Chapter 165: The Realm Between Flames

The Gate pulsed—slow and deliberate, like the heartbeat of something ancient and watching.

Serena stood at the edge of the light, its ripples dancing around her boots. Her fingers trembled, not from fear, but from the sheer pressure of the choice before her.

Behind her, Elias reached for her wrist. “Are you sure about this?”

She looked back. “No.”

He nodded. “Good. If you were, I’d think you’d lost your mind.”

Serena almost smiled. Almost.

But the moment shattered when Darian's voice echoed from the heart of the Gate.

“Step forward, Spire-born. The realm awaits.”

The ground vibrated beneath her. The sigils around the Spire flickered as if reacting to the pull of the Gate. Lyra drew her blade again, taking a defensive stance at Serena’s side. “We’ll guard your body. You make sure you come back in it.”

Serena met her gaze. “I will.”

And then she stepped forward.

The world fell away.

There was no wind. No sky. No ground.

Only light.

And then—darkness.

It wasn’t cold or painful. It was… nothing. Pure, infinite nothingness. Until her feet found ground again—marble smooth and shimmering beneath a swirling silver sky. No sun, no stars, only a glowing thread stretching before her.

And Darian, waiting.

Here, in the Realm Between, he looked different. Not cloaked in arrogance or adorned in royal robes. He wore white, loose, like a monk. Barefoot. Still.

“Welcome,” he said. “To the heart of the Gate.”

Serena looked around. “So this is it? The test you spoke of?”

“No. This is not a test.” He took a step forward. “It’s a conversation. Between truths.”

The sky above them darkened—softly at first. Shapes began to emerge in the distance. Memories. Echoes. Fears.

Serena braced herself.

The first image came like a storm.

Her mother’s face—stern, beautiful, marked with battle scars. Her hands dripping with blood.

“You were never meant to lead,” her mother’s voice hissed.

Serena stepped back. “You’re not real.”

“No,” Darian said. “But she was. And some part of you believes her.”

She clenched her fists. “You think showing me pain makes you stronger?”

“No. I think you’ve buried your pain so deep, you’ve forgotten what it taught you.”

Meanwhile, in the physical realm, Serena’s body had gone still—eyes closed, arms slack at her sides.

“She’s under,” Mira said, watching closely. “Heart rate’s steady.”

Caine’s eyes shimmered. “But there’s pressure coming from the Gate. The air’s different. Thicker.”

Elias didn’t speak. He just tightened his grip on his sword.

“She’s strong,” Lyra said quietly.

“She’ll have to be,” Kael muttered. “Something’s coming through again.”

They turned toward the battlefield. The Gate behind Serena’s form had begun to glow again—this time jagged, erratic. Something else was pushing forward.

Another mimic.

But this one wasn’t like the last.

It wore a face none of them had seen before—twisted, cloaked in shadows, with long clawed fingers and a mouth sewn shut.

Mira stepped forward, summoning a barrier.

“Protect her,” Elias ordered. “No matter what.”

Inside the Gate realm, Serena stood in a hall of flickering illusions.

One moment she saw herself as a child—watching her father train, yearning to join him. The next, she was back in the throne room of the Spire, standing over Elias’s lifeless body.

She shook her head.

“No. This isn’t real.”

“But it could be,” Darian said gently. “You see the cost of your fire, Serena. You see what it devours.”

The illusion changed.

Now she was on the throne.

Alone.

The hall was empty. No Elias. No Lyra. No Mira. Just silence.

A crown rested on her head—burning red-hot.

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“I don’t want this,” she whispered.

Darian stood beside her now. “Then stop resisting.”

Serena turned to him, eyes wild. “Is this what you want? For me to break?”

“I want you to understand,” he replied. “The Gate is not your enemy. I am not your enemy. But you can’t wield power without pain.”

Serena’s chest tightened.

“What do you think I’ve been doing this whole time?”

Back outside, the mimic struck.

It was fast—inhumanly so. Mira’s barrier shattered on impact, sending her flying backward. Kael caught her mid-air and rolled into a defensive crouch.

Lyra lunged in, her blade glowing faintly with the sigils of the Spire. She aimed for the creature’s throat, but it twisted around her and struck with a bladed limb, slicing across her shoulder.

Elias stepped in, sword raised high, and with one brutal arc cleaved through the mimic’s chest. Black sludge hissed as it splattered across the ground—but the mimic didn’t fall.

Caine moved quickly, drawing a burning line of light with his palm and slamming it into the mimic’s back.

Only then did it scream—soundless, muffled by its sewn mouth—and finally collapse into ash.

They turned back to Serena.

Still motionless.

Still locked in the Gate.

“We don’t have much time,” Mira said, blood trailing from her nose. “Whatever’s happening in there, it’s getting worse.”

Inside the realm, the silver sky cracked.

Serena fell to her knees, vision spinning.

Darian knelt in front of her. “You’re not ready.”

She raised her eyes slowly. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“You’ll destroy everything.”

“Then let it burn,” she whispered, eyes blazing.

She summoned her flame—not from her hands, but from her heart.

It pulsed out in a wave, pushing the illusions back.

The throne shattered. The crown dissolved. Her mother’s ghost vanished.

Only Serena remained—on fire, glowing with golden light.

Darian stepped back, shielding his eyes.

“You’ve bound yourself to something you don’t understand,” he said. “The Gate didn’t choose you—it marked you because it feared you.”

“Then it should fear me more.”

Back in the Spire, her body flinched.

Elias stepped forward, voice low. “Serena… if you can hear me…”

Her fingers twitched.

Then her eyes opened.

But they glowed silver.