Chapter 1 - The Shattered Cave (Part III)


    I gasped as I hit the ground, my arms barely absorbing the impact. A wooden sword clattered beside me, its surface cracked and splintered from hours of relentless training.


    Instructor Bryce extended a hand, a faint smile playing on his lips.


    "You’ve improved a lot since you came here," he said. "A few weeks ago, you could barely land a strike. Now, your swordsmanship surpasses most of the disciples."


    I took his hand and pulled myself up, wiping the sweat from my forehead. "It’s all thanks to your guidance, sir. I wouldn''t have made it this far without your training."


    He chuckled. "Flattery won’t get you out of practice." Then, after a brief pause, he added, "Take a break. You''ve been at it for hours."


    I nodded, retrieving my battered wooden sword, running my fingers over its damaged edges—a testament to my progress. It had been weeks since I arrived at the Shrine of the Future, my temporary home after being saved by the monk Lord Damian.


    Early on, I was given a choice of weapons: a spear, a bow, or a sword. Having read countless books and comics, I knew the bow required precision and patience, while the spear demanded agility and keen reflexes to read an opponent’s movements. The sword, on the other hand, seemed the most straightforward. Without hesitation, I chose it.


    Since that day, Instructor Bryce had drilled me through grueling training routines, hammering the basics into me rather than rushing into advanced techniques. "Jack of all trades, master of none," he would often remind me, ensuring I built a strong foundation first.


    Bryce was an enigma—a kind-hearted man who tended to injured animals, always wearing a gentle smile. But the scars crisscrossing his arms hinted at a past far different from the present he now embraced.


    The disciples had varied opinions of him:


    "Cold and unpredictable."


    "Soft inside."


    "Both lovely and terrifying."


    Yet, there was one fact no one denied.


    "He is the strongest disciple in the Shrine of the Future.”


    Days blended into weeks, my routine carved into the rhythm of my life. Dawn began with scaling the cliffs behind the shrine to collect firewood. Midday was dedicated to Bryce’s brutal training. Afternoons were spent meditating, attuning my body to this world. Evenings ended with Lord Damian’s teachings on spirituality.


    And then, Ione evening, just before the daily sermon, Lord Damian approached me.


    "Stay after the preaching is over," he instructed.


    When the session ended, I followed him into the shrine’s library—a vast chamber lined with ancient tomes, their pages filled with an unknown script of strange symbols. I had never attempted to read them, as they did not exist on Earth.


    We walked to the library’s farthest aisle, where Lord Damian turned to me. His eyes held an unreadable depth.


    He raised his hand, fingers moving in precise patterns. Runes formed in the air, pulsing with an ethereal glow. Books trembled, their pages unraveling into streams of light, shaping themselves into a massive structure—a gate made of runestones.


    An eerie chill went down my spine.


    ‘This... This was the same gate I had seen in the cave. The same gate that changed everything.’!


    Lord Damian’s knowing smile told me he had expected my reaction. Without hesitation, he stepped through, and I followed.


    The moment I crossed the threshold, the library vanished.


    I found myself in an ancient tomb, its sheer vastness impossible to contain within the shrine. The air was thick, pulsating with an unseen force.


    "This," Lord Damian said, "is the Cave of Forgotten Oaths. Many have sought its power, but only a handful have survived. This place holds the highest concentration of Awakened Aether. To harness it is to be reborn. Those who fail... well, you already know what happens."


    Aether Poisoning. The memory sent a shudder through me.


    Lord Damian’s gaze turned sharp. "This is the moment where we will see if you will die—or if you will conquer the Aether as He foresaw."


    I hesitated. "He?"


    "You will meet him soon. Whether he answers your questions, I cannot say."


    He gestured ahead, where a massive human-shaped mold loomed, eerie and lifeless. Encircling it was a circular platform inscribed with three phrases—the names of the trials. Three stone pedestals stood before it, each holding a bowl.


    "To fully integrate Aether into your body," Lord Damian continued, "you must pass three trials. The Trial of Mental Fortitude. The Trial of Moral Dilemma. The Trial of Strength. If you succeed, you may even awaken a unique trait."


    I swallowed hard. The sheer weight of what I was about to undertake crashed over me.


    Lord Damian approached the first pedestal, taking my hand. He unsheathed a small blade and sliced my palm. Blood dripped into the bowl, staining its surface.


    "Brace yourself," he said.


    "The first trial is about to begin.”


