Markus limps forward, each step a dull throb through his legs, the burn on his shoulder pulsing like a heartbeat beneath his palm. Ash still clings to his clothes from the last trial, and smoke — whether imagined or not — seems to linger in his lungs.

  In front of him stands a heavy stone door marked with the number five, carved deep into its surface like a scar. He stops just short of touching it and draws in a sharp breath that catches in his chest. His body screams for rest, but his mind refuses. This is no time to fall apart.

  With a trembling exhale, he reaches for the handle.

  The moment he pulls the door open, a wave of thick, choking smoke hits him like a wall. He coughs, stumbling back a step, eyes watering. The heat presses against his skin — familiar and awful.

  He doesn’t remember this smoke. Not clearly. But his body does.

  His legs move before his brain can catch up. Flames dance at the edges of his vision, licking the walls of a narrow hallway.

  “No… this is the schoolhouse,” he breathes. “The morning I ran inside to save her.”

  Markus tries to remember what classroom Alexia had been in, but the memory refuses to surface. Frustrated, he gives up and quickly draws out his Mahoishi, the crystal flaring with energy.

  He breaks into a sprint, running room to room, throwing each door open and calling her name, searching desperately through the thickening smoke — until finally, he reaches the Precalculus classroom.

  And there she is.

  An illusion of her body lies slumped near the back, barely visible through the haze and flame.

  “Alexia! Are you in there?!”

  His voice echoes down the burning hallway. No answer. Just the crackle of fire and the groan of bending metal.

  Then — faint, broken —

  “Mar…”

  That voice.

  He knows it. He will always know it.

  Markus doesn’t hesitate. He throws his weight into the door.

  It slams open with a sharp crack, and a wave of smoke surges out, clawing at his throat and eyes. He staggers, coughing hard, but forces himself forward.

  The heat is unbearable. Flames creep across the ceiling, the room groaning under its own collapse.

  “We really need to stop meeting like this,” Markus mutters as he reaches her side. “It’s fine, Alexia. This won’t end like that day.”

  With a flick of his wrist, Markus summons his Mahoishi whip, the blue light slicing through the smoke. He cracks it toward the window — glass shatters outward in a burst of sparks and heat.

  Alexia blinks through the haze. “When did you get a Mahoishi?”

  Markus bends down, lifting her carefully. “Someone I care about gave it to me,” he says softly. “You’ll find out who someday.”

  He stumbles out of the classroom and into the open air — only, it’s not real air.

  The fire fades. The school vanishes. In its place stands the hollow shell of a street corner. Smoke curls along the ground, and flickering lights paint the sky red.

  His chest rises and falls in ragged breaths as his eyes sweep the empty street — until something catches his attention.

  An old ambulance sits by the curb, its back doors wide open. Inside, lying on a cracked stretcher, is a small metal key, glowing faintly with Mahoishi light.

  Markus stares.

  “Is this… the same ambulance?”

  The one he’d been loaded into that day — the day everything changed. When he passed out with burns on his arms and Alexia’s blood on his shirt.

  He doesn’t want to move. But he forces himself to.

  With a shaking hand, Markus steps forward and picks up the key.

  The moment his fingers close around it—

  The back doors slam shut behind him.

  When he turns, the world has changed again.

  He now stands in a hospital room — dim, quiet, cold.

  His own body lies in the bed. Charred. Burned. Wrapped in layers of bandages, unmoving.

  Beside the bed kneels Alexia, her hands glowing with the faintest shimmer of healing magic. She presses them over his chest, gritting her teeth, trying to force the magic to work — but it’s no use. Her mana is nearly gone.

  She lets out a frustrated breath. “Come on… just a little more—please…”

  The glow flickers, then sputters out entirely.

  “Alexia,” Markus says softly, stepping closer to her.

  She doesn’t react. Of course she doesn’t — she can’t see him. This isn’t real.

  Still, he kneels beside her, as if she could hear him.

  “Hey now,” he murmurs, his voice trembling. “Stop. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

  He looks at his own burned body, then back to her desperate expression.

