The island rose from the sea like a broken crown, its peaks shrouded in mist, its shores jagged with rocks that clawed at the waves. Madison stood at the ship's rail, her hand on the Sword of Fury's hilt, watching as the five hundred participants gathered on the deck, their faces a mix of excitement, fear, and determination. The air was thick with salt and anticipation, the wind whipping through hair and cloaks, carrying the distant cries of seabirds.
"Two hundred pillars," Puli said, his voice tight as he checked his quiver for the third time. "Five hundred of us. That's the math."
"Two hundred and fifty won't make it," Taiba added, his fingers tracing the string of his bow. "At least. Probably more."
"Probably more," Madison agreed, her eyes scanning the crowd. Warriors in armor, their swords gleaming. Archers with bows slung across their backs. Sorcerers in robes that shimmered with arcane energy. Druids with staffs carved from living wood. All of them here for the same reason—to prove themselves, to earn their promotions, to become elite.
The ship anchored a hundred yards from the shore, and a voice boomed across the deck, amplified by magic. "Participants! The first trial begins now. You will be transported to the island. Find a pillar. Touch it. Survive. That is all."
Madison's hand tightened on her sword. "Survive. That's all they say. As if it's simple."
"It's not," Puli said. "But we trained for this. We're ready."
"Are we?" Madison asked, though the question was more for herself than them. The sword hummed at her side, a low vibration that seemed to pulse with her heartbeat. It wanted this. It wanted battle. It wanted blood.
Before anyone could answer, the world dissolved into light.
Madison landed hard, her boots sinking into wet earth, the impact jarring through her legs. The air was different here—thicker, heavier, filled with the scent of decay and something else, something wild and dangerous. The Sword of Fury hummed louder, its hunger awakening.
She was in a forest, the trees towering overhead, their branches blocking most of the light. Shadows moved between the trunks, and she heard voices—shouts, screams, the clash of steel. The trial had begun, and already people were fighting.
"Madison!"
She turned to see Puli and Taiba emerging from the undergrowth, their faces pale but determined. "We're together," Puli said, his bow already in hand. "That's something."
"That's everything," Madison said, drawing her sword. The blade caught what little light filtered through the canopy, gleaming like a promise of violence. "We stay together. We find a pillar. We survive."
"How do we even know where the pillars are?" Taiba asked, his eyes scanning the forest.
"We don't," Madison said. "But we'll find one. Or we'll die trying."
The words hung in the air, heavy with truth. This was the vocation trials. This was what they'd prepared for. This was what they'd risked everything for.
A scream cut through the forest, sharp and piercing, followed by the sound of something large moving through the undergrowth. Madison raised her sword, her body tensing. "Something's coming."
"Something big," Puli said, nocking an arrow.
The trees parted, and it emerged—a creature the size of a horse, covered in scales that gleamed like obsidian, its eyes burning with a hunger that made Madison's stomach twist. A drake. Smaller than a dragon, but no less deadly.
"Arrows!" Madison shouted, and Puli and Taiba loosed, their shafts striking the creature's scales and bouncing off harmlessly. The drake roared, a sound that shook the very air, and charged.
Madison met it head-on, her sword singing as it cut through the air, the blade biting deep into the creature's leg. Black blood sprayed, hot and acrid, and the drake screamed, its tail lashing out. Madison rolled aside, the tail smashing into a tree, wood splintering like bone.
"Again!" she shouted, and the archers loosed another volley, this time aiming for the creature's eyes. One arrow found its mark, and the drake roared in agony, its movements becoming wild, uncontrolled.
Madison saw her opening. She leaped, driving her sword deep into the creature's throat, the blade cutting through scale and flesh with a wet thud. The drake thrashed, its blood pouring out in a black river, and then it fell, its body crashing to the forest floor.
Silence returned, broken only by the sound of their heavy breathing.
"First encounter," Puli said, his voice shaky. "How many more?"
"Too many," Madison said, wiping her sword on the creature's scales. The blade hummed, satisfied, and she felt that dark hunger stirring in her chest. Not yet. Not here. She had to control it. She had to master it.
They moved deeper into the forest, their senses alert, their weapons ready. The island was alive with danger—beasts that hunted in the shadows, poachers who saw participants as easy prey, and worst of all, other participants who saw them as competition to eliminate.
They found their first pillar an hour later, a massive stone structure covered in runes that glowed with inner light. But it was already claimed. Three warriors stood around it, their swords drawn, their faces hard. One of them was the dwarf from the ship—Grant, she remembered. The one with the war hammer.
