The weight of darkness pressed down on Skylar's chest, as if the shadows weren't just swirling around her, but seeping deep into her soul.
The distorted figure before her—the twisted shade of her foster mother—stepped closer, accusation burning in its lifeless gaze.
"Why did you abandon us, Skylar?" the warped, hollow voice repeated.
Skylar's lips trembled.
She knew this wasn't real, but the pain blossoming in her chest was sharp enough to feel real.
The shadows were manipulating her emotions, attacking her with the deepest wounds of her past.
Memories flashed through her mind: the hateful glares of the Eldkiwane islanders, the crushing hopelessness that haunted her childhood, the shame of years spent believing she held no power.
Beside her stood Nathaniel, his face twisted in anger and resistance as he battled his own shadow—a figure bearing his likeness, but colder, crueler.
Damian was no exception. He stood silently, jaw clenched tight, staring down the figure before him: a mirror image of himself, its every gesture and glance laced with a contempt deeper than any enemy's.
"You're not strong enough," whispered the dark Damian. "You never were."
Skylar shivered.
The shadows didn't just take form—they planted thoughts, sowing doubts that had always lurked deep within them.
It was growing harder to resist, as the illusions sought to bury them under the weight of their own fears.
Skylar's mouth felt dry.
She couldn't let this break her.
She closed her eyes, forcing herself to summon one memory—the moment she had first felt her power, when water and wind bent to her will.
That had not been an illusion.
That had been real.
"No," she whispered, then opened her eyes.
The air around her shifted, as if her determination had unsettled the very fabric of the shadow realm.
The distorted foster mother staggered back, for the first time seeming unsure of its own existence.
"You are not real," Skylar said more firmly now.
"And you have no power over me!"
As she spoke, the wind rose sharply around her, and the shadows began to churn, as if the world itself struggled to decide who would prevail.
A flame ignited in Skylar's heart—a fierce, defiant hope: if she could withstand this trial, maybe they all could.
But would the others find the strength to do the same?
The wind churned more fiercely around Skylar, as if her sheer determination was shaping the very elements.
The dark shadowy figures trembled, and the ground itself pulsed beneath them, as if the Realm of Shadows could feel that something had changed.
Damian's mirror image still stood before him, icy contempt flashing in his eyes.
"You can deny it, but you know I'm right," the dark figure hissed. "You will never be strong enough."
Skylar watched Damian's face—he stood rigid, as if fighting an internal battle against himself.
But when their gazes met, she caught a flicker of recognition—a silent message: he wouldn't allow this shadow to defeat him.
"Shut up," Damian said, his voice calm, yet so charged with power that the shadow figure faltered.
In the next instant, Damian raised his sword and with a single, decisive strike, cleaved through his dark twin.
The shadow screamed and then evaporated into black smoke.
Skylar's heart thundered in her chest.
If Damian could do it... maybe they all could.
Nathaniel moved next, stepping towards his own shadowy double, who watched him with a mocking smile.
But Nathaniel didn't attack.
He simply stepped closer, jaw clenched, and spoke with unwavering certainty:
"You are not me."
The shadow's eyes widened, as if the truth itself unraveled its existence.
A heartbeat later, it let out a distorted scream and vanished into nothingness.
Skylar knew her moment had come.
The twisted image of her foster mother still stood before her, whispering accusations, trying to claw into her mind.
But Skylar knew the truth now.
"I didn't abandon you," she said quietly, yet firmly. "You turned away from me."
The weight of her words rippled through the shadow figure.
Its twisted expression faltered, contorted by a sudden, unwilling understanding.
Then its body unraveled, dissolving into the mist, gone forever.
The wind began to die down.
The dark energy saturating the Realm of Shadows weakened, thinning like mist under the morning sun.
Skylar glanced around at the others—they all stood victorious, but drained.
Damian gave a slow, approving nod. "We did it."
But before they could even begin to feel relief, the ground beneath them shuddered violently.
From the distance, a deep, echoing voice rumbled:
"You may have passed this trial... but the true battle is only just beginning."
And then, the world around them fractured once more.
The shadow creatures attacked from all directions, and Skylar's arms were already numb from the constant defense. Water and wind formed at her command, but the creatures didn't vanish—they merely scattered, only to reform again from the swirling darkness.
Damian and Nathaniel fought back-to-back, their movements sharp and relentless as the dark energies kept manifesting new, grotesque shapes around them.
No matter how many they destroyed, more kept appearing, as if the shadows were endless and ever-shifting.
Skylar stumbled backward, gasping for breath.
She felt it in her bones—something was wrong.
The water and wind were effective, but not powerful enough.
It was becoming clearer with every strike: these creatures weren't simply reacting to the elements—they were exploiting their weaknesses.
Then, without warning, one of the shadow forms burst from the gloom, lunging straight at her.
Skylar instinctively threw up her hands, summoning a wall of water—
but the shadow tore through it as if it didn't even exist.
For a heart-stopping moment, panic gripped her, freezing her in place—
and then something flared deep within her chest.
Not the usual cool current of water magic—
this was something else.
Wild.
Untamed.
A single ember, glowing bright red, sparked from her fingertips—
and in the next instant, the world around her ignited in flames.