    As soon as Lord Damian dropped my hand, a strange fog began to coil around me, thick and suffocating. The temperature plummeted, and an unbearable sensation surged through my body—a searing, raw pain that felt as if my very nerves were gnawing at my flesh. My vision wavered, shadows twisting at the edges, yet there was nothing visible in the endless void surrounding me.


    Then, it worsened. The pain intensified into something indescribable. It wasn’t just a single agony—it was every injury, every scrape, every cut, every moment of suffering I had ever endured, compressed and layered upon itself, repeating like an unending spiral of torment.


    I clutched my head, desperate to contain the overwhelming pressure, but my body refused to obey. My throat strained, my jaw locked, and when I tried to scream, nothing came out. My voice was stolen from me, leaving me trapped in a silent world of agony.


    Then, the visions began.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    I saw myself falling—again and again. The same moment repeated, each time a little different, but always ending the same way. My hands reaching for the edge, my fingers scraping against unyielding rock—always missing. Then the impact. My body shattering against the cavern floor, ribs caving in, shards of bone piercing my lungs. Blood splattered from my mouth, the metallic taste drowning my senses. My breath turned ragged, desperate, but I never got enough air before it started all over again.


    I fell.


    And fell.


    And fell.


    A voice whispered through the abyss.


    “Endure.”


    I collapsed to my knees, my body barely able to hold itself together under the unbearable weight of pain. It was not just physical—it was something more deeper, more profound. A torment that reached beyond flesh and bone, sinking into my very soul.


    Then, a new vision—one I had never seen before.


    I stood amidst a battlefield. The ground was slick with blood, the air thick with the scent of death. I looked down at my hands—scarlet-stained, trembling. Around me lay bodies—broken, lifeless. Their faces twisted in anguish, their lips parted in silent screams. Yet some still clung to life, their eyes wide with betrayal, with regret.


    Then came the voice again.


    “This all… it all happened because you failed. Because you failed to do the one thing you were meant to do.”


    I grit my teeth.


    No.


    This wasn’t real.


    But the pain didn’t care whether it was real or not. It surged like fire through my veins, scorching me from the inside out. My bones felt as though they were being ground into dust. My skull throbbed, ready to split open. My body—no, my very existence—felt as if it was unraveling, thread by thread.


    The voice whispered once more.


    “Let go. You don’t deserve this pain. The truth you seek isn’t worth it.”


    I knew what it wanted.


    To break me.


    To make me surrender.


    No.


    I refused to give in.


    I had come this far. I had endured too much already to stop now. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, drawing fresh blood. I forced my breathing to steady, to slow down.


    I had endured before.


    I would endure again.


    If pain was the price for answers, then so be it. If suffering was the path forward, I would walk it.


    I inhaled deeply, forcing my mind to focus. The pain was no longer something to fight—it was something to accept. The more I resisted, the more it consumed me. So I let it in.


    Slowly, the agony did not lessen, but it became something I could withstand. It no longer tore me apart—it became a part of me.


    The burning sensation began to subside. The fog thinned, peeling away like mist before dawn. My vision cleared, the battlefield fading, the voices receding.


    And then, just like that, I was back.


    Back in the cave.


    Still kneeling, my breaths heavy, but I had passed.


    The first trial—the Trial of Mental Fortitude—was over.


    And I was still standing.


    After a brief moment of rest, I forced myself to stand, my muscles aching from the first trial. I took a deep breath and strode toward the next structure, my mind already preparing for whatever came next.


    The Trial of Moral Dilemma.


    If anyone else had just gone through the agony I had endured, they might hesitate to attempt another trial so soon. But I wasn’t just anyone. My resolve had been forged in a life of struggle, and this was the first time in my miserable existence that I had been given a choice—a real chance to grasp something greater. After spending years rotting in that small, suffocating world, this was my opportunity to achieve something beyond myself.


    And I wasn’t about to let it slip away.


    I held out my wrist, my palm still bearing the mark of the first trial. Lord Damian stepped forward, his expression unreadable as he dragged the blade across my palm once more.


    Blood dripped, staining the stone beneath me.


    Then—darkness.


    It swallowed everything.


    The clashing of weapons. The agonized screams of the wounded. The desperate war cries of dying men. The overwhelming stench of iron and ash.


    The battlefield came into view once more, stretching infinitely beneath a sky painted in hues of crimson and despair. And I was standing at its very edge, perched atop a jagged cliff.


    The screams grew louder, piercing through the chaos like a sharp blade.


    A child’s cries.


    What the hell was a child doing in a place like this?


    I turned sharply—and my breath caught in my throat.


