Where Certainty Ends

SPOILER WARNING – The Tales from Divinia are companion stories best enjoyed after reading the main novel. Where Certainty Ends takes place during chapter twenty of The Trials of Divinia and therefore contains spoilers.

Blurb:

On the eve of the Elysium trial, Calista Dawnstar stands within reach of the Final Trial and everything she has worked for. Yet the Dreamer’s Crucible is no ordinary challenge. Within its archway, Morpheus draws her into memories she has long tried to bury – of impossible expectations, devastating loss, and the fragile hope she once found in unexpected places. As past and present blur, Calista begins to question the loyalty of her team, the love of her parents, and even her own motivations. When certainty collapses, she must decide whether victory is worth the cost – and who she truly wants to be.

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As she exited the dining hall with her team, her nerves jangled once more. She had barely been able to eat. Still, there was only one trial remaining – Elysium.

She caught a glimpse of Talon and his team entering the hall as she walked, and wished she could turn back and go to him, speak with him. She knew he would have the right words to calm her, to focus her attention on the task ahead. But she could not.

The mood among the Ferroxian contingent seemed oddly positive, despite the unlikely scenario required for them to qualify for the final trial, and she caught a snippet of laughter before the distance between them grew too great.

A pang of jealousy flared, quickly followed by annoyance. She should not begrudge them their moment of happiness. She admired it.

As they continued towards their quarters, with only the sound of seven pairs of footsteps to accompany them, Calista turned her thoughts to the latest standings of the Celestial Trials following the previous day’s event. They were burned clearly into the forefront of her mind.

In first place were Cassian and Tempestus, with thirty-two points, needing only to complete today’s trial to ensure qualification. In second place, herself and Luminara, with twenty-seven. In third, Kael and Verdantia with twenty-six, then Talon and Ferroxia with twenty-five. No one else was in contention.

She needed only to avoid Kael finishing two places above her, or Talon three, to prevent them from overtaking her. Each scenario, each calculation, had played out countless times in her mind.

What worried her was the prospect of whatever Morpheus had in store. She thought of the letter, still tucked inside her jacket pocket, no longer needed now that she had learnt its words by heart. The Dreamer’s Crucible – echoes of the past, whispers of doubt, shadows of fear. These were threats that loomed larger than any labyrinth, tower, or dragon flight.

She, more than anyone, had good reason to want the past left buried.

Still, if there was one positive aspect to the trial, it was that she would face it alone. She had grown increasingly weary of her team – their endless talk of Athenaea, their jockeying for approval, their desperation to be chosen for each trial. There would be no awkward conversations this time, and no one over-complicating matters in a thirst to prove themselves.

When they reached the familiar surroundings of their quarters, she sank into her favourite armchair with relief, hoping the others would take the hint and leave her with her thoughts to prepare for the trial.

The room was as beautiful as ever – high-ceilinged, with pale stone walls etched with subtle geometric patterns; soft, even lighting that banished shadow, creating a sense of constant visibility; tall windows of translucent crystal; and furnishings arranged with deliberate symmetry – elegant, functional, and impersonal.

Shelves lined the walls, filled with neatly organised texts, scrolls, and trial notes, all meticulously categorised, contributing to a faint, ever-present scent of polished stone and parchment. There were no personal effects on display – nothing left to chance or sentiment. It created an atmosphere of calm discipline, one some might find expectant rather than restful, but that she found oddly comforting.

She enjoyed the silence for a moment – until, inevitably, the voices rose around her.

“We’ve got a few hours to kill,” said Kaelis. “We should probably use this time to start our planning for the final trial – working out what we’re likely to face, who’s best suited to each section, and so on.”

Calista groaned silently.

Kaelis Helior was tall and broad-shouldered, his immaculate posture suggesting certainty even at rest. His sun-gilded hair was kept precisely trimmed, his Luminara whites worn in a constant state of ceremonial readiness. He was confident, assured, and spoke only in inevitabilities. He was also a massive pain.

“I have researched the final trial extensively,” said Lyessa, nodding fervently. “It is highly likely that it will not only incorporate aspects of each trial we have already faced, but that the gods will also focus on the mistakes Calista has made so far – to test whether she is worthy of becoming their champion.”

