aggressive way of saying ‘divorce,’ Zin,” Aetherion said, finally popping the grape into his mouth. “Look at you, you’re shaking. Is it the frost mode again, or are you actually worried?”

“I am a Saint of the Silver Moon,” she hissed, her voice barely audible over the growing murmur of the nobles. “I am not ‘shaking.’ I am calculating the probability of our survival. Which, given your complete lack of discipline and my… my current state of mind, is rapidly approaching zero.”

“Zero is a very pessimistic number,” Aetherion noted. “I’ve always been a fan of at least a solid four. Maybe a five if there’s a snack bar inside.”

The Imperial Herald stepped forward, his golden staff pointing toward the base of the pillar where a door of shimmering light began to materialize. “The trial is set! Enter, and let the Heavens judge the sincerity of your bond!”

“Well, after you, Saint,” Aetherion said, gesturing toward the portal with a mock bow. “Ladies first into the death trap. It’s only polite.”

Zinnia took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and marched toward the light. Aetherion followed, his hands tucked into his sleeves, looking less like a man facing a divine trial and more like a tourist looking for the gift shop.

As they crossed the threshold, the sounds of the garden—the laughter, the music, the rustle of silk—vanished instantly. They were standing in a vast, echoing void where the floor was made of solid starlight and the walls didn't exist.

“Okay,” Aetherion said, his voice echoing into the darkness. “One star for the decor. It’s very minimalist. A bit too much walking involved for my taste.”

“Be quiet!” Zinnia snapped, her hand flying to her sword. “The first stage is beginning. The Trial of Shadows. It’s going to pull from our memories. Our deepest fears. It will try to break us by showing us what we dread most.”

“Fears? Oh, I’ve got plenty of those,” Aetherion yawned. “Being stuck in a conversation about taxes, running out of pillows, having to eat kale—”

“Aetherion, shut up!”

The starlight beneath them suddenly curdled, turning into a thick, oily blackness. From the floor, shapes began to rise—twisted, flickering images that smelled of ozone and old blood.

Zinnia gasped, her sword clearing its scabbard in a flash of silver light. In front of her, the shadows coalesced into the forms of her fallen ancestors, their faces gaunt and accusing.

“You are a failure, Zinnia,” the shadow-forms hissed, their voices a discordant chorus. “You have tethered the honor of the Everdawn to a beggar. You have traded our legacy for a lie.”

“It’s not a lie!” Zinnia shouted, her aura exploding outward. “I am doing what I must! I am upholding the law!”

“You are weak,” the shadows whispered, circling her. “You feel nothing for him, yet you cling to him like a drowning child. You are a fraud, Sword-Saint.”

“They’re just illusions, Zin!” Aetherion called out, watching her swing her blade at the smoke. “Don’t let them get under your skin. They’re just fancy holograms with bad attitudes.”

“It feels real!” Zinnia cried, her breathing becoming ragged as the shadows pressed closer. “I can feel their disappointment! It’s heavy… it’s so heavy!”

“If you think that’s heavy, look at my side of the room,” Aetherion said, his voice dripping with mock horror.

Zinnia turned, her eyes wide with terror, expecting to see a demonic horde or a cosmic deity threatening to unmake reality. Instead, she saw a single, lonely stone pedestal. On top of the pedestal sat a crystal decanter. It was tipped over. It was empty.

The shadows around Aetherion didn't whisper about honor or failure. They whispered in a dry, raspy wheeze: “The vintage is gone, Aetherion… the cellar is dry… there isn't a drop of plum wine left in the entire province…”

Zinnia stared at the empty bottle, then back at Aetherion. “That’s it? That’s your deepest fear? A lack of alcohol?”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a good 400-year-aged plum nectar in this economy?” Aetherion argued, pointing an accusing finger at the shadow-bottle. “It’s a tragedy! Look at it! The tragedy is palpable! I can feel the sobriety setting in already! It’s horrifying!”

The dungeon seemed to pause. The shadows around Zinnia flickered, their accusing voices faltering. The Trial of Shadows was designed to feed on the complex psychological trauma of high-level cultivators. It was not prepared for a man whose greatest existential dread involved a beverage shortage.

The oily blackness began to recede, the whispers turning into a confused, static-like hiss.

“Wait, is that it?” Zinnia asked, her sword trembling as the illusions of her ancestors dissolved into sparks. “It’s… it’s over? Just like that?”

“The dungeon is probably having an identity crisis,” Aetherion said, stepping over a lingering patch of shadow. “It tried to be deep and poetic, and I gave it a grocery list. 1-0 to the 'Sect of the Empty Belly.' Let’s move on. I think I see a door over there.”

They walked through the receding mist, the starlight floor reconstituting itself. As they progressed, the air grew warmer, smelling of jasmine and something sweet and heavy. They reached a massive, ornate door made of white jade, carved with the figures of a man and a woman entwined in a dance.

There was no handle. There was no keyhole. Only a glowing inscription in the center of the jade.

“What does it say?” Aetherion asked, squinting at the ancient script.

Zinnia’s face went from pale to a shade of crimson that rivaled the sunrise. She stepped back, her voice catching in her throat. “It… it says… ‘The path forward is barred to those who walk in separate steps. Only the breath of two souls becoming one can unlock the gate of the Sovereigns.’”

Aetherion scratched his head. “That’s a lot of metaphors. Can we get the SparkNotes version?”