"Madison," Grant said, his voice friendly but his eyes wary. "You made it."
"We did," Madison said, her hand on her sword. "Is this pillar taken?"
"It is," Grant said. "But there are others. We're not here to fight each other. Not yet."
"Not yet," Madison repeated. The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken truth. The first trial was about survival. The second trial would be about competition. And in the second trial, alliances would break, friendships would shatter, and only the strongest would survive.
They moved on, leaving Grant and his companions to guard their pillar. The forest grew darker, the shadows deeper, and Madison felt the weight of the island pressing down on her. This was a test. A trial. A crucible that would forge them into something more—or break them completely.
They encountered poachers next—three men in ragged clothes, their faces scarred, their weapons crude but effective. They'd set up a camp near a stream, and they'd already claimed two victims. Bodies lay in the dirt, their supplies scattered, their runes and fluids taken.
"Easy pickings," one of the poachers said, his voice rough with greed. "Three more. More supplies. More runes."
"Not so easy," Madison said, raising her sword. The blade hummed, and she felt that dark hunger awakening. No. Not yet. She had to control it.
The poachers charged, and the fight was brutal and short. Madison's sword cut through flesh and bone, her movements fluid, her strikes precise. Puli and Taiba's arrows found their marks, and within minutes, the poachers were dead, their bodies joining the others in the dirt.
Madison's hand shook as she wiped her sword clean. The hunger was stronger now, more insistent. The sword wanted more. It wanted blood. It wanted death.
"Madison?" Puli asked, his voice concerned. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she said, though the words felt like a lie. The sword was changing her. She could feel it. But she couldn't stop. Not here. Not now. She had to survive. She had to make it through the trial.
They continued, moving deeper into the island, the forest growing denser, the shadows deeper. The air was thick with the scent of decay and something else, something that made Madison's skin crawl. The sword hummed louder, its hunger growing with each step.
"Something's watching us," Taiba said, his voice low, his eyes scanning the trees. "I can feel it."
"I feel it too," Puli said, his bow held ready. "Multiple somethings."
Madison's hand tightened on her sword. The forest was alive with danger, and they were walking right into it. But they had no choice. They had to find a pillar. They had to survive.
They encountered a group of giant spiders next—eight of them, their bodies the size of dogs, their legs like spears, their eyes glowing with malevolent intelligence. The creatures moved with unnatural speed, their webs catching the light like threads of silver.
"Arrows!" Madison shouted, and Puli and Taiba loosed, their shafts striking the creatures' bodies but doing little damage. The spiders charged, their fangs bared, their venom dripping like black poison.
Madison met them head-on, her sword cutting through chitin and flesh, the blade's hunger driving her forward. She killed three in quick succession, her movements fluid, her strikes precise. But the remaining spiders were fast, their movements unpredictable, and one of them managed to sink its fangs into her leg, the venom burning like fire.
She activated a support healing rune, feeling warmth spread through the wound, the poison neutralizing. But the sword hummed louder, its hunger growing stronger. She was losing control. She could feel it.
"Madison!" Puli shouted, and she turned to see another spider lunging at her. She raised her sword, but she was too slow, too distracted by the hunger, and the spider's fangs raked across her arm, tearing through leather and flesh.
Pain exploded through her, but she pushed through it, her sword cutting through the spider's body, black blood spraying. The remaining spiders scattered, their pack broken, and silence returned.
"Fourth encounter," Taiba said, his voice shaky. "How many more?"
"Too many," Madison said, wiping her sword clean. The blade hummed, satisfied, and she felt that dark hunger spreading through her like a poison. She was losing herself. She was becoming something else.
They continued, moving deeper into the island, their senses alert, their weapons ready. They encountered a group of bandits next—five of them, their faces scarred, their weapons crude but effective. They'd set up an ambush, their traps hidden in the undergrowth.
"Easy pickings," one of the bandits said, his voice rough with greed. "Three more. More supplies. More runes."
"Not so easy," Madison said, raising her sword. The blade hummed, and she felt that dark hunger awakening. No. Not yet. She had to control it.
The bandits charged, and the fight was brutal. Madison's sword cut through flesh and bone, her movements fluid, her strikes precise. Puli and Taiba's arrows found their marks, and within minutes, the bandits were dead, their bodies joining the others in the dirt.
"Fifth encounter," Puli said, his voice tight. "We're running out of runes. Running out of fluids."
"We'll make it," Madison said, though she wasn't sure if that was true. They were running low on supplies, and the island was vast. They had to find a pillar soon, or they wouldn't make it.