Lyessa Quorin was cool and analytical, framing pressure as reason. She had been a useful ally at times, but as the week had gone on Calista had begun to notice her tendency to hide criticism behind a helpful tone. She was sharp-featured and composed, with dark hair pulled back in a severe, practical style, and eyes that rarely betrayed emotion.

“We cannot leave anything to chance,” said Maelis. “Some of you need to set your egos aside. If it’s true that we lose a team member at each stage, then we must be realistic about who is best suited to continue, rather than worrying about how it reflects on us.”

At least someone else had said it, she thought. Although the boy might do well to reflect on his own attitude before throwing accusations around.

Maelis Vire was meticulous, observant, and quietly judgmental, often fixated on deviations and failures rather than progress. Slightly built, with careful hands and an exacting gaze that missed little, he kept his attire pristine, every fold and fastening perfectly aligned.

“Athenaea will expect us to be united as one,” added Thyren thoughtfully. “Perhaps it is best that, as Kaelis suggests, we use this time to pool our knowledge.”

She could have guessed that was coming. Thyren Aurelian was always the same – philosophical and morally certain. Lean and reserved, his movements were unhurried, almost contemplative. He wore Athenaea’s symbols openly, arranged with deliberate reverence.

“Is there not a fairer way to choose?” asked Rhea, casting Calista an unhelpful glance. “Most of us have only been able to attempt one or two of the trials – who’s to say we’re not better qualified than someone who has already tried it?”

Rhea Halcyne was compact and athletic, carrying herself with competitive tension rather than Luminara grace. Her cropped hair and functional dress further demonstrated that she prioritised readiness over presentation.

“Let’s be honest,” said Elion softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “If there’s one member of the team who’s likely to let us down, it’s our champion. She’s had so many… distractions. We should plan for who’s best to carry her through.”

What a—

She quelled the thought, determined not to let them get to her.

Elion Crestfall was soft-eyed and understated, his expression often thoughtful, almost apologetic. He spoke with gentle restraint, disappointment lingering in his gaze long after his words, but there was a hidden venom in his voice that had led her to resent him, perhaps more than any of the others.

She had learnt during her time in Concordia that many of her fellow champions had enjoyed input into who their teammates should be, favouring friends, allies, and personal connection. Some, like Talon, had even been solely responsible for choosing who accompanied them.

She could only wish Athenaea had been less prescriptive. The Luminara champion was selected through a formal examination, testing everything from knowledge of the other regions, to games and puzzles, to battle strategies and weapon theory. The highest-scoring participant was chosen as champion, with the next six highest scorers joining them for the trials.

The conversation still raged on around her. She needed to get away – needed space from the talk of what came next, the thinly veiled criticisms, the posturing.

“I… I’m going to get some air,” she said, rising to her feet. “I need to clear my head.”

“That would imply there was something in it to begin with,” Elion muttered, drawing several stifled laughs from around the room.

She turned back, heat flooding her face.

“Part of me hopes we don’t even qualify for the final trial,” she said sharply. “The sooner this ridiculous event is over, the sooner I can be done with all of you.”

And with that, she stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Time dragged by. After spending much of the morning pacing the grounds of Concordia alone, she eventually made her way to the Arena of Trials, unsure of what else to do. She had been the first to arrive, taking one of the six seats arranged for the champions and choosing the one with Athenaea’s emblem carved into the back.

Before her stood the Dreamer’s Crucible – a simple stone archway. Morpheus waited beyond it, her head bowed, not acknowledging Calista’s arrival. Slowly, the arena filled around her. The other champions arrived one by one – Elara, Kael, Zara, Talon, Cassian – and as they did, she saw the stands begin to populate too, six sets of teammates joining the usual audience.

As the second-place champion, only Cassian would face the trial after her.

Elara was first – ten minutes and twenty-two seconds. Morpheus’ trial had remained unchanged for many years and, as such, there were records of champions’ performances within it. That was an exceptional time, one unlikely to be beaten. This was good news – one less contender who could place between her and Kael or Talon. Her grip on the final trial had strengthened.