    A woman, her body trembling with exhaustion, clung desperately to a jagged rock. A small child was strapped to her back, his tiny fists clutching her tattered clothing. Just a few feet away, a soldier dangled from the edge, his armored fingers barely gripping onto the unstable ground.


    Both of them were on the verge of falling.


    Before I could react, a voice—cold, indifferent, and absolute—resounded inside my skull.


    "Choose. You can only save one."


    My entire body tensed.


    The woman and child. Innocent civilians, caught in the crossfire of a war they never asked for.


    The soldier. A warrior, fighting for his people, risking his life to turn the tide of battle.


    My pulse pounded in my ears. This was a scenario I had imagined countless times before. A cruel dilemma where two lives hung in the balance, and no matter what I chose, I would be forced to live with the consequences.


    I took a step toward the soldier—


    And the moment I did, the ground beneath the woman and child began to crumble away.


    “Please!” she screamed, her voice cracking with desperation. “Save my child! We are innocent! We had nothing to do with this war!”


    My chest tightened, an unbearable weight pressing down on me.


    She was right. They had done nothing wrong. This child had just begun his life, yet the first thing he was forced to witness was bloodshed and suffering.


    I turned towards them—


    And the same thing happened to the soldier. His fingers slipped, his body now dangling by mere inches.


    “Hey, you!” he shouted, his voice strained. “Are you really going to let me fall? Do you know what happens if we lose this war?! The enemy will invade! More innocent people will die! You think saving them is the right choice? What about the lives of those who already gave everything? Are you going to let their sacrifices be in vain?!”


    His words struck deep.


    He wasn’t wrong.


    If they lost the war, the people who had fought to protect their land would have died for nothing. And if the enemy reached the civilian territories, countless more innocents would suffer.


    A small sacrifice for the greater good.


    That thought kept ringing in my mind, trying to force me toward the "logical" choice.


    But then another thought surfaced.


    If I let the woman and child die—their blood would be on my hands. A sin that would never fade. A guilt that would never leave me.


    The pain in my head sharpened. The weight of the decision threatened to crush me.


    I clenched my fists, my breathing ragged.


    No. I refused. There was only one correct answer to this dilemma- And that was to reject it entirely. I stepped forward, my voice rising in defiance.


    “Both. I will save both of them.”


    The moment the words left my lips, the ground beneath them gave way.The woman and soldier both screamed—


    My heart sank.What have I done?


    A deep, mocking chuckle echoed around me.


    “Na?ve. Did you really think this was going to be that simple?”


    The voice sent a shiver down my spine. I took an instinctive step forward—only to be yanked back.


    Cold metal tightened around my ankles. Chains. I looked down in shock. They weren’t there before. But now, they bound me in place, preventing me from reaching either of them.


    My eyes widened as realization dawned.


    This trial—it was designed to force me into making a choice. These chains existed to restrict me.


    To break me.


    The voice had said it itself—"This wouldn’t be a trial if it was meant to be easy."


    Which meant…


    This wasn’t real.


    It was an illusion. A test to see if I would accept the constraints of fate.


    I looked down at my bleeding hand, where Lord Damian had cut me earlier. The wound was shallow. Pain wasn’t enough to wake me up.


    Then another thought struck me.Something that made my heart stop.


    Death.


    A trial like this wouldn''t allow me to hold on forever. If I hesitated too long, I would fail. And the only way to break free… was to die within the illusion. A cold chill ran down my spine, but my mind was already made up.


    I took a deep breath and walked forward.The chains tightened around my legs, sharp pain lancing through my nerves. But I kept going, dragging my feet toward the ledge between them. The moment I reached the edge, I looked down.


    An endless abyss.


    A void so deep that even light seemed afraid to touch it.It stared back at me.I clenched my jaw, inhaling sharply. And then, without hesitation—


    I jumped.


    As I plunged into the abyss, my body was swallowed by darkness. The air rushed past me, roaring in my ears. My vision blurred. My limbs went numb. The last thing I saw was the sky—shrinking into a single bright dot.


    Then—nothing.


    I woke up gasping.


    My body no longer ached. The scent of blood and war had vanished. I wasn’t in the battlefield anymore. I was in an arena. Stone pillars surrounded me, ancient and weathered. The floor beneath me was cracked, worn from countless battles. I turned sharply, scanning the area.


    Lord Damian was gone. Instead,a massive figure stood ac


    ross from me, its presence suffocating.


    A lion’s body. Bat-like wings. A scorpion’s tail, curling menacingly. My breath hitched.


    A manticore.


    Before I could process anything, the voice echoed once more.


    "The Third Trial—Trial of Strength—begins now