They found their second pillar as the sun began to set, its runes glowing brighter in the gathering darkness. But this one was also claimed. A group of five participants stood around it, their weapons drawn, their faces hard. Among them, Madison recognized the minotaur from the ship—Tauron's people, she remembered. And the druid from Solundria.
"There are others," the druid said, her voice calm but her eyes sharp. "This one is ours."
"We understand," Madison said, though her hand stayed on her sword. "We'll keep looking."
"Good luck," the druid said, though her tone suggested she didn't expect them to find it.
They moved on, the darkness closing around them like a shroud. The island was more dangerous at night, the beasts more active, the shadows deeper. But they had no choice. They had to find a pillar. They had to survive.
They moved on, the darkness closing around them like a shroud. The island was more dangerous at night, the beasts more active, the shadows deeper. But they had no choice. They had to find a pillar. They had to survive.
They encountered a pack of dire wolves next—six of them, their eyes glowing in the darkness, their fangs bared. The fight was desperate, Madison's sword cutting through fur and flesh, Puli and Taiba's arrows finding their marks. But the wolves were fast, their movements unpredictable, and Madison took a gash across her arm, the pain sharp and immediate.
"Sixth encounter," Puli said, his voice tight as he nocked another arrow. "We can't keep this up much longer."
"We have to," Madison said, activating a support healing rune, feeling warmth spread through the wound, the flesh knitting together. But the sword hummed louder, its hunger growing with each kill. She was losing control. She could feel it.
"Madison!" Puli shouted, and she turned to see another wolf lunging at her. She raised her sword, but she was too slow, too distracted by the hunger, and the wolf's claws raked across her chest, tearing through leather and flesh.
Pain exploded through her, and she stumbled, her sword falling from her grasp. The wolf lunged again, its fangs bared, and Madison knew this was it. This was how she died. Not in glory. Not in battle. But here, in the dirt, torn apart by a beast.
But then Puli's arrow found its mark, striking the wolf in the eye, and it fell, its body twitching. Taiba's arrow followed, and the remaining wolves scattered, their pack broken.
"Madison!" Puli was at her side, his hands shaking as he pulled out a life fluid. "Drink this. Now."
She did, feeling the liquid warmth spread through her, the wound closing, the pain fading. But the sword still hummed, still hungered, and she knew it was only a matter of time before it consumed her completely.
"We need to find a pillar," she said, her voice hoarse. "We need to get out of here. Now."
They continued, moving through the darkness, their senses alert, their weapons ready. The night was long, and the island was vast. They encountered a group of trolls next—three of them, their bodies massive, their skin like stone, their eyes burning with a hunger that made Madison's stomach twist.
"Seventh encounter," Taiba said, his voice tight. "We're running out of everything. Runes. Fluids. Energy."
"We'll make it," Madison said, though she wasn't sure if that was true. The trolls were massive, their movements slow but powerful, their clubs capable of crushing bone with a single strike.
The fight was brutal. Madison's sword cut through the trolls' thick skin, but it was like cutting through stone. Puli and Taiba's arrows found their marks, but the trolls were resilient, their wounds closing almost as fast as they were made.
But Madison was faster. Her sword sang as it cut through the air, the blade's hunger driving her forward. She killed the first troll with a strike to the heart, the blade cutting deep, black blood spraying. The second troll fell to Puli's arrow, the shaft finding the gap in its armor. The third troll tried to flee, but Taiba's arrow found its back, and it fell, its body twitching.
Silence returned, broken only by the sound of their heavy breathing.
"Seventh encounter," Puli said, his voice shaky. "One more. Just one more."
"One more," Madison repeated, though the words felt heavy. They were running out of everything. Runes. Fluids. Energy. Hope.
They continued, moving through the darkness, their senses alert, their weapons ready. The night was long, and the island was vast. But they had to find a pillar. They had to survive.
They encountered their final challenge as dawn broke—a massive wyvern, its body the size of a house, its wings spanning the width of a street, its eyes burning with a hunger that made Madison's stomach twist.
"Eighth encounter," Taiba said, his voice tight. "The last one. We have to make it."
"We will," Madison said, raising her sword. The blade hummed, and she felt that dark hunger awakening. This was it. The final challenge. The final test. And she would face it. She would survive it. She would master the sword, or die trying.
The wyvern charged, its wings beating the air like thunder, its roar shaking the very ground. Madison met it head-on, her sword singing as it cut through the air, the blade biting deep into the creature's leg. Black blood sprayed, hot and acrid, and the wyvern screamed, its tail lashing out.