  “It’s okay,” he whispers. “Thank you… for keeping me alive.”

  “I can’t let him die,” Alexia whispers, pressing her glowing hands harder against Markus’s chest.

  “If it wasn’t for that stupid demon, he’d be safe.”

  Her voice cracks.

  “There’s no way I can stop — not now. If he dies… it’s my fault.”

  Markus lets out a quiet sigh. He knows she can’t hear him, not really — but it doesn’t matter.

  “I know there’s not much I can say to make that guilt go away,” he says softly. “But I can tell you this — what you did worked.”

  He looks at her one last time, kneeling beside his broken body.

  “And after this… we’ll walk out of that hospital together. We’ll fight an evil rat in the park — you, me… and one of my classmates. Her name’s Liddle.”

  He steps forward and wraps his arms around her — this illusion of her, frozen in time.

  “We’ll have a good time when I wake up,” he whispers. “You’ll see… in three months.”

  Then he steps back, turns toward the hallway beyond the hospital room, and walks forward — leaving the memory behind as the path to the sword opens before him.

  After one more twisting hallway, Markus steps into a wide, open chamber — and stops.

  A chasm stretches out before him, impossibly deep. On the far side, resting on a simple stone pedestal, is the Life-Giving Blade. The sword he has come for.

  It glows faintly in the darkness. Not bright. Not proud. Just… waiting.

  Markus takes a shaky step forward—

  Then a voice, soft and familiar, echoes behind him.

  “Markus.”

  His breath catches. No. Not now.

  He turns — too slowly.

  Arms wrap gently around his waist from behind.

  “I knew you could do it,” Liddle whispers, resting her head against his back.

  “Liddle?” Markus gasps. He turns and hugs her tightly, almost lifting her off the ground. “I’m so glad to see you. What are you—what are you doing here?”

  She smiles at him, radiant and calm.

  “I came to say goodbye.”

  “What?”

  She reaches up and touches his cheek.

  “I’m going to die for you, my love.”

  “Care to explain,” Markus says, grabbing her hand.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “For this trial, someone needs to jump into the hole. Then a bridge will appear, and you can grab the sword,” Liddle explains.

  “No. I’m not going to allow you to do that. We’ll find another way.”

  Her fingers tighten around his. “Markus,” she whispers, “it’ll be easier if I’m the one to go. You’ve already been through so much… would you really want to suffer more because of me?”

  His jaw trembles, but his voice is steady. “Yes.”

  She blinks at him, stunned.

  “I wouldn’t accept any ending that doesn’t bring both of you back with me,” he says. “Not again. Never again.”

  He stares down into the pit.

  It’s deep. Black. Endless. The kind of void that wants to be filled — with sacrifice.

  Then his eyes narrow. A thought sparks.

  “Liddle… can you make an ice platform? One that reaches the other side?”

  She hesitates… then nods.

  Stepping forward, she extends her hands. Frost gathers in the air, crystallizing into a narrow bridge of shimmering ice. It stretches a few feet into the gap…

  Then it shatters and falls — vanishing into the void like it had never been there.

  Liddle flinches. “I’m sorry, Markus…” she whispers, her voice trembling.

  Markus shakes his head. “It’s fine. You did great.”

  He looks at the ledge again, gears turning.

  “Okay. New plan. Make it smaller. Just a short ledge — enough to give me a surface.”

  Liddle blinks. “Why?”

  Markus takes a breath and summons his Mahoishi. The whip pulses to life in his hand.

  “Because I’m going to swing across.”

  He smiles faintly. “No one dies today.”

  Liddle raises her hands, magic shimmering at her fingertips.

  “Now!” Markus shouts.

  He sprints forward and jumps.

  His foot slams onto the icy surface, which cracks beneath the pressure — but holds just long enough.

  In the same instant, he snaps his Mahoishi whip forward.

  It latches onto the stone pedestal across the chasm — right next to the sword.

  With a grunt, Markus yanks hard, the whip pulling taut.

  His body swings forward in a high arc, momentum carrying him through the air over the endless drop below.

