Chapter 15 – Testing the Pupils

Night fell like a veil over Bloodtracks. The breeze cut through the cracks of the cabin, smelling of wet leaves and old smoke. Inside, the fire still burned low, spitting out scattered crackles.

Shiro woke up with his heart racing.

Panting, he pressed his hand to his chest—the white flame flickered as if blown by an otherworldly wind. A faceless image burned in his mind: Grumak, kneeling among ruins. A field split in half. Blades like shadows. A scream that echoed soundlessly.

He sat up, his eyes wide, searching for something he couldn't name.

The door creaked without wind.

Lysara stood there, wrapped in a shawl of dark moss. Her dull eyes were unblinking—golden, still, like those of an owl on watch.

“You felt it,” he murmured, stepping in. “The forest screamed inside you.”

Shiro hesitated, his skin damp with sweat.

— Grumak… he…

— He still fights. Or has already won. The echo still resounds, but it no longer devours.

She walked toward him with soft steps, as if she were treading on living wood.

—The connection between you is older than the names you bear. Don't try to understand—not yet. Just breathe.

Shiro let out a slow breath.

Lysara knelt before him. She removed a small clay vial from her bag and opened it. A thick, blue vapor rose, enveloping the young man's face like a veil of calm.

— Close your eyes. Listen with your skin.

Shiro obeyed. The smoke seemed to whisper. A song of roots.

She ran her fingers over his forehead, tracing a symbol. Then over his chest. Then she disappeared silently.

Outside, the wind died down.

And Lysara, standing on the balcony, looked up at the stars with an almost relieved sigh.

— He stood. The forest chose.

Dawn brought the scent of burnt pine and rustic bread. Helster chewed slowly, his eyes still puffy from sleep. Alvim stirred the soup in a pot as if battling an ancient enemy.

Shiro appeared, quieter than usual.

—Did you sleep? — asked Helster.

— I slept… later.

— You had a strange dream, didn't you?

Shiro just nodded.

Lysara entered with the light at her back. She carried a bunch of dried leaves in her hands, which she tossed into the fire—a burst of citrus aroma spread through the cabin.

— Today… is the day they stop playing warriors.

Alvim sighed loudly.

— Here it comes.

She ignored him.

"There's a creature at the edge of the veil. A being that lives outside the cycle, in the space between chaos and control. I've sent Alvim after it once. He returned with broken pride and three crooked ribs."

“Four,” the old man corrected, grumbling.

— I want you to take these two to her.

Alvim crossed his arms.

— They're not ready. They'll kill themselves.

— If they're weak, yes. But if they're what I saw… they'll survive. Maybe they'll even learn.

Helster dropped the bread.

— Do you want us to… hunt a creature that defeated Alvim?

— I want you to face her. And if you're still the same people when you come back… then you're not the ones I need.

Shiro looked at Lysara, his eyes steady.

— What is this creature?

—A Living Rift. A fragment of something that escaped when the world was softer. It doesn't kill you—it devours you. But only if your energy is false.

Silence.

Then, without warning, Lysara pointed at Alvim.

— Bring the weapons.

- Which?

— The right ones.

Alvim cursed under his breath and disappeared into the back of the cabin. When he returned, he carried two objects covered with cloth.

Lysara carefully removed the cloth. Beneath it lay a longsword with a curved blade, the symbol of a lion with a flaming mane carved into the hilt.

— This one's yours, Shiro.

Shiro touched the hilt hesitantly. As he held it, he felt a subtle vibration run through his bones. The blade felt alive, heavy, yet obedient. Like an old animal that only respects those who have bled.

—The lion burns and roars when the soul ignites. It was forged with northern iron and tempered with ritual fire. It responds only to those who burn within.

Then Lysara revealed her second weapon: a short, thick-edged sword, and a rounded shield with hand-engraved designs—circling boars, heads lowered, tusks raised.

"And this is yours, Helster. Shield and blade of crude balance. They reflect no light. But they break spears with the weight of the earth."

Helster picked up the set carefully. The shield seemed to pulse. He felt the muscles in his arm react. As if it were made for him.

— It's past time you two stopped using borrowed weapons.

Lysara then withdrew from a small pouch two stones the size of fingernails— one amber with crimson highlights, the other greenish with silver veins.

—These are seeds of ancient energy. Pure fragments.

She placed the amber one on the center of Shiro's sword, and the green one on the center of Helster's shield.

Then he closed his eyes and recited something in a forgotten language:

“May the essence find the right vessel.
May the form reveal the soul. May the bearer not break the pact. And may the energy obey only those who recognize it.”

