Vale studied the priestess with careful restraint, his posture controlled even as tension coiled beneath it. He hadn't truly expected an answer, at least not one he could comprehend, but the question had lingered too long, tightening in his mind until it became impossible to ignore. If he didn't ask now, it would follow him indefinitely.
The priestess, however, seemed entirely unaffected by his hesitation.
Slowly, she spoke, her voice carrying a clarity that felt almost unnatural, pure, resonant, untouched by strain, like something that did not belong to the mortal world. "If you wish to know why I hold these trials," she said softly, "the answer is quite simple."
She turned from him and began walking toward the center of the arena, each step measured and deliberate. "This realm does not foster many powerful warriors," she continued. "Its stagnation suffocates potential. Strength here is not cultivated, it is suppressed."
She came to a stop at the arena's center, then glanced back over her shoulder. "But once every thousand years," she said, "someone extraordinary is born."
Vale's brow lifted slightly, attention sharpening.
"Those individuals," she went on, "are the only ones capable of clearing my trials. And they are the only ones I choose to support."
Vale followed without thinking, drawn in by the weight of her words. He opened his mouth to respond, hesitated, then pushed through it, careful, but unwilling to let the moment pass. "What do you mean," he asked, "when you say you'll support them?"
She turned fully toward him.
Though her eyes remained hidden behind the blindfold, Vale felt her attention settle on him with unnerving precision, as if nothing about him could be concealed.
"If you wish to ask," she said gently, "then do so without fear."
Vale swallowed once before continuing. "What kind of support are we talking about?"
The priestess raised a hand and pointed directly at him.
"I know everyone," she said calmly. "Everything."
Vale stiffened, unease tightening in his chest.
"All knowledge that ever was," she continued, her tone steady and absolute, "and all knowledge that ever will be, I possess it. Every truth, every answer, every secret that has existed or has yet to exist."
She allowed the words to settle, giving them space to take hold.
"As a reward for clearing the trial," she finished, "I will answer any question that I have the power to answer."
Vale's eyes widened despite himself. The implications came immediately, too many, too fast. Questions flooded his thoughts, overlapping and colliding. If what she said was true, then the weight of that knowledge alone should have shattered her sanity.
Yet one detail caught and held.
"What do you mean," he asked slowly, "questions you have the power to answer?"
A faint smile touched her lips, though something colder lingered beneath it.
"Do you believe the gods would appreciate it," she asked softly, "if I revealed to a powerful human the means to kill them?"
Vale's breath caught sharply.
"You… know how to kill the gods?" he asked, quieter now.
Her smile deepened, unreadable. "For that answer," she said, "you would need to clear the trial."
Vale held her gaze for a moment longer, then gave a small nod, forcing his thoughts back into focus. "Are the others alright?" he asked, more quickly this time.
For the first time, her composure shifted, subtle, yet noticable. Behind the blindfold, her eyes widened just slightly before a quiet, amused laugh escaped her.
"Of course," she said. "Your friend Eskar is currently undergoing his own trial." She paused briefly. "And your other companion, Drago, is waiting for you both in the Grand Hall. You will meet again once the trials conclude."
Relief loosened something in Vale's chest, and he exhaled slowly. "Alright," he said, straightening. "Then what kind of trial is this?"
The priestess stepped closer, closing the distance without hesitation.
"It is a trial by combat," she replied. "The rules are simple."
She reached out, her hands moving across his armor, not aggressively, but with detached precision, as if examining an object rather than a person. Her fingers traced along metal and leather, assessing and measuring.
"You will face what is known as a Shade," she said. "In simple terms, it is the shadow of a long-dead warrior, one who is connected to you in some way."
Vale's heart skipped.
"Your objective is to defeat it," she continued. "Shades appear only as silhouettes of their former selves. Their faces are never revealed. Recognition, if it occurs, comes through movement, through combat."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Though in your case," she added, "that advantage may be limited."
Vale's breath caught. "Wait," he said, sharper now. "You're saying there's a chance I'll face someone from before I lost my memories?"
His voice faltered, tension breaking through. "Do you know me from before? My family? My parents? Where I come from?"
The questions came faster now, urgency overriding caution.
The priestess watched him in silence for a moment, then nodded slowly, something almost like compassion softening her expression.
"I do," she said.
Hope surged through him, sharp, immediate, almost overwhelming.
"But I cannot answer those questions yet," she continued gently, her tone calm and assured. "Be patient, Vale. Your memories will return to you in time, on their own."
Doubt crept in, cold and insistent, settling deeper the longer her words lingered. Vale's brow tightened slightly as he studied her. "How are you so sure?" he asked, unable to keep the edge from his voice.
