The flames clawed at Lidow's body, yet they left no mark. The Trial of Fire was not designed to burn flesh—but to incinerate weakness.
He stood in a great circular chamber, walls shifting with molten symbols, ancient and forgotten. They twisted and hissed as if whispering his name, testing his resolve with every breath.
A voice echoed from the heat.
"What are you?"
He didn't answer. The fire wasn't asking for words—it was waiting for truth.
"You are not your father," the voice pressed, its tone neither mocking nor cruel.
"You are not your mother. So what burns inside you, child of war?"
He stepped forward, bare feet against scorching stone. He felt his light begin to rise in defiance—bright, furious, raw. But then, just beneath it, the cold stillness of the dark. Shadow's legacy. It pulsed with slow, patient power.
They clashed inside him—chaotic, beautiful. The fire of the heavens and the abyss of the pit.
And then the voice changed.
It became his own.
"What if you're only what they made you to be?"
"What if you can never be free of their blood?"
He dropped to his knees as the fire flared brighter. Pain pierced him—not from the heat, but from the weight of legacy. His hands clenched into fists.
"Stop," he whispered. "I'm not them."
The chamber darkened suddenly. Silence.
Then, a single flame hovered in front of him—pure white, yet flickering with black edges.
A test.
Lidow reached out, unsure. As his fingers touched it, the flame didn't burn. It sank into his skin, marking him.
He stood, changed. Not unburned, but chosen.
Behind him, the sealed door groaned open.
Trial One: Passed.
Waiting on the other side were Elyra and a stranger—a tall figure in silver-and-ash armor, his helm shaped like a broken sun.
"I see he didn't fall," the stranger said.
"No," Elyra replied. "He rose."
Lidow stepped into the room, sweat on his brow, a strange calm in his eyes. "Who's that?"
"Another observer," Elyra said carefully. "They call him Severian. He speaks for neither light nor dark."
The armored man bowed slightly. "I watch what the gods cannot."
"And what do you see?" Lidow asked.
Severian stared through his visor. "That you are becoming dangerous to both."
Lidow smirked. "Good."
From the far end of the chamber, a new door ignited—blue fire, icy and slow. The Trial of Grace.
"I don't think fire was the hard one," Lidow muttered.
"No," Elyra said. "Now the trials test your soul."
Behind them, in the realm of Shadow, Valarie touched her chest—feeling his heartbeat through the realms.
"He's different," she whispered.
Shadow stood still, staring at the gates of his ruined throne hall.
"No," he said softly. "He's more."
The door of frost opened without a sound. Lidow stepped through—and the world changed.
No heat. No weight. Just silence.
He stood in a vast field of white lilies, swaying gently in a wind he could not feel. Above him, the sky was fractured light—soft gold, bleeding into pale shadow. No sun. No horizon.
Only memory.
A voice whispered, not outside him, but from within.
"Grace is not given. It is accepted."
He took one step forward—and his mother stood before him.
Not Valarie as she was now, but younger. Before war. Before power. Her hands were stained with dried blood. Her eyes… were afraid.
"I failed," she said.
Lidow froze.
"You weren't supposed to be born," she continued, voice trembling. "Not into this. Not into fire and death. I tried to change everything… and all I did was break the cycle for one breath."
He stepped toward her. "You didn't fail."
But she vanished.
Then another figure appeared—Shadow. Not as he was now, but as the monster he had once been. Horned. Armored in bone. Wings torn and dripping with molten rage.
"You will become me," the demon Shadow growled.
"I'm not you," Lidow said calmly.
The figure laughed, a sound that cracked the world. "You carry both legacies. You will have to choose."
"No," Lidow said. "I'll be more than both."
The figure lunged—only to shatter into obsidian dust.
Then the field shifted. The lilies turned to ash. The sky went black.
And Lidow stood… alone. No voices. No illusions.
Only himself.
And that was the final test.
A long mirror rose from the ashes. Smooth, silver, eternal.
He stepped forward and looked at it.
And saw… everything.
His childhood joy.
His hidden fears.
His hunger for strength.
His doubt.
His love for his parents.
And his hate for those who feared him.
He looked away.
Then forced himself to look back.
"I accept it," he said.
The mirror cracked.
Then it turned to smoke and drifted away.
A single symbol, glowing white and black, marked his chest—opposite of the one from the Trial of Fire.
The doors reopened.
Elyra stood waiting. She saw his eyes—wet, calm, furious, bright.
"You passed," she said softly.
Lidow nodded. "Just barely."
Behind her, Severian said nothing. But for the first time, he bowed deeper.
Valarie, watching from afar, let out a breath.
Shadow stood beside her, arms crossed.
"What now?" she asked.
Shadow's voice was low. "He goes deeper. Into the Trial of Flesh."
"But—"
"He needs to," Shadow said. "He must understand pain before he understands mercy."
Valarie whispered, "He's still just a child."
"No," Shadow said. "He's something else now."