The final words of the last update were just a little concerning.

Cheating isn’t cheating if it’s not against the rules?

Was that a message from an observer for his trials or a warning from the grand dungeon itself? Everyone knew that the places of power were more than they appeared, but was it really that sapient to warn him about his actions? Was it entertained enough to contact him? To tease him?

Any way he thought about it, Myles wasn’t really eager to find out which since every option meant worse things for him in his future. The last thing he wanted was to be center of attention for a bored dungeon of all things. However, he was happy to see he had gotten nearly all the points for that last trial.

Examining the numbers, Myles chuckled to himself. No, walking across a battlefield that was in no way not a battlefield wasn’t a wise move even if he got some points for it. If he had been wrong, he’d be dead right now or at the best sent back to the clay pool until he did what he was supposed to.

Thankfully, he’d reasoned right.

The second sign was indeed a set of directions, but they were sentences too— complete ideas separated by lines without a real rhyme, reason, or required order. They were just saying what needed done in the room, not the order they needed to be.

As his trial had shown, it hadn’t mattered the order he did the tasks in, only that he reached the gate on the other side. So, what if he reached the gate before he fought the over-sized stone monster?

Focusing in on the new area, he noticed how little there was to see.

The walls were traditional walls, more like a fog bank that went on in all directions around the rounded stone floor and rose into a dome of white mist so thick that it was like trying to navigate the Inner Sea on an early spring morning. The floor was made up of gleaming white tiles that shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow as the dim light danced off them at different angles.

Overall, it was sparse as far as he was concerned, and this time there was no gate to be seen.

Turning around and taking the rest of the area, Myles could confirm that the gate was nowhere on the platform and that there was no helpful sign to be found.

No direction, no guidance, no visible exit…. that couldn’t be good for his future health.

For the longest time, Myles just looked around into the mist that occasionally lapped at the edges of the platform and washed over it like a ghostly tide. He went as far as shoving his arms into the mist after nearly half an hour before he finally flopped to the ground in confusion.

What was he supposed to do?

Was this a punishment of some kind for the last trial?

Well at least if it was, it wasn’t actively trying to kill him.

With nothing better to do, Myles got back to his feet and began walking the length and breadth of the platform. His feet fell lightly on the white stone, but for one reason or another, he didn’t feel the same anxiety or worry he had in the first two rooms. The knot in his stomach just seemed to decide there were better things to worry about. Though his life could end at any moment, it was peaceful enough here to forget that fact.

For longer than he wanted to admit, he stood stared off into the rolling mist walls that gave off their dim light, watching as the tide made shapes and twisted before falling back into the endless expanse.

Then he turned back and saw the oven.

That had not been there before.

Myles was sure of it, yet there’d been no sound, not even so much as a bird’s breath. Even magic had a sound, and the silence was still unbroken bothered him deeply. Things didn’t just appear out of thin air.

Did they?

Taking a deep breath, he moved to examine the machine more closely.

The oven was just like the ones he’d used at home, creations of metal and stone that warmed the bread from all angles after the fires had started and crisped the crust to a warm, golden brown complexion. It was a familiar sight in this strange world, and he ran his hand across its warm body.

He turned again and smelled the fresh baked bread that now sat in the pans. Pans that had again come from nowhere.

Pans that were as familiar to him as the oven had been.

When curiosity got the better of him as it always did, Myles leaned closer and winced. They didn’t just look the same as the ones he knew. They were the same! In the side of one of the pans, Myles saw the same dents he’d put in them, and the familiar signs of a repair he’d attempted.

A smile crept across his face at that memory.

It’d been one of the first days on the job alone. He’d been working with his parents for weeks making the dough, separating it into pants, letting it rise, and cooking it until he knew the entire process by heart. He was so proud. He’d gotten the entire morning’s standing order done on his own.

Young Myles was beaming like a newborn star. He was so overjoyed at his success that he’d picked up the tray. Myles cringed at what came next, but he couldn’t help how that day went any more than he could change the tides or make yeast rise faster.

He laughed at how distracted he’d been working that he didn’t notice the mail slip through the drop until he was on top of it.

