I barely ducked in time as my own reflection lunged at me, its arms shifting into jagged tendrils of storm-forged glass. The sound of its passage whistled past my ear, close enough that I felt the disturbed air tickle my earlobe.
It moved like me, but not exactly.
Faster. More erratic. Like it had been unshackled from the limits of flesh and bone
Around me, the arena had descended into mayhem. Students locked in combat with their own personal nightmares, each Echo uniquely forged from the elements of the Crucible and the darkest corners of its opponent's mind. Some fought with desperate fury, others had frozen in terror. A few of the more cunning tried outsmarting their reflections, a futile effort against an opponent who knew every strategy you'd ever conceived.
My Echo circled me like a predator, matching my defensive stance with a mocking smile that was all wrong on my face. Its movements left trails of crackling energy in the air, like afterimages burned into reality itself.
"You look tired, Asher," it said, and the sound of my own voice coming from its mouth sent shivers down my spine. "But then, you're always tired, aren't you? Always one step behind. Always the one who barely scrapes by."
I didn't answer, keeping my guard up, watching for the next attack. My legs trembled with exhaustion, my arms felt like lead, and every breath sent spikes of pain through my bruised ribs. My journey through the elemental chaos had taken its toll, and now I had to fight... myself?
The Echo lunged again, feinting left before slashing at my right side. I twisted away, but not quickly enough. Pain flared across my ribs as one of those glass-sharp fingers opened a shallow cut. A warm trickle of blood seeped into my already ruined shirt.
"Too slow," it taunted, now standing where I had been a moment before. "Always too slow. They shouldn't have let you in here, you know. Your acceptance was a clerical error at best. A cosmic joke at worst."
I launched a counterattack, a desperate combination of punches and the fire spell I'd barely managed to learn. The Echo laughed, my laugh, but hollow, as it effortlessly avoided each blow. The fire spell splashed harmlessly against the stone floor, its embers scattering like dying stars.
"That's the best you can do?" it asked, voice dripping with disappointment. "No wonder you're everyone's least favorite underdog."
Then it spoke again, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Do you remember?"
The arena blurred around me, colors smearing like wet paint. The cacophony of battle faded, replaced by a distant, familiar sound.
Suddenly, I was six years old again, in the small garden behind my house. The scent of summer grass mixed with the faint aroma of my mother's cooking drifting from the open window. The sky was painted in soft oranges and pinks, the perfect backdrop to a childhood memory.
But something was wrong.
The colors bled too vividly. The warmth felt artificial, like heat from a lamp instead of the sun. The laughter echoing in the distance was mine, but stretched, distorted, like a record played backward.
Then I heard her voice.
"Asher, sweetheart, come inside. It's not safe out here."
I turned. She was there, or at least something wearing her face was. Her smile was too wide, her eyes too hollow. My chest tightened, a weight pressing down harder than gravity itself. This wasn't my mother. It was an Echo, crafted from my deepest memories, twisted into something cruel.
Just an Echo, wearing her voice. Wearing her smile.
Behind me, I heard a chorus of screams. Other students, frozen in place, trapped in their own memories, whispering to people who weren't there. Some attacked their own shadows, eyes wide with horror. Others just collapsed, clutching their heads, mumbling words that didn't make sense.
"You never belonged here," it whispered, morphing slowly from my mother's appearance to my own, its voice blending disgustingly between both voices, "You're just a mistake they haven't noticed yet. A cosmic anomaly that needs to be corrected."
I staggered back, heart racing. The worst part wasn't the venom in its words, it was the recognition. These weren't lies. They were truths I'd buried deep, spoken aloud by a monster wearing my face.
"Look at them," the Echo gestured to where Soren Valdris stood, already having defeated his reflection, barely breaking a sweat. "They were born for this. You? You were a footnote, Asher. A name that should have been crossed off the list. A flaw in the universal equation."
My knees buckled as another memory assaulted me. Eight years old, watching other children summon their first successful spells while mine fizzled and died. Ten years old, being picked last for magical dueling practice. Thirteen, hearing my teacher tell my parents in hushed tones that perhaps my talents lay... elsewhere.
"And me?" the Echo continued, its form flickering between elements, "I'm what you could be if you weren't so pathetically limited. I'm the version of you that deserves to be here."
I dropped to one knee, gasping for breath. The arena floor was cold against my palm as I braced myself, trying not to collapse completely. The pain from my physical wounds seemed distant now, overshadowed by something far worse.
"I could take your place," it offered, voice almost gentle. "No one would notice. No one would care. And you could rest, Asher. You could finally stop trying so hard to be something you're not."
The offer was tempting, a siren song promising release from the constant struggle.
The ground beneath me seemed to soften, ready to swallow me whole. I closed my eyes, feeling myself sinking. It would be so easy to let go.
But then, I heard her voice again. Not the Echo's twisted mockery, but the real one. A memory, bright and stubborn, cutting through the storm.
"You'll do well." The words came firm, unshaken, like a truth she had always known.
The chill in the air. The way my mother's hands found my face warm, steady. Her breath, then the press of her lips against my forehead, lingering. Fingertips tightening.
Then the strong, calloused hand on my shoulder and its immense weight, transcending the need for words.