The stones sank into the weapons with a dull, unexploded gleam—as if they had always belonged there.

Shiro felt heat rise through his fist. Helster nearly fell from the new weight of the shield—which now felt like it was made of ancient bones.

Lysara watched them for a long time.

— From today on, no longer hide who you are. Or what you carry.
These weapons don't kill by themselves. But they reveal. And that can be more dangerous than any cut.

Shiro swallowed hard.

Helster nodded.

Alvim cleared his throat.

— So, let's go?

“Wait,” Lysara said.

She walked to the door, looked up at the pale sky.

"Bring at least a fragment of the creature. If you return alive, you will have taken the first step. If not... may the veil collect you with honor."

After the ritual, Alvim leads the two along a rough trail that cuts through a slope shrouded in thick fog. The tone changes. The forest there seems more "ancient," as if something forgot to die within .

They advance to a natural crossroads —where three tooth-shaped stones protrude from the ground.

Alvim stops.

— From now on, I'll go with my eyes only.

Shiro frowns:

— Aren't you going to take us there?

Alvim points with his chin to the south, where the vegetation twists like black veins.

"The lair lies beyond that arch of branches. The ground within... is treacherous. And the veil... too fragile for a third party."

Helster bites the corner of his mouth.

— Are you afraid?

Alvim slowly turns his gaze.

— No. But I know the taste of error. And in there… even a step of hesitation becomes a sentence.

Then he hands over two smaller crystals —one for each.

"If you break this… I'll feel it. But it won't get you out. It'll just tell me you're alive."

Pause. He takes a deep breath, staring at them both like a blacksmith who knows his sword won't return from battle.

— This part, no master can get through for you.

And then he can say something remarkable:

"From now on, you are no longer apprentices. You are survivors on trial. If you return... you will know what you are. If not... the veil closes behind you."

He turns slowly, his cloak dragging on the dry ground, and disappears into the trees—without looking back.

Shiro and Helster look at each other.

Shiro takes a deep breath.

— Ready?

Helster adjusts the shield.

— After that… we’ll need new names.

And the two of them advance alone—into the clearing where even the light hesitates to enter.

The veil began shallow.

Shadows in the canopy. Dense moisture in the roots. The wind… silent.
But it only took five steps for the air to tremble. Seven, and the two were already separated.

Shiro looked back.

— Helster?

Silence. No sound of response, not even the sound of his own name.

He tightened his grip on the lion sword. The forest ahead swayed, not with the wind—but as if breathing.

At the same moment, Helster advanced between the misshapen trunks, shield raised, short sword at his side. The trees seemed larger there. The leaves hung like eyes.

He tried to speak:

— Shiro?

But his voice came back to him, distorted— “You.”
Sound of crashing water.

They were both, without knowing it, in the same space.
But in different worlds.

It was Shiro who saw it first.

A figure emerging from the branches—hunched, but with a familiar silhouette. Broad shoulders. Shield in left hand. Short sword dragging in the other.

Only… the face was wrong.
Like it had been shaved. The eyes were smoke holes. The shield… throbbed like raw flesh.

— Helster?

The creature growled.

He advanced.

Helster saw it too.

A shadow on fire—walking unsteadily, longsword in hand, flaming.
The figure's mouth was spread in a smile too jagged, too many teeth. The eyes burned blindingly white.

— Shiro…?

The monster roared.

He advanced.

They collided.

Short blade against long sword.
Shield against fire. Friendship against dread.

The sound was muffled. As if they were fighting underwater.
Each blow hurt more the soul than the flesh.

Shiro screamed, "Stop!"—but the creature only roared.
Helster screamed, "Give up!"—but the monster advanced.

The lion's sword sliced through Helster's shoulder.
The boar's shield crushed Shiro's side.

They both bled.
They both hesitated. But the creature Ez'Thirra… smiled through invisible veils.

She fed on the broken bond.
On the cracks in trust.

Helster staggered, shield vibrating in his hand.

The distorted figure before him roared his name—“HELSTER!”—in a tone of animalistic mockery.
But then… it said something else.

— I don't want to hurt you.

The voice.
It wasn't guttural. It wasn't a monster.

It was… Shiro.

Helster's eyes widened.
Everything was spinning. But within him, a certainty burned: "This isn't the enemy."

He stuck his shield into the ground.

A pulse pierced the air.

Roots of light burst from the ground around the creature, intertwining in the air, trapping it in a vibrant cocoon.
Green and blue veins weaved together like moving walls.

The ability had been born without warning, but with purpose.

The Barrier of Truth.

Inside her, the world stopped.

