Ancient Secret

Dorothy's world was pain.

The agony was unrelenting, a constant companion that blurred the line between waking and unconsciousness. Her body felt like it had been shattered and pieced together with fragile, trembling hands. The searing heat behind her left eye was a cruel reminder of the power she had unleashed—and the price she was paying for it.

When she dreamed, the images were fleeting and fragmented. She saw Mark's face, his crooked smile, and the way he'd always seemed so confident, even in chaos. She thought of the others she had left behind, their laughter and warmth fading like echoes. But the dreams offered no solace. The memories twisted into nightmares, and the weight of her failure dragged her further into the abyss.

When she woke, it was worse. The pain clawed at her chest and limbs, her muscles screaming at even the faintest movement. Her body refused to obey her, leaving her trapped in an endless cycle of suffering.

Kael and Arden were her only constants.

The camp had become a sanctuary of care, its once strict atmosphere transformed into something gentler. Kael and Arden alternated shifts, ensuring Dorothy was never alone.

Kael was precise in her care. The sharp-edged warrior who had once barked orders during training sessions now softened her tone to a quiet murmur as she wiped sweat from Dorothy's fevered brow. She worked tirelessly, preparing poultices and cooling compresses, her hands steady despite the exhaustion in her amber eyes.

"She's strong," Kael said one evening, her voice barely above a whisper as she dipped a cloth into cool water.

Arden sat across the fire, sharpening his blade with slow, deliberate movements. The flickering flames cast shadows across his face, highlighting the grim line of his mouth. "Strength has limits," he replied, his tone heavy. "And so does a vessel." His gaze flicked toward Dorothy, who lay motionless on the cot. "She shouldn't be alive."

Kael pressed the cloth against Dorothy's forehead, her jaw tightening. "She is," she said firmly. "And until she isn't, we'll do everything we can."

The first month was unbearable.

Dorothy's body thrashed against the pain, her screams echoing through the forest. The sound was raw, primal—a cry that seemed to come from the depths of her very soul.

Arden held her down during the worst of it, his hands firm but careful. He didn't speak, his stoic presence steadying even as his own doubts gnawed at him. Kael was always close, her voice low and soothing as she whispered words of comfort Dorothy was too far gone to hear.

"She's slipping again," Arden muttered one particularly brutal night, sweat dripping from his brow.

Kael knelt beside Dorothy, her hands trembling as she applied a fresh compress to her burning skin. "No," she said through gritted teeth. "She's holding on. She has to."

But Dorothy wasn't sure if she wanted to hold on.

In her rare moments of clarity, she thought of Mark and the others. What would they think of her now? Would they even know if she died here, deep in the forest? The thought haunted her, but the pain overwhelmed everything else. Some nights, as the fire crackled softly and the stars blinked above, she closed her eyes and wondered if it would be easier to let go.

By the second month, the worst of the fevers had passed. Dorothy no longer screamed in her sleep, though faint groans of pain escaped her lips. Her body, once wracked with violent tremors, had grown still, though fragile.

"She's stabilizing," Kael said one morning as she sat by Dorothy's side. Her voice carried a faint note of hope.

Arden, returning from a foraging trip with fresh herbs, crouched beside the cot. He studied Dorothy's face, noting the faint color returning to her cheeks. Her breathing, while shallow, was steady.

"Stabilizing isn't healing," he muttered, though his voice was softer than usual.

Kael glanced at him, her sharp features softening. "It's a start," she said simply.

What neither of them fully realized—at least, not yet—was that Dorothy's vessel was slowly repairing itself. Arden had begun to notice faint traces of Aura gathering within her, now filling nearly half her vessel. It was subtle, barely detectable, but it was there.

He didn't mention it to Kael. Not yet. Aura filling a vessel after such catastrophic damage was unheard of, and Arden wasn't sure what to make of it. How is this possible? he wondered, watching Dorothy's chest rise and fall in quiet rhythm.

By the third month, Dorothy could open her eyes for brief moments. Her limbs were still weak, her movements tentative, but the unbearable pain had dulled to a faint ache.

Kael hovered close, her sharp eyes watching for any sign of a relapse. "You're tougher than you look," she said one morning, her tone laced with a rare hint of warmth.

Dorothy's lips cracked into a faint smile. "Feels like... I've been trampled by a herd of elk," she rasped, her voice hoarse.

Kael chuckled softly. "You've looked worse."

Dorothy managed a weak laugh, though the weight of the past months still lingered. She thought of the trial, of the burning power in her eye, and the strange visions that haunted her dreams. The energy felt dormant now, but she could sense it—waiting.

Two days after waking, Dorothy asked to meditate.

Kael hesitated but relented. "You remember how to do this?" she asked as they sat cross-legged in a quiet clearing.

Dorothy nodded, her hands resting on her knees. "It's been a while, but... I remember."

"Good," Kael said. "Focus on your breath. Let the rest come naturally."

Dorothy closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. At first, her thoughts scattered, her mind still fogged from months of pain and weakness. But slowly, the rhythm of her breath steadied, and the haze began to clear. The familiar peace of meditation settled over her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt in control.