Madison rolled aside, the tail smashing into a tree, wood splintering like bone. Puli and Taiba's arrows found their marks, striking the creature's eyes, and the wyvern roared in agony, its movements becoming wild, uncontrolled.
Madison saw her opening. She leaped, driving her sword deep into the creature's throat, the blade cutting through scale and flesh with a wet thud. The wyvern thrashed, its blood pouring out in a black river, and then it fell, its body crashing to the forest floor.
Silence returned, broken only by the sound of their heavy breathing.
"Eight encounters," Puli said, his voice shaky. "We made it. We survived."
"We survived," Madison repeated, though the words felt hollow. The sword still hummed, still hungered, and she could feel that dark hunger spreading through her like a poison. She was losing herself. She was becoming something else. Something more. And something less.
But they had survived. They had made it through eight encounters. And now they had to find a pillar. They had to get out of here.
They found their third pillar as dawn broke, its runes glowing like a beacon in the morning light. And this one was unclaimed.
"Finally," Taiba said, his voice breathless with relief.
"Not yet," Madison said, her eyes scanning the area. "We're not alone."
Three participants emerged from the trees—two warriors and a sorcerer, their faces hard, their weapons drawn. They'd been waiting. They'd been watching. And now they were here to claim the pillar for themselves.
"This one is ours," one of the warriors said, his voice rough. "Find another."
"There are no others," Madison said, raising her sword. "This one is ours."
The fight was brutal. The warriors were skilled, their movements fluid, their strikes precise. The sorcerer's spells cut through the air like blades of light, forcing Puli and Taiba to take cover. But Madison was faster, her sword singing as it cut through armor and flesh, the blade's hunger driving her forward.
She killed the first warrior with a strike to the throat, the blade cutting deep, blood spraying. The second warrior fell to Puli's arrow, the shaft finding the gap in his armor. The sorcerer tried to flee, but Taiba's arrow found his back, and he fell, his body twitching.
Silence returned, broken only by the sound of their heavy breathing.
"Madison," Puli said, his voice concerned. "Your eyes..."
"What about them?" Madison asked, though she already knew. The hunger was taking over. The sword was consuming her. She could feel it in her blood, in her bones, in her very soul.
"They're... different," Puli said. "Like your father's. In the stories."
Madison's hand shook as she wiped her sword clean. The blade hummed, satisfied, and she felt that dark hunger spreading through her like a poison. She was losing herself. She was becoming something else. Something more. And something less.
"We need to touch the pillar," she said, her voice hoarse. "We need to get out of here. Now."
They approached the pillar, its runes glowing brighter as they drew near. Madison reached out, her hand trembling, and touched the stone.
The world dissolved into light.
The coliseum was a marvel of stone and sorcery, its walls rising high into the sky, its arena vast enough to hold thousands. Prince Baltius the Third stood in the royal box, his hand on the hilt of his sword, watching as participants appeared one by one, their bodies materializing in flashes of light as the pillars teleported them from the island.
"Another one," he said, his voice carrying over the roar of the crowd. "How many now?"
"One hundred and eighty-seven," his aide replied, his voice tight. "Thirteen more to reach two hundred."
"Thirteen more," the prince repeated, his eyes scanning the arena. The participants who had made it through the first trial stood in groups, their faces pale, their clothes torn, their weapons bloodied. Some were injured, their wounds hastily bandaged with runes and fluids. Others were unscathed, their eyes sharp, their movements confident.
But all of them had survived. All of them had touched a pillar. All of them had proven themselves worthy of the second trial.
"Your Highness," a voice said, and the prince turned to see Captain Stompor approaching, his face grim. "We've lost contact with the island. The scrying spells are failing."
"Failing?" the prince asked, his hand tightening on his sword. "Why?"
"We don't know," Stompor said. "But something's wrong. The magic is... unstable. Like something's interfering with it."
The prince's eyes narrowed. "Something or someone?"
"Unknown," Stompor said. "But we should be prepared. If something is interfering with the trials, it could mean—"
"Trouble," the prince finished. "I know. Keep monitoring. And prepare the guards. If something goes wrong, we need to be ready."
"Yes, Your Highness," Stompor said, bowing before moving away.
The prince returned his attention to the arena, watching as another participant appeared—a warrior, her sword drawn, her eyes wild. Madison. Maximo's daughter. The one who carried the Sword of Fury.
