The Gate of Belief
The next morning dawned in silence, broken only by the soft crackling of embers and the distant hum of a land that watched and waited. The air shimmered faintly, and as the companions approached the second gate, Mira could already sense its challenge pulsing through her thoughts.
This gate was different from the first. It stood not in stone, but as an illusion of fire and air, shifting forms—sometimes a tree, sometimes a tower, sometimes a reflection of the viewer themselves. Words written in no language spun like stars across its surface.
The Archivist stood before it, arms folded in the folds of his great rootcloak.
"This is the Gate of Belief," he said. "Where Memory revealed what was, this gate demands you confront what you truly believe. Not what you claim. Not what you preach. But what you act upon when all is stripped away."
Mira nodded. "And if we believe in nothing?"
"Then nothing will carry you through."
Again, Elric stepped forward. The gate shimmered, then solidified into a great warhammer, suspended midair. A voice boomed: "What makes you fight?"
Elric stared at it. "To protect. Those I love. Those who cannot."
"And if none remain to protect?"
He paused, then answered: "Then I fight to ensure they're remembered."
The warhammer turned to smoke. He passed.
Lena was next. The gate became a shifting maze of runes, spinning, reshaping, threatening to collapse. A whisper came: "Knowledge or compassion? Which would you choose if one doomed the other?"
She closed her eyes, whispering her answer. "Compassion. Without it, knowledge is a weapon."
The maze opened. She passed.
Valien approached. The gate shimmered into a mirror, showing him not as he was—but as the tyrant his people once feared he would become. Crowned, cold, cruel.
"Do you believe power can ever be pure?"
His jaw clenched. "No. But I believe I can choose how to use it."
The tyrant vanished. He passed.
Bram stood before the gate, and it changed into a faceless crowd, all reaching for him.
"Will you lead them? Even if they never thank you? Even if they curse your name?"
He smiled faintly. "Yes."
The crowd bowed. He passed.
Mira stepped forward last. The gate formed into a burning tree—The Tree—its leaves falling like dying embers.
"Do you believe the world is worth saving? Even if it does not want to be saved?"
Mira felt the weight of all she'd seen—the corruption, the fear, the cruelty—but also the laughter of children, the resilience of Bram, Lena's courage, Elric's loyalty.
"Yes," she said. "Not because it is perfect. But because it still dreams."
The burning tree bloomed anew. She passed.
Beyond the gate, the land darkened again. The final gate stood in the distance, shaped like a wound in the sky, flickering with stars and shadow.
"The Gate of Becoming," the Archivist whispered. "There, you do not face what was or what you believe. You face what you could be—and what you must choose.*"
They made camp for the last time before the trial that would decide who they would become—and whether the world would be reshaped by choice, or by chaos.