Zara went next – thirty-two minutes and eight seconds. It would have been beneficial if the Solarian had been quicker. Her time was an outlier at the opposite end of the scale, unlikely to have much impact on the final scoreboard.

Next, it was Talon’s turn. Calista watched as he spoke with Morpheus and then stepped through the arch, her thoughts torn. She wanted him to do well, to endure, to succeed – even if it made things more difficult for her. The lights turned green one after another. Seventeen minutes and twenty-six seconds. That was the time to beat.

Kael was fourth. His trial was long – really long. As the timer ticked past Zara’s time, Calista nodded to herself, her mind already recalculating. When it passed the hour mark, she knew for certain – the Verdantian was out of the running.

It was her turn.

She only had to beat Zara’s time. If she did, she would move into third place behind Talon. Even if Cassian’s trial split them, pushing her down to fourth, Talon would gain only two more points – they would be tied overall. And the tiebreaker, Calista knew, was performance in their respective home trials. She had won hers. Talon, on the other hand, had sacrificed his result for their safety and had come last.

Another pang of guilt struck her. How could she be rooting against him after that?

No. She needed to focus. Not him. Not now.

She stepped forward.

Morpheus finally lifted her gaze to meet hers. Her eyes were stormy grey and pupilless. The sight was deeply unsettling.

“Welcome, Calista Dawnstar, champion of Luminara,” the goddess said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “When you enter the Dreamer’s Crucible, you may feel momentarily disoriented. What you experience will seem real, but trust that I am here to guide you – should you need me.”

“Thank you,” Calista replied uncertainly, unsure of what else to say.

“You have brought many answers with you,” Morpheus added. “I am curious to see what you do when none of them are asked for.”

Calista felt herself shiver.

“I wish you luck in what lies ahead,” Morpheus continued. “When you are ready, step through the archway – and enter your own mind.”

She nodded. This was it.

She closed her eyes, calmed her breathing, and stepped through the archway.

When she opened her eyes once more, she found herself in a small, perfectly maintained bedroom. She was home. In Luminara.

She looked around.

A narrow bed stood near the window, neatly made. Books and papers were stacked in organised piles at its foot. Shelves were packed with well-thumbed volumes on astronomy, philosophy, and poetry. Beside them hung star charts, pinned neatly alongside carefully sketched diagrams of puzzles and inventions.

Before her stood a writing desk scattered with ink-stained parchment, half-finished theories, and ideas still in progress. A small brass astrolabe rested proudly in the back corner, polished from frequent use, while two simple wooden chairs sat side by side in front of it, waiting to be claimed.

In the far corner, a comfortable armchair was angled towards the light of a single arched window, inviting its occupant to read informally rather than remain at the desk. A woven rug, slightly out of alignment with the otherwise symmetrical floor, lay across from it.

This wasn’t her room, this was—

“Cal, there you are,” came her brother’s voice, as the door swung open.

Caelum Dawnstar.

He was a head taller than Calista, with an easy, unstudied posture that contrasted with their father’s rigid bearing. Soft gold-brown hair rarely sat exactly as intended, the effect exaggerated by his constant habit of running a hand through it mid-thought. His eyes were clear and grey-blue – a more unusual tone than Calista’s simple blue – and they brightened whenever he explained an idea.

Caelum wore a simple white tunic, commonplace in Luminara. Ink stains also marked his fingers, and a thoughtful half-smile lingered on his face. He looked entirely at ease – his movements deliberate but never hurried, his speech gentle, his laughter quiet. Ever curious.

The logical part of her mind interjected.

This isn’t real. Don’t be drawn in by this.

But he looked so… present. So real. He was six years older than Calista, and here he appeared eighteen or nineteen – this scene drawn from more than five years ago. Perhaps she could allow herself to enjoy it, just for a while. After all, she understood the game Morpheus was playing. She could leave whenever she wished.

“Are you ready for your tutoring?” he asked. “We’ve still got a lot of work to do if you’re going to get a good result in your exams next week.”

To her surprise, the response rose to her lips unbidden – the same words she had spoken all those years ago.

“Don’t be like that,” she teased. “I’ve been ready for months – you know that. I could turn up an hour late and still be top of the class.”

