FATED TO REINCARNATE

The line crawled forward like time itself had slowed.

Candidates stepped up one by one, called by name, and disappeared through the towering gates of the inner grounds. Some returned shaken. Some didn't return at all—spirited away to heal, or to go home in quiet disgrace.

Elara stood tall, hands clenched at her sides.

Then—

"Elara Ashvine."

The name rang out like a challenge.

She stepped forward, heart thudding, eyes forward. She walked past the guards, through the ancient archway, and into the courtyard where the first trial waited.

The Monolith stood in the center, tall and black and ancient. It was alive with silent magic, its obsidian surface humming like it knew her name.

She saw the Trail Masters' watching her every move.

They are cloaked but it feels as if their eyes can see into her soul. And the fact that they are about to witness her greatest fear is unnerving.

"Place your hand on it," the Trail Master said, her voice distant.

Elara stepped forward.

Fig, invisible on her shoulder, whispered, "Be careful."

She nodded once, then placed her hand flat against the cold stone.

The world shattered.

She stood in a field of broken stars.

And across from her—was Kaden.

Not a memory.

Not a shadow.

A ghost of him—eyes burning, sword drawn, cloaked in dark mist, twisted by the curse that had once ended her life.

Elara's breath caught.

"You shouldn't be here," she whispered.

"You were never meant to return," the ghost growled, voice like thunder. "You die. I live. That is the order."

He lunged.

She dodged instinctively, drawing her sword just in time. Sparks flew. The blade sang. She was fast—faster than she'd ever been—but he was stronger. Each strike felt like lightning, crashing down with the weight of inevitability.

She was going to lose.

Just like before.

But then—

The sword glowed.

It pulsed against her hand, steady and bright. It guided her wrist, spun her body with grace she didn't know she had. The bond was alive—singing through her veins, connecting her to something greater.

Steel. Will. Fate.

She met Kaden's next strike with a roar and drove him back. Again. And again.

Until, with one final clash, her blade slid through the ghost like a beam of light.

The mist dispersed.

The field vanished.

And Elara stood, breathing hard, hand still on the Monolith.

She had won.

The Trail master watched her with unreadable expressions as she stepped back, steady despite the storm inside her.

The second trial was a gauntlet—walls shifting, blades swinging, pressure plates rigged with magical traps.

Elara's body moved like it had been born in motion. She dove, rolled, leapt over a row of spinning blades, landed in a crouch, then flipped over a collapsing ledge just as it gave way.

Other candidates scrambled behind her, some fumbling, some falling.

She didn't slow.

At one point, a shimmering wall of fire blocked her path—but she ducked through a tight crawlspace others had missed, sprinted the final length, and crossed the finish line with a victorious grin and a wind-tossed braid.

Fig clapped from a hidden corner. "That was hot. Literally. You almost lost your eyebrows."

"I won," she panted.

He grinned. "You thrived."

Elara was surprised to see that the girl she watched earlier had went last. She didn't jump and run like the other students did. She walked with her head held high and melted the gauntlet.

Elara was awestruck. The other candidates cheered loudly.

The third and final trial came just before sunset.

The sky turned violent as a summoned storm cracked open above the field. Rain lashed the ground. Wind howled like wolves. Lightning struck randomly, targeting metal and magic alike.

The goal was simple: reach the glowing stone at the center of the field. Touch it. Survive.

Simple. But not easy.

Elara ran into the heart of the storm, vision blurred by rain, thunder pounding in her skull.

Some candidates boots turned to stone in waves of magic. Some fell into unknown waves and disapeared.

Lightning exploded nearby, and a candidate screamed behind her—trapped under a fallen tree. She hesitated.

She could reach the center now.

But she turned.

With a growl, she yanked the tree limb off the girl, dragging her to her feet. Another bolt struck too close, forcing them both to stumble forward together. More candidates struggled ahead—injured, frightened, nearly beaten.

Elara went to each one, helping where she could, guiding them toward the center.

She almost there when the fire-princess came flying past her on what looked like a shield of magic- fire. Before she could reach the center, she was struck down by a lightning bolt.

Elara didn't waste time, she scrambled to the girl- shouted for her to take her hand before the magical current washed her away. The girl did and they stumbled forward together. 

By the time they reached the glowing stone, Elara's tunic was torn, her skin scraped, her breath ragged—and several others were with her.

She touched the stone.

It pulsed once—and the storm vanished.

The silence was deafening.

She watched the Trail Masters talk to each other in no voice anyone could hear- but they seem to hear each other perfectly fine.

There eyes where fixed on her, while she was still holding onto the girl and breathing heavily. She wishes she could just drop to the ground and lay there, but somehow the fire princess's strong posture gave her strength as well.

She didn't want to appear weak. She had made it and now it's time for the ruling, she can stay strong a bit longer. 

Then they approached.

They seemed very interested in her.

And one of them, an elven woman with sharp eyes and silver-lined robes, simply said:

"Elara Ashvine. You have passed."

Her heart exploded with excitement and relief.

Fig was cheering softly. "Fanatstic! I was looking forward to you passing out again, but here you are! On your own two feet! I am so proud!"

Elara laughs softly, tired and achy all over but also very proud of herself.