"You're still in there," Kael said softly, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Dorothy opened her eyes, meeting Kael's gaze. "I'm ready for more," she said.

A week later, Dorothy returned to light drills.

The first session was tentative. Arden handed her a wooden staff, his sharp gaze assessing her every move. "Take it slow," he said. "Let your body remember."

Dorothy nodded, her grip tightening on the staff. Her stance was shaky but determined. Arden struck first, his movements controlled and deliberate. Dorothy blocked the attack, though the force sent a jolt through her arms.

"Good," Arden said. "Again."

With each strike, Dorothy moved more fluidly. Her body seemed to anticipate his attacks, her movements faster and sharper than they should have been. Arden noticed it—the faint flicker of Aura as she dodged, the subtle enhancement in her speed and precision.

"She's using Aura," he thought, his brows furrowing. And she doesn't even realize it.

Arden pressed her harder, his strikes coming faster, but Dorothy adapted with ease. Her breathing was steady, her focus unbroken.

By the end of the session, Arden stepped back, lowering his staff. "Enough," he said, his voice gruff.

Dorothy frowned. "Why did you stop?"

Arden didn't answer immediately, his sharp eyes studying her. "You're improving," he said finally, though his thoughts raced. She's not just recovering. She's evolving.

That evening, as the fire crackled softly, Dorothy sat on the log, her hands resting on her knees, her eyes unwavering as she spoke. "I want to take the trial again."

Kael's expression hardened almost immediately, her amber eyes flashing with concern. "Are you sure about this, Dorothy? You've seen what happens when you push too hard. You nearly died just from the backlash of that power. The trial—it's not just about strength. It's about-facing parts of yourself you're not ready to confront."

Dorothy's gaze remained steady. She knew Kael was trying to protect her, but the desire to prove herself—to conquer the trial and her doubts—was too strong. "I know," she said, her voice firm, though it was tinged with exhaustion. "But I'm not the same person I was before. I've learned so much from you both. I've been through hell, but I'm still here."

Arden, who had been standing at the edge of the clearing, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, shifted his weight. He had been silent throughout their conversation, but now, his gaze fixed on Dorothy with an intensity that made her heart skip. "You've barely recovered," he said, his voice low but filled with a quiet urgency. "The trial doesn't care about what you've learned. It doesn't care if you're ready or not. You think the pain you went through before was bad? It'll be nothing compared to what it throws at you next. You're playing with fire, Dorothy. You could break. And I won't be there to pick up the pieces."

Dorothy's breath caught in her throat at the gravity in his words. She could see the concern etched into his features, though he was doing his best to mask it with his usual stoicism.

"I won't break," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "I can't. Not now. I've come too far."

Kael, who had been watching their exchange quietly, spoke again, her voice softer but still carrying the weight of her concern. "I get it, Dorothy. I understand more than you think. But you're asking for more than just another fight. This is a fight against everything you've been running from—yourself, your past, your power. You've seen what happens when that power goes unchecked. What happens when you can't control it." She paused, her gaze holding Dorothy's with a piercing intensity. "Isn't it enough to just survive for now? Can't you be content with what you've gained already?"

Dorothy's mind flashed back to the firestorm that had consumed her, the agony of that power surging uncontrollably, the burning pain. The fear that had gripped her heart. But in that moment, as she looked at Kael, something inside her sparked.

"I don't want to just survive," Dorothy said, her voice stronger now. "I want to understand. I need to know who I really am. The shadow in the trial—the one that mocked me—it was right in one way. I don't know what I am. I need to face it. I need to confront my fear of this power, of the trial. I can't keep running from it."

Arden sighed, his shoulders slumping as he let out a breath he'd been holding. "Then you're more stubborn than I thought." He gave her a small, grim smile, the kind of smile that suggested both resignation and admiration. "I can't stop you, can I?"

Kael crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. "I can't stop you either. But I can tell you this, Dorothy: You're not alone in this. We'll be there for you, no matter what. But don't fool yourself into thinking this will be easy. The trial will break you in ways you can't even imagine. And if you don't face it right, if you don't do it for the right reasons..." She shook her head, the weight of her words hanging between them. "You'll be left with nothing."

Dorothy met Kael's gaze and nodded solemnly. "I know," she said quietly. "But I have to try."

Arden's gaze softened, his stern exterior cracking just slightly. He walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You're a damn fool, you know that? But... I'll be there. Don't expect me to go easy on you, though."

Dorothy's lips twitched into a faint smile. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Kael sighed, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as well, though it was tinged with the same concern. "You're both insane. But if you're determined, then I'll stand by you. Just... be ready for whatever comes next."

Dorothy looked up at the two of them, her heart pounding in her chest. It felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on her, but for the first time in months, she didn't feel alone in this struggle.

"I'm ready," she whispered, the words carrying a quiet, yet unshakable resolve.

As the fire crackled softly in the background and the night stretched out before them, the three of them sat in silence, the decision made. Tomorrow, Dorothy would take the trial again. But this time, she would face it knowing she wasn't just fighting for herself