Familiar Warmth

As Erel closed his eyes, he took deep breaths to calm his pounding heart. His hands stung, blood trickled from his side, and his legs burned, ignoring for now the crushing weight inside his head. After falling endlessly into countless loops, fighting and dying over and over, Erel felt like his mind was barely holding together, worn thin like an old rope barely holding together.
Yet, in that moment, as everything seemed to slow down, a sudden, sharp clarity took hold. He shut off his vision completely, putting all his focus elsewhere: the faint smell of iron in the air, the quiet broken only by the subtle beating of his own heart, the cold steel of the sword against his trembling hand, the serpent coiled around pulsing ever so slightly.
As the air in front of him shifted violently, the blade in his grip shook with warning. He knew instantly, Torik was coming for him.
But this time, the ghostly copies wouldn't trick him. The cost was blindness, relying only on his gut feeling and the serpent’s quiet sense.
The attack came. He felt it first, a jarring shock in his hands as the serpent trembled with heightened intensity, then the rushing sound of air reaching his ears.
'From the left, a low jab.'
With a quick swing, he brought his sword right where he felt the attack coming. He knew he’d found the real one when the serpent stopped shaking under his grip. A split second later, Torik’s dark blade smashed against his with terrible force, the shock trying to shove him back. Yet Erel held on, gritting his teeth, standing his ground against the push.
Erel’s smile grew, taking on a fierce edge as he spun sharply, his body turning like a top. He used that spin, swinging his sword in a fast, wide slash. He could sense Torik beside him, still off-balance from the blocked strike, wide open for just a second as his leading foot hadn't touched down yet.
Erel’s blade cut through empty space and bit deep into Torik’s sword arm near the top of the forearm. Though it was only a graze, it forced Torik back, his face twisting in shock that Erel had hit him blind. The three fake figures were useless now. Erel had seen through the trick.
Erel didn’t let up. He pushed his advantage hard, forcing Torik step by step back. Each step Torik took became a signal, the sound telling Erel exactly where he was. Erel chased him down, his blade cutting wide, unpredictable paths through the dark. Some swings missed completely, but the sheer aggression, the blinding speed, and the way the blade snapped unexpectedly because of Erel’s flexible wrist kept Torik purely on the defensive.
As the feeling grew that he was driving Torik back, Erel snapped his eyes open in the middle of another swing. His gaze locked onto Torik, who barely blocked a heavy cut, his arm bending under the strain. In that frozen moment, Erel saw his chance: the final hit, the one to end this.
Torik was wide open, no time to recover. Seizing the moment, Erel stepped deep into Torik’s guard, pulling his sword back for one powerful downward strike. The blade flashed darkly in the gloom, its serpent scales glinting. This time, nothing stopped it. It plunged clean through Torik’s chest in a brutal diagonal slash, tearing from his collarbone down to the opposite hip. The blade cut deep, leaving behind a heavy trail of dark blood pouring freely from the terrible wound.
Torik stumbled back, the dark sword falling from his hand as the serpent coiled violently back under his skin, vanishing into the ruin of his chest. Blood streamed down his front, splashing onto the cold, marble-like floor as he dropped heavily to his knees.
But instead of defeat, Erel saw a small, knowing smile on Torik’s lips. Erel, too, dropped his sword, his hands too tired to hold it any longer as utter exhaustion crashed over him. Simply standing felt like too much. His whole body screamed with pain, his mind reeling under the weight of countless deaths and desperate fights. Blood still oozed slowly from his wounds, yet he stayed upright through sheer stubbornness.
“Well done… You did it…” Torik mumbled, spitting a thick mouthful of blood onto the floor, the strange smile never leaving his face.
The empty space around them shook violently. A dizzy feeling of floating through nothing filled Erel’s head.
“We were right after all… You do deserve it.” The words echoed oddly as darkness rushed in like a heavy fog. Exhaustion finally pulled Erel under. The last thing he saw was Torik’s body fading away, his figure and the nightmare world vanishing together as the darkness finally took him, wrapping him completely in its cold, quiet hold.
***
With a crash, Erel stumbled onto a cold, hard floor. His eyes strained to see anything in the pitch black.
He braced himself, out of habit, to be back in that awful tent, expecting the familiar grip of despair. But he could feel it, the absence of that dread. Relief flooded through him, strong and sudden. At the same time, a strange warmth spread deep in his chest, moving outward.