She looked different. Her eyes were... wrong. Like her father's had been, in the stories. The hunger. The darkness. The sword was consuming her. He could see it.
"Your Highness," another voice said, and the prince turned to see an envoy approaching, his face pale. "A message from Barlin. Queen Aloysia Ward requests an audience. She says it's urgent."
"Urgent?" the prince asked. "What about?"
"She didn't say," the envoy replied. "But she mentioned... unusual magic. From Pyrathis."
The prince's jaw tightened. Pyrathis. The desert city. The one ruled by Pharus, the old king who was helping his father with... certain projects. Projects that were supposed to be secret.
"Tell her I'll see her after the trials," the prince said. "But keep this quiet. I don't want anyone knowing about this."
"Yes, Your Highness," the envoy said, bowing before moving away.
The prince returned his attention to the arena, watching as Madison and her companions—the two archers, Puli and Taiba—moved through the crowd, their eyes scanning for familiar faces. They found some—the dwarf Grant, the minotaur, the druid from Solundria. All of them had survived. All of them had made it through the first trial.
But something was wrong. The prince could feel it. The magic was unstable. Something was interfering with the trials. And if his suspicions were correct, it had something to do with his father's... projects.
"Your Highness," another voice said, and the prince turned to see his father's advisor approaching, his face grim. "The emperor will arrive tomorrow for the final results. He wants to see the second trial himself."
"Of course," the prince said, though the words felt heavy. His father. The emperor. The one who was making deals with Pharus, the one who was creating Sudden Death runes with dark magic from Pyrathis's necromancers. The one who was breaking the very laws he'd sworn to uphold.
But the prince couldn't say anything. Not yet. Not without proof. And even then, what could he do? His father was the emperor. The most powerful sorcerer in the empire. And the prince was just... the prince. The heir. The one who would inherit the throne, and all the corruption that came with it.
"Keep monitoring the trials," the prince said, his voice tight. "And prepare for the second trial. I want everything ready when my father arrives."
"Yes, Your Highness," the advisor said, bowing before moving away.
The prince returned his attention to the arena, watching as the last few participants appeared, their bodies materializing in flashes of light. Two hundred. They'd reached two hundred. The first trial was complete.
But something was wrong. The prince could feel it. The magic was unstable. Something was interfering. And if his suspicions were correct, it was only going to get worse.
The magic was wrong. Aloysia Ward could feel it, a subtle wrongness that permeated the very air, like a poison seeping into the world. She stood in her study, her hands moving over a scrying crystal, her eyes fixed on the patterns of energy that flowed through the empire.
"Your Majesty," her advisor said, his voice tight with concern. "The readings are consistent. Unusual magic. From Pyrathis. But it's not natural. It's... manufactured. Created."
"Created how?" Aloysia asked, though she already suspected the answer.
"Dark magic," the advisor replied. "Necromancy. The kind that's been prohibited since the Race Wars. The kind that Sante used."
Aloysia's jaw tightened. Sante. The Shadow Weaver. The one who had nearly destroyed the empire. The one who had used dark magic to corrupt everything he touched.
And now someone was using it again. Someone was creating something with it. Something powerful. Something dangerous.
"Can you trace it?" Aloysia asked.
"To a point," the advisor said. "It's coming from Pyrathis, but the source is... hidden. Protected. Like someone doesn't want it found."
"Someone powerful," Aloysia said. "Someone with the resources to hide something like this."
"Your Majesty," another voice said, and Aloysia turned to see her mother's old advisor approaching, his face grim. "We've received word from our contacts in Haze. The emperor has been meeting with Pharus. Secretly. Multiple times over the past year."
"The emperor," Aloysia repeated, though the words felt heavy. "And Pharus. The old king of Pyrathis. The one who has necromancers in his court."
"Yes, Your Majesty," the advisor said. "And there's more. We've detected unusual shipments. From Pyrathis to Haze. Runes. Powerful runes. The kind that shouldn't exist."
"Sudden Death runes," Aloysia said, though she hadn't meant to say it aloud. But the pieces were coming together. The emperor. Pharus. Dark magic. Necromancy. Sudden Death runes.
The same runes that Remirik had created. The same runes that had consumed him. The same runes that were supposed to be destroyed, never to be created again.
But the emperor was creating them. With Pharus's help. With dark magic from Pyrathis's necromancers. And he was doing it in secret, breaking the very laws he'd sworn to uphold.
"Your Majesty," her advisor said, his voice tight. "If the emperor is creating Sudden Death runes, if he's using dark magic, if he's breaking the laws... what do we do?"