  “Come on… come on…”

  At the peak of his swing, he lashes the whip again — this time wrapping it directly around the hilt of the sword.

  He grits his teeth, pulling himself the last few feet, muscles straining.

  With a final surge of strength, Markus grabs the hilt with both hands and hauls himself onto the platform, chest heaving, legs shaking.

  As he catches his breath, the sword begins to glow — then lifts gently from the pedestal, floating toward a hallway that shimmers with light.

  Without thinking, Markus follows it.

  A familiar voice echoes softly behind him:

  “Go get your sword,” Liddle says, her voice fading as she steps out of view.

  He looks back across the gap and gives her a thumbs up.

  When he turns again, she is already walking away — disappearing into the light, beyond his view. Somehow… he knows she isn’t meant to walk this part with him.

  Markus limps forward, his body aching, every step heavier than the last.

  The floor beneath him shifts. Slowly, silently, it begins to move — carrying him forward like a conveyor guided by fate.

  Then comes the voice.

  Unfamiliar. Deep. Ancient.

  Spoken in a language he doesn’t recognize — yet somehow, he understands every word.

  “You have come far, child of ash. You have endured the trials. You have proven that you will protect those who cannot protect themselves.”

  As the voice speaks, images flicker across the corridor walls like memory stained into glass:

  Alexia, kneeling beside him with glowing hands.

  Barkelot, standing proud in the face of danger.

  Liddle, clinging to hope with eyes full of fear — and love.

  “Now… promise me this.

  If you take this blade, you shall never raise it in hatred.

  You shall protect it, and use it only to defend.

  Should you break that promise — should you ever take a life with this power — it will be taken from you.”

  The hallway opens before him, the pedestal just steps away. The Life-Giving Blade shimmers in its sheath, a soft light pulsing from its core.

  Markus steps closer, the pedestal glowing brighter with each step. The sword rests there in perfect stillness — its silver blade sheathed in radiant white-gold, the hilt wrapped in dark leather, etched with runes that shimmer like starlight.

  His hand hovers above it.

  The air feels different — charged, yet gentle. Like a storm waiting to strike… but only if he calls for it.

  He takes a breath.

  Then another.

  And then, with trembling fingers, he grasps the hilt.

  The moment his skin touches it, the world explodes with light.

  Not heat. Not pain.

  Life.

  A warm surge rushes through him, sinking into his skin, flowing through his veins, brushing against the corners of his soul. It’s strength — but not just brute force. It’s clarity, intention, balance.

  This power…

  It could make someone unstoppable.

  If it fell into the wrong hands, I knows, it could be twisted into something monstrous.

  He tests its weight, carefully drawing the blade and sliding it back into the sheath with a smooth motion, two fingers guiding it with precision.

  A stone tablet near the pedestal catches his eye, ancient letters glowing faintly:

  “Only those who are worthy may carry this blade.”

  He turns toward the exit — only to see another stone door ahead.

  This one is marked with a glowing number 8.

  Markus stares for a moment.

  Then sighs.

  “Of course there’s more.”

  Inside, three massive stone monkeys sit in a triangle formation, each at least fifteen feet tall. They look ancient, carved from dark rock streaked with age, their expressions solemn — almost mournful.

  The first has its hands covering its eyes.

  The second covers its mouth.

  The third presses its hands tightly over its ears.

  Markus steps inside cautiously, half-expecting the door to shut behind him. It doesn’t.

  He glances around for another tablet, another inscription — something — but the chamber is silent. Still.

  No riddle. No voice. Just the three statues.

  But he doesn’t need a voice this time. He understands.

  He stares at them for a long moment.

  “See no evil. Speak no evil. Hear no evil…” he murmurs.

  Then he shakes his head.

  That’s not what this sword is for.

  He approaches the first monkey and gently pulls its hands away from its eyes, lowering them to rest in its lap.

  I can’t just pretend I don’t see it.

  He moves to the second, lowering its hands from its mouth.

  Can’t stay silent about it, either.

  Finally, he uncovers the ears of the third.

  And I can’t ignore the cries for help.

