The corridor leading out of the Trial of Qi was narrower than before. The walls closed in, smooth and cold to the touch, forcing us to walk in single file. Our footsteps echoed as though the mountain itself listened.
There were no torches now, only soft pulses of light embedded in the stone at shoulder height. They flared faintly with each step, responding to our presence, guiding us deeper into the heart of Mount Hwa.
No one spoke. We were conserving energy now. Not out of exhaustion, but readiness. Every part of me felt alert—not tense, but alive. My senses had stretched outwards, guided by the rhythm of my breath and the flame I'd kindled inside during the Trial of Qi.
We emerged into a different kind of chamber. Not a cavern, not a hall. This space felt alive.
It was a forest.
Or the memory of one.
Massive roots coiled along the walls. Tree trunks, petrified and faintly glowing, rose into a ceiling hidden by mist. The floor was uneven earth, covered in moss and small stones. Pockets of shadow moved even without wind.
A voice spoke from all directions.
"Trial of Movement. Not speed. Not stealth. Instinct. Awareness."
So-Yeon muttered beside me, "It's never what you expect."
Dan grinned. "That's why it's fun."
The light dimmed. A path lit faintly ahead—twisting, narrow, broken in places by roots and uneven rock. No sign of where it ended.
Then the mist shifted, and something moved.
Figures. Dozens of them, born from the shadows. Not like the mirrored opponent from the Trial of Steel—these were faster, smaller, fluid. They didn't wait. They attacked.
I ducked instinctively, the first strike passing over my head. I rolled and swept my blade in a wide arc, forcing two shadows back. They didn't bleed. They dissolved into mist, then reformed.
This wasn't a fight to win.
It was a test of movement.
I shifted my stance. Wide at first, like I always fought. Then I remembered So-Yeon's drills—tight steps, pivots, using terrain.
I moved sideways instead of forward. Let the shadows come. Then slipped between them, like water flowing around stone.
My blade moved more to guide than to strike. I knocked a root aside, leapt from a broken ledge, and landed in a crouch between two columns of light.
The world narrowed. Each breath aligned with each step. It was like dancing, but to a rhythm I hadn't heard until now.
Behind me, I heard Dan roaring—his footsteps loud but strangely precise. He was using his weight like a hammer, not to destroy, but to shake the forest around him into exposing paths.
So-Yeon was quieter. She vanished into the mist often, only to reappear above or behind a shadow, never lingering in one place long.
I found myself smiling.
We were different. But we were each moving like we'd found the pulse of the mountain.
A final gap opened in the path. The mist cleared, revealing a narrow bridge made of twisting vines.
The shadows halted. They didn't follow.
We crossed together, the vines swaying gently but holding firm. At the far side, a wall of carved stone awaited us, etched with symbols none of us could read.
They glowed faintly, then parted.
Beyond, a chamber of stone—no illusions, no mist. A fire pit in the center. Three mats.
Rest.
We sat. Not because we were told to, but because the silence asked us to pause.
I could feel my pulse still racing, but slower than before. Steadier.
Three trials passed. One remained.
Endurance.
I closed my eyes. Not to sleep. But to listen to the silence between my breaths. It spoke of strength that didn't shout. Of motion that didn't boast.
The kind of strength that endured.
I was almost ready.
Almost.