The midday sun bore down on Trial Island, casting jagged shadows over the craggy cliffs and jungle edges. Sweat clung to Ashen's brow, but he didn't wipe it away. His attention was locked on the narrow ridge ahead—a chokepoint leading to the second phase of the Trial, and the perfect place for an ambush.
Which meant it was exactly where the Church-trained "Chosen" would expect him to go.
He crouched behind a fallen log and narrowed his eyes. His breath was steady. He could hear the unnatural silence again—birds gone quiet, leaves unnaturally still.
They're waiting.
Ashen didn't need confirmation from the System, which still refused to recognize his presence. The Anathema's mark over his heart—three black, overlapping rings—pulsed faintly against his skin.
Unseen. Unblessed. Unbound.
But not alone.
"Scout," he muttered.
Behind him, a wiry figure emerged from the brush—skin sun-browned and hair buzzed close to the scalp. She looked like she hadn't slept in days, and maybe she hadn't.
"You were right," the girl said, voice rough from disuse. "Five of them. All Chosen. Two archers, two vanguards, and a caster."
Ashen nodded. "Kaleid's tactic. He wants to force a purge this early?"
"Or impress the observers." The girl's mouth curled bitterly. "You know, for 'Hero Points.'"
Ashen's jaw tensed. "He can have his points. We're going around."
The girl blinked. "But—"
"We'll use the southern ridge," Ashen said. "Climb the basalt cliffs before dusk. The mist should cover our movement."
"That's a death route," she hissed. "Even for us."
Ashen didn't blink. "Only if we're alone."
The girl studied him—really studied him—for the first time in hours. Her name was Renn, and like him, she was Unchosen. Left behind when the light from the sky didn't mark her. A statistical footnote in the Church's trial logs. Forgotten. Disposable.
And yet she was still here.
She met his gaze. "You've done this before."
Ashen turned toward the cliffs, already moving. "I've died before."
Two Hours Later
The basalt cliffs rose like the spine of some ancient creature, pocked with razor-thin ledges and unstable handholds. Mist drifted in from the sea, blanketing the lower levels with a cold fog.
Ashen's fingers were numb, but his grip was unwavering. He hauled himself onto a ledge, tested it with his boot, and turned to help Renn climb after him.
She cursed softly. "This is insane."
"Insanity's better than walking into Kaleid's blade," Ashen said.
She managed a breathless laugh. "You really hate that guy."
Ashen didn't answer. Not because he didn't have the words—but because he had too many. Memories flooded him—of Kaleid smiling as Ashen bled out on the battlefield, of crowds cheering for the man who ran when it mattered most.
The System had called Kaleid "The Beacon." The Chosen Savior. The Hero of Light.
But it never saw what Ashen saw.
"I hate what he represents," Ashen finally said.
Renn was quiet for a long time.
By the time they reached the upper ridge, the sun was dipping below the horizon, bleeding the sky in crimson and rust. They settled behind a cluster of jagged stones, catching their breath.
And then the voice came.
Not Ashen's. Not Renn's.
But hers.
"You survived the purge."
They turned.
A girl stood alone on the edge of the cliff. No aura. No divine light. Just cold steel strapped to her back and eyes too calm for her age.
Ashen moved protectively in front of Renn. "Name."
The girl cocked her head. "Eileen."
Ashen frowned. That name didn't match any of the early Trial survivors in his past life.
But the way she stood—balanced, still, waiting—reminded him of the church-trained enforcers. Except she bore no blessing. No system alignment.
A rogue? No, something different.
"You're Unchosen," he said.
Eileen nodded. "And unbroken."
Ashen's interest piqued. "Where's your team?"
"Dead." She didn't flinch. "They tried to follow the path of favor. The monsters didn't care."
Renn spoke up. "Then why are you here?"
Eileen stepped closer, eyes locking with Ashen's. "I saw what you did on the beach. You held back the corrupted boar without powers. You used terrain, not magic. You gave a dying man a painless death when the Chosen wouldn't touch him."
Ashen's fists clenched. "That wasn't supposed to be seen."
Eileen smiled faintly. "Most heroes don't expect to be seen when they do the right thing."
The words hit deeper than Ashen expected. A strange silence settled between the three. The sea wind moaned softly against the cliffs, and distant screams echoed from the jungle below. More Chosen falling to their own hubris.
Ashen broke the silence. "You came to join us?"
Eileen shrugged. "If you'll have me."
Ashen looked at Renn. She raised an eyebrow.
"She climbed a cliff to meet us unarmed. Girl's either suicidal or serious."
"Both," Eileen said, and sat cross-legged on the stone.
Ashen cracked a smile. Just barely.
Later That Night
A small fire crackled in the cliff alcove, carefully shielded with rocks to avoid detection.
Ashen, Renn, and Eileen sat around it in relative silence, chewing on smoked root-meat from a giant lizard Renn had knifed earlier. It tasted like rubber soaked in salt—but it filled their bellies.
Eileen finally broke the quiet. "You knew they'd ambush the chokepoint."
Ashen nodded.
"And you knew how to counter their caster formation."
Another nod.
Renn leaned forward. "I've been meaning to ask—how do you know so much?"
Ashen stared into the fire. For a moment, he considered lying.
But something in Eileen's gaze—steady, sharp, almost… ancient—made him pause.
"I've walked this path before," he said quietly. "Died at the end of it."
They said nothing. The crackle of flame filled the void.
Renn eventually whispered, "You're a regressor?"
Ashen didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
Eileen's expression didn't change. "Then you already know how this ends."
Ashen looked up. "I know how it did end. Doesn't mean it has to again."
Eileen looked away. "We're not Chosen, Ashen. We don't have fate behind us. Just blood and will."
Ashen met her gaze.
"That's all I need."
System Notification [Suppressed from Public Record]:
Anathema Trait Activated: "Echoes of Unseen Impact"You have diverted a predetermined death route.Consequence: Local fate matrix destabilized.Reward: +1 Resistance to Divine Intervention.
Elsewhere — The Observation Hall
Far above the Trial Island, in the mirrored chambers of the Observation Hall, dozens of cloaked figures watched through floating glass panels.
"Another one diverted," murmured a woman in crimson robes.
"Unacceptable," hissed a high priest. "That path should've culled him."
One panel zoomed in on Ashen, sitting beside the fire.
"He's gathering others," said another seer. "Unchosen. Ghosts in the script."
A hollow voice echoed from the far end of the hall.
"Let him."
The others turned. The Grand Scribe sat on his throne of runes, fingers folded.
"Let the False Hero play rebellion. The System always corrects anomalies."
One of the seers hesitated. "But he's—"
"A shadow," the Scribe said coldly. "The Chosen One shines brighter."
The panels shimmered. In another zone of the island, Kaleid stood on a rock, haloed in light, sword drawn above a pile of slain monsters. Applause rang from his interface.
+500 Hero PointsTitle Gained: "Beastslayer of the Shimmering Vale"Public Morale +12%
The Grand Scribe smiled.
"The world remembers glory," he whispered. "Not grit."
Back on the Island
Ashen stirred the fire one last time before letting it die to embers. His eyes wandered to the stars.
He remembered nights like this before. In another life. Another time.
Back then, he had friends beside him.
Back then, he believed the System was fair.
Now?
He turned to his two companions—neither blessed, neither safe, but both still here.
He didn't need prophecy.
He had choice.