Trials of the Continent

Chapter 20: Revelation at the Edge

The corridor beyond the doorway was a stark contrast to the oppressive heat and chaotic tumult of the Gauntlet. It was unnervingly cold, the air carrying a sharp chill that bit at their skin. Smooth black stone formed the walls, polished to such a sheen that they seemed to devour the light from the faint, flickering glow of the artifact they had claimed. The only sound was the low hum of the artifact, a faint resonance that echoed softly with the rhythmic cadence of their footsteps.
The group moved in silence at first, each lost in their own thoughts. The trials were taking their toll—not just physically, but emotionally. Ameir noticed how Isabel kept glancing back every few steps, as though fearing that someone might vanish without warning. Kaito, usually confident and quick to offer a smirk, now walked with shoulders hunched, his determination dulled into quiet introspection. Finn's usual quips had also dwindled into silence, but he broke it first with a dry comment.
"This place keeps getting worse. What's next? Fighting dragons?"
Isabel's reply came sharp, her voice tight and tense. "I wouldn't joke about that."
Ameir tried to force a laugh, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. "Maybe it's just a nice break room ahead. Snacks, comfortable chairs..."
Kaito snorted softly, though the humor didn't reach his eyes. "You wish."
The corridor ended abruptly, giving way to a vast chamber that stole their breath. The floor beneath them was unnervingly smooth and glass-like, so reflective that it mirrored their every move, as though they were walking on the surface of a frozen lake. Above them, an infinite void swirled with fragmented colors and distorted shapes, its strange light creating shifting shadows that danced eerily around them.
At the chamber's center stood a tall monolith, its surface pulsating faintly with an otherworldly glow. Surrounding it were six pedestals, each uniquely carved and emanating a distinct hue that cast faint halos against the reflective floor.
"What is this place?" Ameir whispered, his voice barely audible, as if speaking too loudly might disturb the strange serenity.
Isabel stepped closer, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and apprehension. "A nexus," she murmured. "It's like... everything converges here."
Before they could approach the pedestals, a voice they all dreaded filled the chamber. Calm and unfeeling, it sent chills down their spines.
"Welcome, competitors," Dr. Ames intoned. His image flickered into view above the monolith, a translucent projection that loomed with an unsettling presence.
"You have survived the Gauntlet and proven your resilience. But survival alone will not suffice. The next phase of the trial will test your ability to confront your greatest weakness."
Finn stepped forward, his tone challenging despite his unease. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
Dr. Ames continued as though he hadn't heard. "Each of you will face a unique challenge, tailored to exploit your vulnerabilities. Only those who overcome their trial will proceed. The pedestals before you represent your path. Choose wisely."
The projection flickered and vanished, leaving an ominous silence in its wake.
"Tailored challenges?" Kaito repeated, his voice uneasy. "What does that even mean?"
"It means," Isabel said grimly, "they've been watching us—every move, every word. They know what makes us tick, and they're going to use it against us."
Ameir stared at the pedestals, each one glowing faintly but invitingly, their light casting subtle shadows on the reflective floor. His heart pounded. "We don't have a choice. We have to go through with it."
The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. Slowly, they approached the pedestals, each drawn to one as if by instinct. Ameir's gaze settled on one with a warm golden hue. Its carvings resembled tools and intricate machines—objects that had defined his life.
"Good luck," Isabel said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ameir nodded, meeting her gaze briefly before returning his focus to the pedestal. "You too."
He reached out, his fingers brushing the surface. Instantly, the world around him dissolved, plunging him into an endless void. He felt weightless, untethered, until gravity suddenly reclaimed him.
With a jarring thud, he landed in a room that made his breath catch. It was his workshop back in Sudan. Every detail was painfully familiar—the cracked walls, the cluttered shelves lined with tools, the faint, comforting scent of oil and metal. But something was off.
The tools were untouched, pristine as though they had never been used. The air felt oppressive, thick with expectation. His gaze landed on the workbench, where a half-finished contraption sat: a delicate mechanical bird with intricate gears and fragile wings.
It was a project he had abandoned years ago, one that had plagued him with frustration and self-doubt.
"You've always been afraid of failure," a voice said, low and mocking.
Ameir spun around, his heart racing. In the shadowed corner stood a figure—himself, but not quite. The doppelgänger's features were sharper, its eyes cruel and piercing.
"You've run from it your whole life," it continued, stepping closer. "Every invention, every dream—always abandoned when it got too hard."
"That's not true," Ameir said, though his voice wavered.
The doppelgänger sneered, its tone dripping with derision. "Isn't it? You're only here because of someone else's mistake. You were never meant to be part of this competition. You don't belong."
The words struck like a physical blow. Ameir clenched his fists, his mind racing. Deep down, he had asked himself the same question more times than he cared to admit.
The doppelgänger gestured to the mechanical bird. "Finish it. Prove me wrong."
Ameir hesitated before stepping toward the workbench, his hands trembling as he picked up a tool. The bird's wings were delicate, requiring painstaking precision.
The shadows in the room deepened, the air pressing down on him. The doppelgänger loomed behind him, its presence suffocating.
"You'll fail again. You always do."
Ameir gritted his teeth, his focus narrowing to the task at hand. Piece by piece, he aligned the gears, adjusted the joints, and shaped the fragile wings. Doubt clawed at him, but he refused to yield.
"I won't fail," he muttered.
The doppelgänger's voice rose, a cruel crescendo. "You will. You're not good enough."
"No!" Ameir's voice rang out, firm and defiant.
The final piece clicked into place, and the bird sprang to life. Its wings fluttered with precision and grace, and it lifted off the workbench, soaring around the room.
The doppelgänger let out a furious scream, its form dissolving into smoke. The oppressive weight lifted, and the room brightened.
A golden doorway appeared, glowing with a welcoming light. Ameir exhaled, his hands still trembling. He had faced his doubt and emerged stronger.
Stepping through the doorway, he found himself back in the nexus chamber. Isabel was already there, her posture steady but her expression distant.
"How was it?" Ameir asked.
She hesitated, then replied softly, "Hard."
One by one, the others returned. Finn collapsed onto the floor, muttering, "Let's not do that again."
Ameir allowed himself a small smile, despite the lingering weight of his trial. "We're not done yet."
The monolith began to hum louder, its glow intensifying. Whatever came next, Ameir felt ready to face it.