“It’s the Trial of Sincerity,” Zinnia whispered, her hands clenching at her sides. “It requires a… a true kiss, Aetherion. A gesture of absolute romantic compatibility. The Pillar senses the intent. If it’s not real… if there is no spark… the door won't budge.”

“A kiss?” Aetherion blinked. “Well, that’s a bit cliché, isn't it? Who designed this place? A lonely poet?”

“It’s a failsafe!” Zinnia snapped, though she wouldn't meet his eyes. “To ensure that people don't use political marriages to gain the power of the Pillar. We’re stuck. We can’t do it. It won't work.”

“Why won't it work? You’re a very pretty lady, Zin. I’m a reasonably handsome guy when I’ve had a bath. We just puck up, the door opens, and we go find lunch.”

“It’s not just a physical act!” Zinnia turned on him, her eyes shining with frustration. “The Pillar reads the heart! You don't care about me! You’re just here because you were hungry! And I… I’m only doing this to save my sect’s reputation! The Pillar will know it’s a sham! It will reject us, and we’ll be stuck in this void forever!”

“Is that what you really think?” Aetherion asked, his voice softening. He took a step closer, and for the first time, he didn't look like a clown. He looked like a man who had seen empires rise and fall, and found them all wanting compared to the simple truth in front of him. “That there’s no spark?”

Zinnia froze. Aetherion was close now—close enough that she could smell the faint scent of the mountain air and the cave-dust that seemed to cling to him despite the fancy robes. Her heart, usually a disciplined drum of ice and steel, began to erraticly hammer against her ribs.

“I… I don't know,” she stammered. “You’re infuriating. You’re lazy. You’re a commoner who shouldn't even be here. But you… you stood in front of that Chimera. You didn't even flinch. Why?”

“Maybe I just liked the view,” Aetherion said, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

Zinnia looked up at him, her silver eyes searching his. She saw the humor, yes, but beneath it, she saw a vast, terrifying calmness. It was a gravity she couldn't escape. She found herself leaning in, her eyes fluttering shut, the cold logic of the Sword-Saint melting away under the heat of a sensation she couldn't name.

“Aetherion…” she breathed.

Aetherion watched her lean in. He felt the shift in the air, the way the Pillar was beginning to hum in anticipation of a divine union. He knew that if he kissed her now, the Pillar would recognize the power he was hiding and likely explode, or worse, announce his true identity to the entire world via a magical sky-projection.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Aetherion said, gently placing a finger on her lips.

Zinnia’s eyes snapped open, her face turning a darker shade of red. “What? What is it?”

“I just had an idea,” Aetherion said, his eyes bright with mischief. “Why do it the hard way? These ancient locks are all based on resonance, right? I think I know a shortcut.”

“A shortcut? To a divine trial of the heart?” Zinnia’s romantic tension vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp urge to strangle him. “You can’t ‘cheese’ the Pillar of Trials, Aetherion!”

“Watch me,” Aetherion chirped.

He turned toward the jade door and began to hum. It wasn't a melody Zinnia recognized. It was a deep, resonant vibration that seemed to bypass the ears and strike directly at the bones. He reached out and began to tap his fingers against the jade in a very specific, rhythmic pattern.

Tap-tap. Slide. Tap-thrum.

“What are you doing?” Zinnia hissed. “Are you playing the door like a drum?”

“Shh,” Aetherion cautioned. “I’m talking to the plumbing. Most people don't realize that these ancient constructs are basically just big, complicated pipes for spiritual energy. If you tickle the right valve…”

Thump.

The jade door groaned. The glowing inscription flickered, then turned from a skeptical red to a confused, wavering green.

“You’re… you’re breaking it?” Zinnia gaped. “You’re actually breaking the Pillar of Trials?”

“I’m not breaking it! I’m just giving it a different perspective,” Aetherion said, his eyes narrowing in concentration. He leaned in, his face inches from the jade carving. “Listen, buddy,” he whispered to the door. “I know you want the true kiss. I get it. But do you really want to deal with the paperwork if I actually let my soul resonance touch your circuits? Your internal gears would melt into slag. Just let us through, and I’ll tell everyone you were moved by our profound love. It’s a win-win.”

The door shuddered. A sound like a thousand glass chimes shattering echoed through the void. The white jade didn't open; it dissolved into a flurry of rose petals and light.

“See?” Aetherion said, stepping through the empty space where the door had been. “Logic prevails. No kissing required. Well, maybe later, but let’s get the reward first.”

Zinnia stood still for a moment, her hand over her heart, which was still racing for a reason that had nothing to do with magic. She looked at Aetherion’s back, at the way he strolled forward with effortless confidence.

“He cheated,” she whispered to herself, her voice a mix of outrage and something dangerously close to affection. “He actually cheated a divine trial. Who the hell is this man?”

“You coming, Zin?” Aetherion called back, his voice echoing from the next chamber. “I think I see something shiny! And it looks like it might be edible!”

Zinnia sighed, smoothed her robes, and followed him. But as she stepped into the light of the final chamber, she couldn't shake the feeling that the Pillar hadn't opened because he’d ‘tickled the plumbing.’ It had opened because, for a split second when she’d leaned in, the sincerity it was looking for wasn't coming from him.

It had been coming from her.

And that was a realization far more terrifying than any shadow the dungeon could ever produce.