Chapter fifteen: my imaginary being

Freya's pov

“You resisted the throne,” it said, voice amused. “That’s what called me. Not taking power is power. Restraint is rare. But now, I wonder... will you show the same strength again?”

Finnick stepped in front of me. “Back away from her.”

Riven tilted its head. “Ah, the broken Alpha. Still clinging to his little mate. So loyal. So... weak.”

Then it turned those hollow eyes on me. “Let me show you what loyalty costs.”

And without warning—it moved. A blur of smoke and blade. Finnick blocked just in time, but the impact flung him into a tree. He crumpled, groaning. I screamed, throwing my hands forward, magic bursting from my palms.

Silver fire.

It hit Riven in the chest—but passed through it.

Like smoke, shadow. Riven hissed, amused. “Nice trick. But spirit magic only works on those with souls.”

And then it lunged at me. I dove, rolled, barely missed its claws.

My mark burned hotter. Almost blistering.

I grabbed the dagger from my belt—the one I took from the first trial, forged in old magic—and slashed. This time, the blade bit.

Riven reeled back, shrieking in fury. I didn’t hesitate. I slashed again, carving a line across its chest. Smoke bled from the wound like ink in water.

But the wound closed almost instantly.

“You cannot kill what was never alive,” Riven snarled. My breath hitched. “Then what are you?” It leaned in, face almost touching mine.

“I am what’s left when a soul chooses fear over love. Power over heart. I am the death of empathy. The birth of ruin.”

Its hand reached out, and I couldn’t move. My limbs froze. It touched my mark. And suddenly—I saw everything.

Burning kingdoms. Fallen wolves. My face twisted in rage. Finnick’s body on the altar. Blood soaked earth, I screamed.

And the vision broke.

I collapsed, shaking. Cold all over. My heart thudding like a drum of war.

Riven straightened. “You are more than Luna, Freya. You are a vessel. And the war is only beginning.”

Then it faded, smoke unraveling. But before it vanished completely, it whispered:

“The third trial waits. And it will break you.” The shadows peeled back, The forest returned.

Finnick groaned and pushed to his feet, limping toward me. “Freya! Are you okay?

I nodded shakily. “It touched the mark. It—showed me something.”

His eyes were wild with concern. “What did you see?”

“Everything,” I whispered. “It knows what’s coming.”

I looked down at the mark on my arm. It had spread—now curling around my wrist like a bracelet of ink.

“We have to move,” Finnick said. “Before it returns.” I forced myself up, leaning on him. “Where?”

“To the temple ruins,” he said. “That’s where the third trial lies.”

But even as he spoke, I felt it, Something was wrong, too quiet, too... still, then—I heard it.

A second howl, Not like before...Lower_ Hungrier, And this time—it wasn’t alone. All around us, the trees began to tremble. Dozens of glowing eyes lit the dark, Wolves But not living ones. Spirit wolves, Twisted, Controlled.

The dead come back, not by nature but by force. “They’re not supposed to be here,” Finnick breathed. I drew my blade, even though I knew it would do little.

From the shadows stepped a woman. Dressed in crimson robes_Eyes like molten gold_Magic seeping from her skin.

And on her brow—a crown of bone.

She smiled. “Hello, Freya,” she said. “I’ve been waiting.” I didn’t recognize her, but she knew me.

Finnick raised his sword again. “Who are you?”

The woman laughed, cold and rich. “I am the Third Trial.” And then the spirit wolves charged.

We ran.

Through the trees, over roots and rocks, the sound of claws and snarls close behind. Magic burned in my veins, but it was wild, unsteady. I could barely hold it.

“Keep going!” Finnick shouted. “Don’t stop!”

The trees opened into a wide clearing. In the center stood the old ruins—twisted stone and broken arches, half-buried in earth.

We made it to the edge—but the wolves were already there. Surrounding us.

The woman in crimson stepped between them, calm and smiling.

“You thought the second trial was hard?” she said softly. “This one... this one is made to break you.”

Behind her, a shape rose from the ruins, Huge. Cloaked in ash_ Eyes like fire, Not a beast. A god. I turned to Finnick, eyes wide. “What do we do?” I whispered but there was no answer.

Because behind me, Something breathed. 

I didn’t want to turn around.

Every instinct stinging on me to run, to hide, to make myself little and silent. But I couldn’t, not with Finnick beside me, not with whatever this was lurking so close I could feel the heat of its breath right on my neck.