“Please don’t do that,” Caelum said, rolling his eyes. “Even if it’s true,” he added with a wink.

“Come on – can’t we do something fun?” she pressed. “Take me out somewhere – somewhere new I’ve not seen before. That’s how real lessons are taught.”

He chuckled softly.

“You only have me for an hour. Then I need to get back to my own work. I won’t get elected to the Synod of Illumination if I keep skimping on my studies.”

“What’s one day out? Besides, Mum and Dad won’t be back for ages.”

Their father, Octavian Dawnstar, and their mother, Mariel Dawnstar, were both scholars of the great Library of Lytherra – one of the most prestigious academic institutions in the region.

Octavian was brilliant and disciplined – someone whose approval felt like an achievement. He spoke sparingly to her, but when he did, it carried weight. He expected excellence because he believed she was capable of it, and on the rare occasions he praised her, it felt monumental. He measured worth through effort, precision, and composure – but he always corrected mistakes calmly rather than angrily. He was unshakeable, as if doubt were something lesser people experienced.

Mariel was graceful and composed, rarely raising her voice. She was more emotionally perceptive than Octavian, but no less exacting. She used encouragement that always carried expectation beneath it. She would remind Calista that her potential must not be wasted. More than anything, she believed discipline was a form of love, smoothing over tension in the house without ever challenging its structure. She often sided with Octavian, though gently.

But they both loved her. They both loved Caelum. They would forgive them this small slice of fun and relaxation after so many months of uninterrupted hard work and study.

No…

Calista – present-day Calista – formed the word silently in her mind. This was her childhood perception of her parents, not the understanding she had come to later. She wished she could reach out, speak to her younger self, but she was watching the scene unfold before her like a theatre production. She had no control over its outcome.

“Come on then,” said Caelum. “But we can’t be long. I mean it.”

The rest of that day’s events washed over her like a montage, flitting from one scene to the next.

First, they were on the upper terraces of Lytherra, climbing to the highest public balconies of the great library, looking out across Luminara’s pale towers and reflective canals – Caelum pointing out constellations visible even in daylight.

Then they were in the puzzle market, a quieter section of the city where inventors and scholars sold mechanical riddles. They tested themselves against logic boxes and sliding contraptions – Caelum deliberately choosing the hardest one just to see her solve it – laughing appreciatively when she did whilst the vendor’s mouth fell open in surprise.

They walked the quiet canal paths, the waterways still and reflective, skipping stones despite it being mildly frowned upon. They spoke at length about Calista’s hopes and dreams – how she could be anything she wanted to be, not just what their father expected.

Finally, they stood in the Hall of Echoes, a domed chamber designed for acoustic experimentation. They took it in turns to whisper across the curved walls, hearing their voices return. Caelum told her that ideas travelled the same way – distorted unless you spoke clearly. Calista, grinning, insisted she would never need to repeat herself.

She tried to hold on to each memory, to savour it, only for it to slip through her fingers like liquid, blending into the next. As she watched, through the eyes of her younger self, them walk home, her mind turned with quiet dread to what she knew was coming next.

“Calista!”

It was her mother, rushing from the front door, eyes wide with a mixture of fury and anxiety.

“Have you any idea how worried we’ve been? No message, nothing. We thought—” Her gaze flicked past her daughter. “How are you, Caelum?”

“Fine, Mum, honestly. We just wanted a bit of a break,” Caelum replied, failing to hide the apprehension in his voice.

“Of course, dear. You’re an adult – and you’ve been working so hard. But you—” She rounded on Calista again. “What were you thinking?”

Octavian appeared in the doorway.

He looked unusually sombre.

He beckoned her towards him.

“Stand,” he instructed.

She stepped forward.

The Calista watching tried to close her eyes. She found she could not. She was not in control.

Her father’s strike burned across her cheek.

“If you ever lead your brother astray again,” he said quietly, “then you will live to regret it.”

The scene faded.

Then reappeared once more.

She was in her own room – messier, less carefully kept than her brother’s. She was alone, her face wet with tears.

“Cal…”

She looked around. There was no one there.