The Echo's grip on my chin tightened painfully. "They lied to you," it snarled, sensing my resistance. "Parents always lie to spare their children's feelings. They knew you were nothing special."
"Maybe I'm not," I whispered, my first words since this nightmare began.
The Echo's eyes widened slightly, uncertain.
"Maybe I'm not special," I continued, voice growing stronger. "Maybe I'm exactly what you say I am. Average. Ordinary. A mistake."
I pushed myself up, forcing the Echo to release its grip and step back. "But you know what? I've never pretended to be anything else."
The Echo's form wavered, ripples of uncertainty disrupting its perfect mimicry of me. "You don't belong here," it insisted, but the words lacked their former conviction.
"Neither do you," I countered, standing fully now, shoulders straight despite the pain lancing through my body. "You're just echoing my darkest thoughts. My worst fears. But here's the funny thing about fears…"
I took a step forward, and to my surprise, the Echo took a step back.
"…they only have power when you run from them."
Around us, the arena flickered, the memory-trap weakening. I caught glimpses of other students, some still fighting, others triumphant, a few fallen. But I kept my focus on my reflection, my enemy, myself.
"I know exactly who I am," I continued, taking another step. "I'm not Soren Valdris. I'm not that girl from the Crescent Isles. And I'm definitely not Elias Aurellian."
The Echo's form was becoming unstable now, shifting between elemental states with increasing frequency. It snarled, its version of my face contorting with rage. "Then what are you? A nobody. A nothing. A…"
"I'm Asher Ardent," I cut it off. "The kid with terrible luck and average magic who is currently partaking the admissions exam for the most prestigious magical academy in the world. Maybe I don't deserve to be here…"
I was close enough now to see the fear in its chaotic eyes.
"But I'm here anyway. And I'm not going anywhere."
The Echo lashed out with desperate fury, its arm transforming into a blade of pure elemental energy. I didn't dodge this time. I met it head-on, catching its wrist with my hand. Pain erupted where we touched, like grabbing a live wire, but I held firm.
"You think I don't know I'm flawed?" I asked through gritted teeth. "You think I don't lie awake every night wondering if I'm good enough? Strong enough? Smart enough? I tell myself these things every day."
The Echo tried to pull away, but I held tight, even as my palm blistered from the contact.
"The difference between us is that I don't let it stop me. I accept these truths, and I keep going anyway. I want to be better, not to prove anything to anyone else, but because I want more from myself."
Something was happening to the Echo now. Cracks appeared across its surface, lines of gold light splitting its form like a breaking mirror. It thrashed wildly, trying to escape, but I wouldn't let go.
"You can't destroy me with my own doubts," I said, my voice steady now despite the agony in my hand. "Because I already face them. Every. Single. Day."
The Echo let out a howl as the cracks spread across its entire form. Through the fissures, I could see not darkness but light, blindingly bright.
"I'm not here to be the best," I told it, meeting its gaze without flinching. "I'm here to be me."
With a final, desperate effort, the Echo tried to plunge its other hand into my chest. I caught that wrist too, completing the circuit between us. Energy surged through my body, setting every nerve ending on fire.
It wasn't a battle of strength.
It was a battle of belief.
And I believed in me.
The Echo shattered on impact, its form unraveling like ash in the wind. The release of energy knocked me backward, sending me sprawling across the arena floor. For a moment, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
Then, slowly, painfully, I pushed myself up onto my elbows.
The arena had cleared. The Echoes were gone, leaving behind a battlefield littered with exhausted students. Some stood victorious, others helped their fallen classmates. Some never got back up. Their Echoes had consumed them, reflections of doubt made manifest.
I forced myself to my feet, swaying slightly. My right hand was burned badly where I'd gripped the Echo, blisters already forming across my palm and fingers. My clothes were torn, blood seeping from half a dozen minor cuts. Every muscle screamed in protest.
But I was still here.
I caught sight of Professor Zephyr watching from the center of the arena, his golden eyes unreadable. For a brief moment, our gazes met, and I swore I saw something there, not approval, exactly, but perhaps a flicker of interest.
"The second section is complete," his voice rang out across the arena. "Those still standing may proceed to the final trial."
The black stone beneath our feet began to shift, rearranging itself to form a pathway leading toward what appeared to be a massive gate carved from a single piece of obsidian.
I took a deep breath, wincing at the pain in my entire being, and started walking. Each step was agony, but I kept moving.
Behind me, I heard a familiar voice call my name. I turned to see Finn jogging toward me, looking nearly as battered as I felt.
"You made it," I said, unable to keep the relief from my voice.
"Barely," he replied, falling into step beside me. "My Echo was... convincing."
"Yeah," I agreed. "Mine too."
We walked in silence for a moment, both processing what we'd experienced.
"What did you see?" Finn asked quietly. "When it showed you... whatever it showed you?"
"The truth," I answered simply. "That I don't belong here."
Finn nodded slowly. "And yet here you are."
I glanced at him, surprised by the genuine respect in his voice.
"Here I am," I agreed, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth despite everything. "For better or worse."
As we approached the gate to the final chamber, I couldn't help but wonder what fresh hell awaited us on the other side. But for the first time since arriving at the Academy, I faced that uncertainty without the crushing weight of self-doubt.
I'd fought myself and won.
Whatever came next, I'd face it as Asher Ardent, average magic, terrible luck, and all.