The twisted creature… dissolved like smoke in the sun.
And in the center of the prison… Shiro. Gasping. Bleeding. But with clear eyes.

— Helster…?

“You heard me,” Helster murmured. “Even under the lie.”

Wasting no time, Helster swung the shield around.
The barrier's energy spiraled again, expanding in the opposite direction— and captured something invisible in midair.

The real Ez'Thirra screamed.

The illusion fell like a torn veil.

Shiro felt the world return.
Light and sound exploded in his ears. The ground beneath his feet existed again.

In front of him, Helster on his knees, shield still raised, channeling.
And between them… the thing .

Ez'Thirra revealed her true body—a horror molded from the essence of both.

Elongated head, eyeless, but with a constant whisper in the air.
Right arm: held a flaming sword like Shiro's, but melted, wild. Left arm: wielded a shield of flesh and stone, cracked, identical to Helster's.

It was a grotesque fusion.
A reflection of doubt, of rupture, of failed symbiosis.

Shiro raised the lion sword, still holding his breath.

— That… was what she wanted all along.

Helster stood beside him.

— That we would destroy ourselves before seeing her.

The creature growled. And ran.

The confrontation was direct, brutal.

Ez'Thirra attacked with the same styles they knew—but twisted.
The flaming sword cut in unpredictable curves. The stone shield reverberated as if spewing waves of repulsion.

Shiro had been attacking with a fluid rhythm, but now… he channeled it clearly.
White fire, clean, without fury. Each blow left a trail of embers—but not anger.

Helster blocked like never before.
The shield was now an extension of his body—and his soul. He deflected. He absorbed. And he counterattacked with precision.

At the climax of the battle, the creature attempted to separate the two—spinning in fury, throwing them in opposite directions.

But Shiro shouted:

—Helster, now!

The shield flashed.
Helster thrust forward with the short blade. Shiro leaped over his shoulder, sword arcing.

Double impact.

The short sword opened the flank.
The long sword tore through the core.

Ez'Thirra screamed soundlessly— and dissolved into veils.

On the floor, only a mirrored crystal , dark as pitch and light as silence.

Shiro picked it up.
Inside, he saw his reflection. And Helster's.

But not their faces.
Their choices.

—That… was what she wanted to show, wasn't it? — Shiro said.

— That doubt is the real cut.

— And trust… the one blade she cannot imitate.

They sat at the edge of the clearing, finally breathing.
The breeze was returning. The trees were no longer watching.

— Hey, Helster.

— Hm?

— That skill… was beautiful.

— It was scary. But useful.

Shiro smiled, leaning on his sword.

— We're a good pair, shield.

— And you still owe me dinner, sword.

They both laughed, low, wounded, whole.

The test was over.

But not war.

And the creature… wasn't the last to try to break the bond that united them.

The silence after the confrontation was so absolute that even the branches seemed to hear.

Shiro and Helster still sat, their weapons at their sides, staring at the black crystal that pulsed between them. It was cold to the touch, but alive. It carried something that wasn't power—it was memory.

“Enough,” Shiro said finally.

Helster pulled out the small stone Alvim had given him before the mission. The surface was cracked, as if it had absorbed every second of the fight. Yet, it remained intact.

— Ready to see his face when he finds out we survived?

— No. But I want to see his face when he finds out we did it together .

Helster nodded. Together, as they had entered. As they had left.

He lifted the stone, and pressed it in his hand.

The stone shattered with a sharp crack. A silvery flash rose into the air, like a spark only the veil recognized. Within seconds, the glow dispersed… and the wind shifted.

When Alvim appeared, he was exactly where he had left them: arms crossed, stony-faced, but eyes alert.

Shiro and Helster emerged from the branches. Dirty, bruised … but in one piece.

Alvim looked at the two of them in silence.

Then the shield. The short sword. The lion's blade.

And finally… their eyes.

— You're back.

Helster opened his mouth to make a comment—but there was no sarcasm this time.

Shiro just handed over the dark crystal.

Alvim picked it up. He looked at his reflection.

— She couldn't fool you all the way.

Shiro replied:

— She almost succeeded. But we saw beyond that.

Alvim tucked the crystal into his cloak. The gesture was more solemn than practical.

— So… the test worked. You broke what I couldn't.

“The creature?” Helster asked.

— No. The illusion between you.

He turned, starting to walk.

"Come. Lysara will want to see for herself what you have become."

Shiro looked at Helster. Helster looked at the sky.

The veil closed behind them like a curtain saying goodbye to an act.

And they walked. Not like boys.

But like two who returned from the broken mirror… with the bond intact.