He blushed as Young Myles forgot everything about balance as he stacked the bread on his hopes of a letter that never came.

Then, Myles cringed as he remembered the sound of the crash, the words of the lecture, and the burn he still wore on the back of his left hand after he slammed it into the heat of the oven.

Then everything changed.

The world came alive with the tantalizing aromas of his youth. Fresh bread, whipped cream, cinnamon, spices, fruit, tarts of all flavors and designs, the smells of home assaulted him from every angle, making his eyes water at the unwanted memories. They hadn’t cooked tarts since his mother had passed.

The almost sickly-sweet scents didn’t abate with his tears. No, their attack continued as they began to strangle him.

The sweet aroma of fruit and cream wafted around his neck, polluted his nose, made his eyes tear all the more from their intensity.

They came from all around him and nowhere, and Myles flailed as he struggled for fresh air. He thrashed into the rack of breads, knocking them across and over the platform as the entire heap clattered to the floor, breaking the silence in a way only the panicked could.

The smell continued to plug his senses, choking his lungs and stealing his breaths as he fell against the oven, and he screamed as the temperature shot skyward against his flesh. His shirtless back sizzled like bacon in a pan as the impact threw the oven further than it should have. The clay top shattered, sending shards of burning wood and still living fire stone across another section of the floor.

The smell released him then, and Myles fell to his knees. His hands were barely fast enough to catch himself before the floor came rushing for his face, and he began gasping for air.

“It’s worse.”

Gasping for air, Myles did his best to find the voice. Just like the smells, the voice sounded form everywhere and nowhere at once, echoing around him in the same way that it shouldn’t. There was no one, nothing.

“What’s worse?” Myles choked out as soon as he could.

The voice was closer this time, he could practically feel it breathing down his neck as it whispered, “Everything.”

Myles thrashed out, hoping to catch whatever was behind him, but his arms connected with empty air. “Where are you!”

He felt a tap on the top of his head. “In here.”

Myles bit back a curse. “I don’t understand.”

“What trial is left?” the voice cooed, becoming more of a memory than a voice.

It was an easy answer, and it opened up more possibilities than he wanted to think about. “Spirit.”

“And what is part of your spirit, Myles?” It echoed. “What part of you could possibly know what you’re about to do is the worst decision you could make?”

Looking out over the spilled pan, feeling the seared flesh, and seeing the destruction of the memories he had, there was only one answer. “You’re my Class, aren’t you?”

There was a gentle warmth at the back of his mind as the voice spoke again. “I am. I’m the part of you that remembers how I served you so well. How we learned, the joy we had together…”

The scene around him began to populate again. The smell of cinnamon rolls wafted from behind him as the wonderful aroma of sweet cream frosting melted into the first to complete the memory.

He felt a familiar joy at that— the joy as his parents hit it big and knowing how they never wanted anymore after that.

But that wasn’t from his class.

“I didn’t love it the way they did,” Myles said after a time, enjoying the smell and the memories they brought up. “Sure, I was happy with them, but it was only because they were. I didn’t do anything. I just loved when my parents were happy.”

“And baking made them that way.”

“Being together made them that way.”

“Working together made them that way.”

Myles wanted to retaliate, but the voice was right. They were always happiest together, and when they were in the kitchen together, they really cooked. They were in sync, and they were happy.

“But not me.”

If he was expecting another answer, Myles didn’t get it. “But not you.”

With those words, the oven, the bread, the pans, and the smells vanished. Nothingness once again populated the void of the small world he was in.

Instead, it was replaced by something new— a strange longing, a strain against his heart as the voice continued.

“Your heart is elsewhere, but not as far as you think.”

Again, the voice wasn’t wrong per say. Myles still loved cooking, but it wasn’t what he wanted to do from sun up to sun down. Was there a Class that needed to cook but could still hold its own?

He felt a rush of heat at that, and a new message appeared.

Trial of Spirit - 1/1

20/30 Possible Traits Awarded Towards Class Selection

Willpower: 10

Spirituality: 0

Self: 10

Other: 0

Trait Perk Unlocked: None

A moment later, everything changed as his soul burned in his chest, in his mind, and in his heart.

Trials Completed.