“Cal, it’s me.”

The voice came again. Then her brother slipped into the room, closing the door as quietly as possible.

She stared at him.

He crossed the space between them and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her hair. “I’ve told him – told him that if he ever does that again, he won’t just lose a daughter. He’ll lose a son.”

She looked up at him in surprise.

“You said that?”

“Of course.” He smiled. “I’ll always support you.”

Relief seeped through her.

Then darkness enveloped her once more.

“Stage one complete,” came a new voice.

Morpheus.

The trial. Memory crashed back into her. How long had it been? Too long. She needed to focus – to move through the next two dreams quickly. Otherwise, she was out.

Light flooded the scene again, but this time it was different. A different year. A different feeling.

She knew this date.

Two years ago. 

She stood in a pale stone courtyard in Luminara, open to a grey, overcast sky. There was no dramatic weather – only oppressive stillness. White-draped banners bearing Athenaea’s sigil hung motionless. A raised marble bier stood at the centre, impossibly pristine, while the faint scent of incense and crushed myrrh lingered in the air.

A large crowd had gathered – scholars arranged in perfect rows, silent and composed, while members of the Synod of Illumination stood in formal regalia. She was positioned between her parents – Octavian rigid, jaw clenched, shaking hands with person after person as they approached; and Mariel tearful but composed, hands clasped tightly before her.

It was a day she tried never to think about.

The worst day of her life.

A man stepped forward, draped in white robes lined with silver, and began to address the crowd.

“Friends, family, honoured members of the Synod – we gather today to mourn the passing of a brilliant young man, taken from us too soon. In Athenaea’s name, we remember him.”

She felt her mind begin to waver. The words continued – speaking of academic achievements, of potential, of legacy. Once or twice she heard her own name mentioned, but she was not truly listening.

“I would like to invite the family to approach the bier and say their final goodbyes,” he concluded.

Her parents moved first, led by Octavian, and she felt her mother’s hand guide her forwards. She watched as they leaned over her brother’s body, their composure briefly fracturing – her father shaking, her mother openly crying.

She simply looked.

His body, ravaged by illness, lay frail and sunken. Despite the attempts to restore him to his former self – freshly pressed clothes, subtly applied make-up – she barely recognised him.

She did not know what to do. What to say.

Then the moment was over.

She was led away.

The thought surfaced then – dark and cruel, unbidden.

Would they care so much if that were me?

She hadn’t known then.

She didn’t know now.

The vision shifted again.

Scenes flashed before her – studying late into the night, hours spent in the library pulling down book after book; her parents attempting to speak with her, only for her to turn them away, insisting she needed to work.

A year passed.

She sat with new friends – laughing, joking, smiling for the first time in a long while. And yet the motivation still burned within her.

The news came: Verdantia had won the 895th Celestial Trials.

The selection of the next Luminara champion would commence early the following year.

She redoubled her efforts.

She would do this.

She would make her brother proud.

Then—

“Congratulations,” Athenaea smiled. “I look forward to seeing you again in Concordia.”

“Stage two complete,” said Morpheus.

How long was that? she thought, as the world righted itself once more. It felt quicker. I hope it was quicker.

She looked around and felt a new emotion rising from her past self… pride.

She stood in Concordia, in the Hall of Gathering. The long dining table was set before her. This was the night of the champions’ dinner – just two nights ago.

She breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

At least this time, she would not have to face her family.

She looked down at herself, at the fitted silver-and-white dress she wore – modest, in keeping with Luminarian style, but a welcome change from the tailored tunics and structured suits.

People began filtering into the hall – champions, teammates, council members. Several paused to congratulate her as they passed.

Of course, this had been the day of the Luminara trial – the one she had won alongside Kaelis, Lyessa, and Elion. They now stood second overall in the rankings, just a single point behind Cassian and Tempestus after his failure. Her team had been elated.

She had struggled with them at times, but she felt their relationships were finally beginning to settle. Improve.

Then came Talon.

She spotted him immediately in his admittedly ugly crimson tunic, which looked both slightly too large and deeply uncomfortable. His eyes found hers quickly before darting away in embarrassment.

She smiled to herself.

He was so endearing.