  As he steps back, all three monkeys now sit in calm meditation — hands resting quietly in their laps.

  The room trembles.

  A soft click echoes through the stone, and the far wall opens slowly, revealing a path bathed in gentle light.

  Markus lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

  And with that, he steps forward — out of the chamber and into the light beyond.

  A sudden breeze hits him.

  The weight of the trials, the wounds on his body, the exhaustion — it all catches up at once.

  “Markus! There you are!”

  A familiar voice.

  Lemres runs toward him, eyes wide.

  “I see you got the sword.”

  Markus drops to his knees, the sword still in his grip.

  “Are you real?” he asks, his voice rough, broken.

  Lemres kneels beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

  “As real as you are. And real enough to get you home.”

  He opens a glowing portal behind them, its edges humming with familiar, warm magic.

  “Let’s go.”

  Lemres helps Markus through the front door, one arm slung over his shoulder.

  Markus’s steps are slow and uneven, the sword still clutched loosely in one hand. His body feels like it’s moving underwater — heavy, sluggish, and sore in places he didn’t even know could hurt.

  As he crosses the threshold, a voice calls out:

  “Markus!”

  Alexia runs over and pulls him into a tight hug.

  Then she pulls back and winces.

  “You look awful.”

  Markus gives a tired smirk.

  “Thanks. That’s exactly what I was hoping to hear first thing,” Markus says.

  “No, I’m serious,” Alexia replies, frowning as she looks him over.

  “You’ve lost weight. And the bags under your eyes—”

  “I’ll be fine,” he says, waving her off. “I just need some rest.”

  “Wait—did you not sleep or eat at all in there? Markus, it’s been almost three days.”

  Liddle steps out of Markus’s room, her eyes going wide the moment she sees him.

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” she says softly, grabbing his hand—just as Markus sways and collapses.

  Before he can hit the ground, Lemres catches him with a quick flick of his hand, magic lifting Markus gently off the floor.

  “Make sure he drinks some water before he passes out,” Lemres says, guiding Markus into the bedroom with his magic.

  “We’ll worry about food when he wakes up.”

  Liddle nods quickly and rushes off to the kitchen.

  Alexia kneels beside the bed and pulls out her Mahoishi, her palm glowing with warm light.

  “I trust you two have this,” Lemres says. “I have to get back on watch, just in case the tiger comes back.”

  “We’ve got this,” she tells him without looking up. “You go. We’ll keep him safe.”

  Then he’s gone, the door closing quietly behind him.

  Alexia presses her hands over Markus’s shoulder and chest.

  “It may take a few days before you’re fully back to normal,” she murmurs as the healing light works its way across his body. “You really did a number on yourself.”

  Liddle returns, kneeling at the bedside with a cup of water. She gently shakes Markus’s arm.

  “Hey… come on. Just a little.”

  Markus stirs, barely conscious, and takes the cup with both hands. He drinks, slow at first—then faster, almost as if the cold water reminds him he’s still alive.

  The moment the last drop is gone, he slumps back into the pillow.

  Fast asleep.

  Hey, Alexia—didn’t you have that date with Sid?” Liddle asks, glancing toward the door.

  Alexia hesitates, her hands still glowing faintly as the last of her healing magic fades.

  “I can’t just leave Markus like this.”

  “You have to recharge,” Liddle says gently. “Besides… I can take care of him. It’s what he’d do for me, after all.”

  Alexia studies her for a moment, then sighs. She stands and walks toward the door.

  “Oh, I see,” she says with a smirk, slipping her shoes on. “You just want some alone time with him. Well, make as much noise as you like while I’m gone, okay?”

  She gives Liddle a playful wink.

  And with that, she heads out, leaving the room quiet—just Liddle and Markus once more.

  Liddle sits beside the bed, hands folded in her lap, quietly watching Markus breathe.

  His face is peaceful now, finally at rest after everything he’s endured.

  "You did it,” she whispers. “You really did it.”

  She brushes a bit of hair from his forehead, careful not to wake him.

  “Now it’s my turn to stay by your side.”