Aloysia was silent for a long moment, her mind racing. What could she do? The emperor was the most powerful sorcerer in the empire. He had the support of the other cities. He had the army. He had everything.
But she had the truth. And the truth was a weapon. A dangerous weapon. One that could destroy everything if used wrong.
"We investigate," Aloysia said, her voice firm. "We gather proof. And then... then we decide what to do with it."
"But Your Majesty," her advisor said. "If the emperor finds out—"
"He won't," Aloysia said, though she wasn't sure if that was true. "Not if we're careful. Not if we're smart."
But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. The emperor was powerful. He had spies everywhere. He would find out. And when he did, he would come for her. He would come for Barlin. He would come for everyone who stood in his way.
But she had no choice. The magic was wrong. The empire was wrong. And someone had to do something about it.
Even if it meant her life.
The coliseum was overwhelming, its walls rising high into the sky, its arena vast enough to hold thousands. Madison stood among the two hundred participants who had survived the first trial, her hand on the Sword of Fury's hilt, her eyes scanning the crowd. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and blood, the roar of the crowd echoing off the stone walls like thunder.
She found Puli and Taiba first, their faces pale but determined. They'd made it. They'd survived. They'd touched a pillar.
"Madison," Puli said, his voice tight with relief as he pulled her into a quick embrace. "You're here. You made it. I was worried—when you didn't appear right away, I thought..."
"I'm here," Madison said, though the words felt hollow. The sword still hummed, still hungered, and she could feel that dark hunger spreading through her like a poison. She was losing herself. She was becoming something else.
"Your eyes," Taiba said, his voice concerned as he studied her face. "They're... different. Like your father's. In the stories."
"I know," Madison said, though she didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to think about it. She just wanted to survive. She just wanted to make it through the second trial.
She scanned the crowd, looking for familiar faces. The coliseum was packed with participants, their faces a mix of relief, exhaustion, and determination. Some were injured, their wounds hastily bandaged with runes and fluids. Others were unscathed, their eyes sharp, their movements confident.
She found Grant, the dwarf warrior, his war hammer strapped across his back, his face grim. He was talking to two others—Salem, the sorcerer from Varlin, and Zaab, the dwarf mage. All of them had survived. All of them had made it through the first trial.
"Madison!" Grant called, his voice carrying over the crowd. "You made it! I was hoping you would."
"We made it," Madison said, approaching the group. "All of us. Puli, Taiba, and me."
"Good," Grant said, his eyes scanning the crowd. "We need all the allies we can get. The second trial is going to be brutal. Only one hundred will survive. Or less."
"Or less," Madison repeated, though the words felt heavy. Two hundred participants. One hundred survivors. Or less. The math was simple. The reality was brutal.
She found the minotaur next, his horns gleaming in the light, his massive frame towering over the other participants. He was talking to the druid from Solundria, her staff held tight in her hands. Both of them had survived. Both of them had made it through the first trial.
But something was wrong. Madison could feel it. The magic was unstable. Something was interfering. And if her suspicions were correct, it had something to do with the sword. With the darkness. With the hunger.
She scanned the crowd again, looking for other familiar faces. She found the participants from Dron—Orci and Fern, their faces hard, their weapons drawn. They'd survived. They'd made it through the first trial.
But there were others she didn't recognize. Fierce warriors with scars and tattoos, their eyes sharp, their movements confident. Sorcerers with robes that shimmered with arcane energy, their hands moving in subtle gestures. Archers with bows slung across their backs, their quivers full of arrows.
All of them had survived. All of them had proven themselves worthy. But only one hundred would make it through the second trial. Or less.
"Participants!" a voice boomed, amplified by magic, cutting through the roar of the crowd. "The first trial is complete. Two hundred of you have survived. Two hundred of you have proven yourselves worthy. But the second trial awaits. And in the second trial, only one hundred will survive. Or less."
The words hung in the air, heavy with truth. Two hundred participants. One hundred survivors. Or less. The math was simple. The reality was brutal.
"The second trial will begin tomorrow," the voice continued. "After the emperor arrives. Until then, rest. Recover. Prepare. Because tomorrow, the real test begins."
Madison's hand tightened on her sword. Tomorrow. The second trial. The real test. And she would face it. She would survive it. She would master the sword, or die trying.
But as she stood there, watching the crowd, feeling the sword's hunger growing stronger, she knew the truth. She was losing herself. She was becoming something else. Something more. And something less.
And there was nothing she could do to stop it.