The shadow creature that had lunged at her recoiled as the fire surged over it.
The darkness screamed as if the flames were searing its very existence, and then, writhing and shrieking, it disintegrated into ash.
Skylar stared at her fingers in shock, still glowing with a fierce red light.
The fire blazed within her—hotter, fiercer, and more intense than anything she had ever felt before.
"Fire!" she gasped. "I can summon fire!"
Nathaniel glanced back at her, his face frozen in astonishment.
"That might be the only thing that can truly destroy them!" he shouted.
For a brief second, a strange flicker passed through Damian's eyes—
but there was no time for questions.
Skylar could feel the flames obeying her will, burning at her command.
The heat pouring from her wasn't just destructive anymore—it was hope.
She stepped forward and unleashed a raging inferno from both palms, sweeping the battlefield.
The shadow creatures shrieked as the fire engulfed them—and this time, they didn't reform.
The fire was the key.
But why had it only now awakened?
And what other powers still slept within her, waiting to be unleashed?
Skylar's body sagged, and the flames around her slowly died out.
A final, ragged sigh escaped her lips before her knees gave way and she collapsed to the ground.
Her hands still glowed faintly red, embers flickering between her fingers, as if the newly awakened power was reluctant to leave her entirely.
Then everything fell silent.
Damian was at her side in an instant, his sword still ready in hand, though now he focused not on battle, but on her.
Skylar's face was pale, her breathing shallow, but she was alive.
She had given too much, drained herself completely.
"Dammit," Damian muttered under his breath as he quickly knelt beside her and shook her gently by the shoulder.
"Skylar! Wake up!"
No response.
Nathaniel rushed over too, casting a worried glance over his shoulder at the swirling remnants of the shadow creatures.
Most of them had vanished under Skylar's flames, but the darkness hadn't fully dispersed.
The mysterious figure who had commanded the shadows still lingered in the distance, watching them silently—almost as if savoring the sight.
"We need to get out of here," Nathaniel hissed. "Sky's completely drained, and we don't know when that cursed shadow mage will strike again."
Damian gritted his teeth and nodded grimly.
He knew it too—if they stayed any longer, they might never leave this place.
Yet, as he cradled Skylar's limp form in his arms, something unfamiliar stirred inside him.
Until now, he had seen her as nothing more than an irritating recruit, a source of needless trouble.
But now... something had changed.
Damian tightened his grip around Skylar's arm and effortlessly lifted her onto his back.
She felt light as a feather, her head resting against his shoulder, her fiery red hair cascading over his armor like a waterfall of flame.
"Don't you dare die on me," he muttered under his breath. "We fought too damn hard to get this far."
Nathaniel gave a tense nod.
"I know a safe place nearby. We have to move. Fast."
Damian cast one last glance toward the shadowy figure in the distance, who still watched them, as if awaiting the next move in a deadly game of chess.
"Then let's move," he growled, and with Skylar on his back, he sprinted toward the only path leading out of the darkness.
Damian felt Skylar's weight against his shoulder, but he didn't slow down.
The darkness still moved around them; the shadows hadn't vanished completely.
It was as if they were being watched, waiting for the perfect moment to strike again.
"How much farther?" Damian growled as they sprinted through the trees, Nathaniel keeping pace beside him.
"Not much!" Nathaniel answered, but tension vibrated in his voice.
He knew as well as Damian that they were running out of strength—and if Skylar didn't wake up soon, they wouldn't stand a chance in the next fight.
The ground beneath their feet occasionally trembled, as if the very world of Shadows was trying to pull them back.
The branches above were eerily still, yet something moved consistently in the darkness.
Damian clenched his teeth.
The adrenaline kept him going, but he knew they couldn't keep this up much longer.
Skylar let out a faint moan on his back, but still showed no signs of waking.
Suddenly, Nathaniel yanked him sideways—just in time to avoid a black tendril that shot up from the ground, aiming for his ankle.
Damian spun around, slicing the sticky black mass with a sharp swing of his sword.
The tendril recoiled with a shriek, retreating into the ground—but it didn't disappear entirely.
"They're not going to just let us walk out of here," Nathaniel hissed.
"Then we'll outrun them!" Damian snapped and pushed himself to move even faster.
A few minutes later, they reached a cave-like opening in the earth, its walls faintly illuminated by amber-colored crystals.
"This is it," Nathaniel panted. "It'll hide us for a while."
Damian didn't hesitate.
He stepped into the shelter without question.
As they moved deeper inside, the entrance behind them slowly sealed shut, as if the crystals themselves were responding to their presence.
The shadows of the outside world were left behind—at least for now.
Skylar slid from Damian's back to the ground, and for the first time, he got a good look at her face.
She was pale, her forehead slick with sweat, and her breathing still shallow.
A faint warmth radiated from her body, the last traces of her fire magic flickering dimly within her—but exhaustion had claimed her completely.
"We need to find out what happened to her," Nathaniel said, kneeling beside her. "It's no accident she can control three elements."
Damian silently watched her.
The fire he had seen during the battle wasn't just a new ability—it came from somewhere deeper.
Something even he didn't fully understand.
But one thing he knew for certain: Skylar was no ordinary warrior.
And the enemy knew it too.