He could feel it clearly. Beside his first core, pulsing steadily with its energy, more flux churned in a powerful, spinning circle, taking shape. The warmth grew stronger, filling his body with a rush of vitality before finally settling, hardening into a second core, dark and quiet, waiting inside him. At the same time, his connection to the Ouroboros flared stronger, his soul itself feeling strengthened as the three pillars within him stood taller, making way for his new abilities.
The trial was over. He had won. Despite the endless nightmare, despite dying who knows how many times to those monsters, despite fighting an enemy far stronger than himself, despite suffering what felt like years trapped in that repeating hell, he was finally, completely free. The feeling was almost too much. His physical wounds were gone, like they never happened, but his mind held tightly to the horrible memories from the trial, horrors that had changed him forever in ways he didn't yet understand.
Stumbling from the bed, he fumbled for the light switch. A sudden, harsh brightness filled the room, the very room he felt he hadn't seen for years. Yet, looking at the clock by his bed, only two hours seemed to have passed. The whole nightmare, where he’d probably died hundreds of times, killed thousands of monsters, had lasted just two hours in real time. It felt like a sick joke, but the truth was undeniable.
'I should go see her. She must be worried.' The thought of Lyra came to him, bringing a rush of almost painful happiness, like he hadn't seen her for years. Or maybe, in the stretched-out time of the trial, he actually hadn't.
It was still dark outside, just past midnight, as he walked the empty, metal hallways. They buzzed strangely with the constant sound of hidden machines. It felt completely foreign. Only two hours ago, he’d walked these same halls like it was normal. Now, after the trial, it felt like stepping onto another planet, a place he didn't belong anymore, a place untouched by the years of pain he’d lived through.
He reached the solid metal door. He hesitated for a second, raising his hand to knock. Before his knuckles touched the metal, the door swung open, revealing Lyra’s shape in the dim light inside. She looked at him with a small, knowing smile, her features partly hidden in shadow.
Her eyes moved over him, checking him, before she stepped silently aside, motioning for him to come in.
“You did it… Come on in,” she said, her voice quiet, but carrying a warmth that reached him.
Erel followed her into the room, a copy of his own: the steel-framed bed, the alloy wardrobe in the corner, the same faint smell of metal in the air. She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her legs up and crossing them. Her long shirt covered her legs, the faint moonlight from the window catching her outline. Her eyes, though, were sharp in the soft light, looking at Erel like she was searching for something deep inside him.
Erel couldn't find the words before she murmured, “It was hard, wasn’t it?”
Opening her arms wide, she silently beckoned him closer, offering a hug. A deep warmth spread through Erel’s chest at the simple offer, though he looked back at her with a touch of reluctance.
“Come on, don’t be shy. Everyone needs a hug sometimes.”
Erel took small, slow steps towards her before finally stepping into her arms. She pulled him close firmly. One of her hands went to his head, gently patting his hair in a steady, soothing rhythm, the other resting on his back.
“Now now, it’s fine. Don’t you worry about it anymore,” she murmured, her voice full of quiet care as she kept patting.
Something deep inside Erel’s chest tightened sharply. His throat closed up painfully. Then he felt it, hot tears spilling from his eyes, running down his cheeks.
'I am crying?'
As Lyra’s other hand found his back, patting it with the same gentle rhythm, he finally broke down. Choked gasps escaped his tight throat as the tears flowed freely now, a flood held back for too long.
“You did good, Erel. Very good,” she whispered, her voice steady and sure.
Erel lost track of time as he stayed there, held in her warm embrace. The cold feeling that had clung to him since the battlefield, a leftover chill from the trial’s horrors, began to fade, replaced by a deep, heavy tiredness. Finally giving in to the crushing exhaustion in his mind, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, still held safely in her arms.
Lyra looked down at his face, peaceful now in sleep. The cold, haunted look he’d worn when he arrived, the look that had hurt her heart because it meant his trial had been far worse than the usual anomalite trials, had reduced a bit, still lingering in the corners. It was replaced by a fragile calm, his chest rising and falling slowly. A soft, relieved smile touched her lips as she carefully laid him down on the bed. Pulling a blanket over him, she settled beside him, deciding to let him rest, watching over him, as he embraced his hard-earned peace.

Chapter end