Slowly, I turned.

It stood few inches away towering, wrapped in tattered robes that moved like smoke. Its face was veiled in shadow, but its eyes... they burned like twin moon, staring straight into me. No, not just at me. Through me and my heart raced.

My knees nearly gave out.

The woman in crimson spoke again, her voice silk over steel. “You’re not afraid of death, Freya. That’s not your weakness.”

I tried to steady my breath, but it came in shallow bursts. “Then what is?”

She tilted her head, gaze gleaming brighter. “Hope.”

A splash of power struck me square in the chest. I flew backward, landing hard on stone. Pain splintered through my spine. Finnick lunged forward, slashing at the nearest spirit wolf, but they didn’t fall. Not even with steel through their chests. They just kept coming.

I pushed myself up, vision blurring. The god-like figure stepped forward from the ruins. Its voice rumbled like thunder caught in a bottle.

“You seek answers. Truth. But you are not ready to bear them.”

My mark blazed. I gritted and hardened my teeth, holding back a scream. Magic surged under my skin, wild and cracking. The kind of power that begged to be unleashed—but not without a cost.

“Then make me ready,” I snarled.

The woman laughed again, deeper this time. Almost delighted. “Very well.”

The wolves didn’t attack. Not yet. They parted, and from between them stepped a child. A girl, no older than ten.

Pale, barefoot, in a dress made of ash and smoke. Her eyes were mine and my breath caught.

She walked toward me, silent, staring. And when she stood just before me, she whispered, “You let me die.”

I shook my head, chest tight. “I...i don’t know you”

“But you will,” she said. “And when the time comes, you’ll choose wrong.”

Finnick shouted something I couldn’t hear over the roaring in my ears. My heart.

The mark on my arm pulsed again, this time spreading. Black vines of ink curling up my shoulder, wrapping around my collarbone. The trial, it wasn’t just a test. It was a warning and a promise.

The child dissolved into smoke. Gone, The wolves started forward again. Slowly, Purposefully.

Finnick was bleeding now, a gash on his arm soaking his sleeve. He stood in front of me, sword raised.

The woman held out her hand. A flick of her fingers—and the ground split. A chasm tore through the center of the clearing, dividing us from the ruins.

I reached for Finnick but the ground shook, and we were pulled apart. He fell one way and i the other. I screamed his name but the shadows swallowed him, Then silence.

I fell to my feet, eyes burning with tears I didn’t remember dropping tears. The woman appeared again, on my side of the rift. Her smile gone.

“This trial is yours, Freya. You must face it alone.”

I trembled back, gripping the dagger tighter. “I won’t give in.” She raised her brow. “You already are.” And then everything shifted.

The forest melted. The sky cracked open. I was standing in the ruins—but they were whole again. Glorious. Lit with golden fire before me, stood a throne carved from bone and obsidian.

Empty.

I heard footsteps behind me—but when I turned, it wasn’t Finnick.

It was me.

A version of me in armor, crown on her head. Cold. Unfeeling. Blood dried on her hands. And behind her stood the child. Watching.

“I took the throne,” my reflection said. “And the world burned for it.”

“No,” I said. “That’s not me. I *won’t* become that.”

“But you already have,” she whispered. “You just haven’t realized it yet.”

She raised her hand and the world cracked.

Flames erupted from the ground. Screams filled the air. I smelled smoke and blood and ash.

My mark pulsed like a heartbeat. I cried out, clutching my head.

“No more!” I screamed. “Stop this!”

But they didn’t stop.

Because the trial wasn’t over.

The world fell away again. Darkness wrapped around me like a blanket. And in the center of it all stood the god from before. Closer now. Clearer.

It knelt beside me.

“You want to survive the war, Freya?” it asked, voice low. “Then you must end it.”

I looked up. My body shook.

“How?” I whispered. It smiled and placed something in my hand, a key Old and Heavy_ Cold as death.

“To pass the third trial,” it said, “you must choose who dies.” I stared at the key and behind me—I heard a voice.

“Freya?”

Finnick, Alive but barely but turned toward the sound and saw someone else stumbling forward from the trees.

Lyra.

Bloodied. Weak. But alive, My heart cracked, Because there was only one door, and only one could follow me through, My fingers closed around the key and the shadows whispered— choose