"The second trial is behind you. The third begins now. Stand, Orpheus of Thrace, and prove whether you are worthy to walk the path once trodden by my king."
Kaerion's hand extended, it gleamed as if it had been forged from steel itself.
Orpheus hesitated only a moment before grasping it. The instant their palms touched, a pulse of power surged through the air, and the endless waters of the Styx seemed to tremble.
The river around them warped, its dark currents rising like walls.
In the blink of an eye, the small boat dissolved, and Orpheus found himself standing in a barren battlefield beneath a blackened sky.
The stench of blood and smoke lingered in the air, though no body nor flame could be seen.
Kaerion stood before him, his armor burning with the ghostly light of memory. His eyes were sharp, but not cruel.