She turned away without urgency, walking back toward the center of the arena as if the question itself carried little weight. "I'm not," she replied simply.
Vale's eyes widened at that, caught off guard by the blunt honesty.
Before he could press further, she raised her hand and pointed toward the ground. The stone beneath them darkened almost instantly, the shift spreading outward in a slow, creeping wave as shadows began to gather. They coiled and merged, thickening into a writhing mass that pulsed with unnatural density before rising upward, taking shape with deliberate intent.
Vale swallowed hard, his focus sharpening.
A towering figure emerged from the darkness, well over two meters tall, its frame massive and unmistakably powerful. Though composed entirely of shadow, its musculature was sharply defined, every line of its form radiating strength. Long, wild strands of darkness cascaded down its back like a lion's mane, shifting subtly as if moved by an unseen current. Its face remained obscured, hidden beneath the shifting veil,
Then its eyes opened.
Crimson embers flared within the void, locking instantly onto Vale.
The intensity of that gaze made his chest tighten. He held it anyway, even as his mind raced, instinctively searching through fractured memories for something, anything, that fit.
'Who could it be?'
Callum was too short. Korin and Barbatos were far too large, their builds broader, heavier, unmistakable. Fe? No, too small. Caesar as well. One by one, he discarded every familiar figure, every name clawing its way up from the gaps in his memory. None aligned. None matched.
And that, somehow, unsettled him more than recognition would.
Slowly, his eyes shifted from the shade back to the priestess. "He's from before, isn't he?" Vale asked quietly, tension threading through his voice, equal parts dread and reluctant curiosity.
The priestess smiled.
She stepped closer, her presence smooth and controlled, gliding across the arena like a steady tide. As she moved, the shadows around the figure responded. In its hand, darkness condensed, stretching, sharpening and compressing, until a massive greatsword formed, its edge humming faintly with contained force.
"Perhaps," she replied, stopping just in front of him.
Turning slightly, she gestured with one elegant hand. "You may use any weapon you wish, those you carry, or one of ours, should you desire something different." Her gaze drifted back to the shade, and for the briefest moment, a knowing grin touched her lips. "All you must do… is defeat it."
Vale nodded, though the motion felt heavier than it should have.
He was confident, he knew that much. Somewhere beneath the fractures in his memory, beneath everything that had been lost or buried, there was certainty.
And yet,
As the shade completed its form, something twisted violently in his chest.
Who was this man? How was he connected to him? And most unsettling of all, how would it fight when faced with Vale himself?
Was it stronger? More ruthless? Was it a teacher… or something far worse?
The thought pressed hard.
Was he about to be defeated by an echo of someone who once stood beside him?
Vale clenched his teeth, forcing the spiral of thoughts down before they could take hold. "No way in hell," he muttered, defiance hardening his voice as his grip tightened around the spear.
His eyes narrowed, locking onto the shade.
For a moment, it didn't move. It simply stood there, silent and unmoving, crimson eyes fixed on him without a flicker. Then it took a single step forward.
The air grew heavier with every second.
Vale moved first.
He surged forward in a clean, decisive burst, spear drawn tight as he closed the distance in an instant. Slipping beneath the shade's reach with practiced precision, he drove upward, muscles coiling as the strike came together, fast, efficient and lethal.
Then,
Impact.
Something struck his right shoulder with overwhelming force, cutting through his momentum as if it meant nothing. The thought barely formed before the world snapped sideways, his body lifted and thrown violently backward.
Stone rushed up to meet him.
He hit the wall with a thunderous crash, cracks fracturing outward as the force rippled through it. The air was torn from his lungs on impact, pain exploding through his chest as he slid down, coughing as dark flecks of blood hit the floor.
His vision blurred. His limbs trembled as he forced himself upright, shoulder screaming with every movement.
'What the hell…' The thought came ragged. 'Is this guy a monster?'
There was no atum behind that strike, no surge, no enhancement, nothing to justify the sheer force he had just felt. The energy in this place was stagnant, nearly useless.
And yet,
The shade advanced.
Not quickly. Not aggressively. Just walking, slow, deliberate steps that carried an unsettling inevitability, as though the outcome had already been decided.
Vale's instincts didn't whisper.
They screamed.
Fear surged through him, raw and invasive, clawing its way up from somewhere deeper than thought. His chest tightened as something ancient took hold, drowning out logic, training, even defiance.
He had felt fear before.
But this was different.
This wasn't fear of death.
It was fear of something that should never be challenged.
Every instinct, every fragment of his being converged into a single, undeniable command:
Run.