Why am I here? she wondered.

If the first two dreams had been echoes of the past – dark memories designed to trap her in her own despair – this was something very different. Yes, the night had ended badly – the attack on Orion and all that had followed – but she had not witnessed anything unusual that evening.

For her, it had been a happy one.

She watched as the same events unfolded once more, racing by as though the world had been set to fast forward. She sat eating and talking with the other champions. She spoke with Athenaea and the other gods, who praised her strong performance in the trials. She danced with Talon – laughing, smiling – feeling a joy unlike any she could remember.

After bidding him goodnight, she retreated to the Luminara quarters with her team. Kaelis was still retelling the story of how he had helped place the objects in the correct order on the third floor; Lyessa boasted that it had been she who worked out the connection between the clues on the fourth; while Elion praised Calista profusely for her bravery on floor six – when she had crossed the invisible bridge to retrieve their final sigil tablet.

As she made her way to her room, she closed the door with the sound of their enthusiasm still reverberating through the chamber. She smiled to herself as she climbed into bed.

That was it.

That was all that happened.

But then something shifted. Something new.

She felt herself rise from the bed – move quietly to the door, open it just an inch, and press her ear to the narrow gap.

“Just embarrassing,” Maelis was saying. “I don’t know what she thinks she was doing.”

“Did you see Athenaea’s face?” asked Thyren. “She and Thoros rarely see eye to eye. Imagine how he’ll gloat now that her champion has been taken in by his kind…”

“We’ll need to say something,” Kaelis said firmly. “She can’t be allowed to keep making a fool of herself like she did tonight – fawning over someone who’s meant to be the enemy.”

“I’ve certainly lost what little respect I had for her,” Lyessa agreed coolly. “Should we try to talk to her about it?”

“I think we cut her out of the picture,” Rhea replied. “There are only three trials left and we’re in a strong position. We can still succeed despite her – provided we let her believe she’s in control.”

“She’s fragile,” Elion said quietly, although there was something darker beneath the gentleness of his tone. “If we distance ourselves, she’ll feel it. She’ll realise she’s lost our support. And when she falters – we’ll be ready to step in and lead Luminara to victory.”

Calista recoiled from the door in horror.

This… this wasn’t what had happened. It couldn’t be. It was a trick. Part of the trial.

And yet—

It made sense.

After that night they had grown distant. They had stopped training with her, stopped including her in discussions unless necessary. They did the bare minimum outside of the trials. She had been distracted – shaken by what had happened to Orion, consumed by preparation. She had barely noticed the shift.

She thought of this morning. Their planning without her. The quiet judgement in their eyes. The careful, measured tones.

She had not stepped away. She had been edged out.

All of this over a boy from another region.

A boy she liked – who she believed liked her in return.

Because of rivalry. Because of pride. Because of a competition.

If this was the best of Luminarian society, then she did not want to win them the Celestial Trials. A year of such leadership would bring nothing but cold calculation and quiet cruelty to Divinia.

A sound tore from her throat – low at first, almost a growl. It built without her consent, swelling into a shout, then a scream, raw and unrestrained, unlike anything she had ever heard from herself before.

She flung the door wide.

Only darkness waited on the other side.

“Stage three complete,” said Morpheus.

The Arena of Trials materialised around her once more. Instinctively, she looked up at the clock above the archway.

Her heart sank.

One hour, six minutes, forty-two seconds.

Slow. Far too slow.

She had beaten Kael – barely – but unless Cassian either surpassed Talon or suffered a complete disaster and finished slower than her, she would place fifth.

She would miss the final trial by a single point.

She returned to her seat in a daze.

Cassian was invited forwards.

The lights turned green – one, two, three.

Twenty-four minutes exactly. Comfortably third place.

She was out.

She had failed.

Failed the vow she had made to her brother.

Then she jolted in her seat as a familiar voice echoed in her mind.

Cal, don’t be sad. Be proud. You’ve achieved great things here – and the alliances you have made will matter far more than these trials. Keep going. I’ll always watch over you.

Had that really been him?

Only one person had ever called her Cal…

She closed her eyes. Just for a moment.

Some things she would never know.

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