The rumor of the Fifth Trial spread like dry straw catching fire.

  The arena filled with nervous glances, and even the merchants who had been hawking prices now whispered about warriors broken by the Pillar.

  Lukas stood silent, breathing deeply before the crowd.

  Sarya was a few steps ahead, alert as always — amber eyes scanning the arena.

  Valen, further back, wore that owner-of-the-world smile, shoulders broad beneath the Outono cloak.

  Then, firm footsteps echoed on stone.

  Dariam Fernandes entered with the guard of Casa Espadas. People parted instinctively. He carried arrogance in his cold gaze and in the measured movements of his body.

  His eyes landed on Sarya. The half-smile that curved his lips was enough to sour the air.

  — So it’s true… the Outono sent its little bitch to play with grown people.

  The remark spread across the arena. Some swallowed hard; others fell silent.

  Sarya did not move. She held her face steady.

  — Lord Espadas. Still as vulgar as I’ve heard, she replied.

  Dariam laughed under his breath. His gaze traveled across her tight armor without concealing intent.

  — Nice armor… tight. It must be hard to fight when everyone only wants to pull that off you.

  He licked his lips, cynical.

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  — Elves of the Outono always pride themselves on not belonging to anyone. But they all cry when someone teaches them otherwise.

  Silence weighed heavily. Even the guards glanced away, embarrassed.

  Then Lukas stepped forward. His fist clenched; his voice came out cold as blade.

  — Open your mouth again… and I’ll break your teeth.

  The air trembled. The crowd held its breath.

  Dariam turned his head slowly toward him, curious.

  — The bastard can bark… interesting. — The half-smile returned. — But watch out, little brother. The next trial can take more than teeth. It can take your soul.

  He backed away, venom still hanging in the air.

  Sarya breathed in, steady, but Lukas saw the tension in her neck.

  Before he could speak, Valen moved forward. His smile was not vulgar — it was cold, possessive. His red eyes bored into Dariam.

  — You speak too much, said the heir of Outono. — The Huntress is not a plaything for your House.

  Then, turning his tone vicious as he looked at Lukas: — Nor for your cheap heroism.

  The atmosphere thickened. Sarya averted her eyes, silent, but everyone felt the thread of rivalry tug at the air.

  The Arauto perceived the weight of the moment and struck his golden staff on the ground.

  — Silence! Competitors, approach the Pilar! The Crossing of Echoes will begin!

  The crowd erupted into applause, shattering the tension.

  At the center of the arena stood the Pilar do Julgamento — a black stone wrapped in coils of mana that writhed like invisible serpents.

  — Whoever touches the Pilar, proclaimed the Arauto, will face the echoes of themselves. Not their strength, not their sword, but their soul. Many fail. Few return.

  Lukas climbed the steps without hesitation. He placed his hand on the cold surface.

  The world went out.

  Sound vanished. Vision blurred. Before him appeared reflections — thousands of versions of himself:

  Lukas fallen, defeated.

  Lukas before the bodies of his brothers.

  Lukas kneeling while Sorriso burned.

  I’ve seen this before. I lived this hell.

  — It won’t break me, he murmured. — I came back to fix things.

  The images trembled. The Pilar vibrated. An invisible wall shattered like glass.

  When the light returned, Lukas was still there — standing, breathing steady, not a scratch on him.

  The entire arena fell silent.

  The Arauto raised his staff, voice solemn:

  — Lukas Fernandes has completed the Crossing of Echoes without being dominated!

  The stands exploded in applause.

  In the upper rows, Valen watched, his eyes flashing with something no one could read — envy, respect, or anger.

  Sarya, however, tilted her head slightly, an expression of reluctant recognition: respect.

  Dariam only clenched his jaw; the fake smile vanished.

  Inside Lukas’s mind, César murmured with pride:

  > “That’s it, brother. Show them what it means not to yield.”

  Morgana sighed, malicious:

  > “How sweet… but I still want to see you break. That will be far more delicious.”

  César shouted in the head: — Witch, shameless— (he barked in a mix of scolding and comic indignation).

  Lukas inhaled slowly, ignoring the heat crawling up his spine. He raised his chin, steady, while the crowd still chanted his name.

  In my past life… I fell. But now I am not the same. If fate wants to take me by surprise, let it come…

  End of Chapter 5