The wind stirred the crimson banners lining the outer courtyard of the Imperial Colosseum, each stitched with the sigil of the Twelve Seats—a crown of swords encircling a lion's eye.
The sky above was thick with storm-gray clouds, casting long, ominous shadows across the marble arena.
The test had drawn the eyes of the entire Empire, and beneath those watchful skies, wolves gathered.
Dozens of contenders stood in tight clusters across the plaza. Black and gold, sapphire and white, green and crimson—each faction bore the colors of ancient houses or renowned martial orders.
Whispers moved like currents through the noble ranks. The Trial of Right, last held a decade ago, had not drawn such dangerous players.
At the center of it all stood Lady Veris.
Clad in her signature violet armor with silver threadwork coiling like spiderwebs, she moved among the nobles with the grace of a seasoned manipulator.
Her smile was a mask—perfect, elegant, and utterly false. Each nod she gave sealed another pact. Each glance was a silent knife.
"You'll do well to remember," she said to a young knight from House Drael, her voice smooth as silk, "he may be a Black knight. But Aden Vasco has no allies. He's merely the flame that burns out fastest."
The knight nodded hesitantly. Others watched from the fringes, already shifting their positions, orbiting Veris's growing gravity.
She had, over the past three days, whispered poison into every willing ear. Whispers that the Vasco boy was dangerous. Arrogant. Destined to fall.
Aden stood far apart from the others, silent in the shadow of the obsidian tower that overlooked the arena.
His black armor gleamed dully in the gray light, lined with Vasco red. He felt the weight of their stares, their silence, their fear.
No one approached.
He watched them. Studied their movements, the way they leaned toward Lady Veris, the way they averted their eyes when his met theirs.
"She's cut you off from the herd," Egmund murmured in his mind, tone amused. "what are you going to do now?."
"She's smart," Aden said aloud, voice cold. "But it won't hold."
A small chuckle echoed within him. "Careful, boy. The match hasn't begun, and already you're surrounded."
Aden's gaze didn't waver. "Let them come."
Just then, the sound of trumpets tore through the courtyard. The imperial herald appeared upon the high marble platform.
"Present yourselves! His Imperial Majesty approaches!"
A sea of contenders straightened. All eyes turned to the golden gate, where the Emperor would emerge.
Alone and without a single ally, Aden stepped forward. The last to move. The only one without a banner beside him.
The golden gates creaked open with divine finality.
Cloaked in imperial crimson, flanked by twelve spear-bearers, and crowned in obsidian and firesteel, Emperor Julius Chrono emerged atop the white stone balcony overlooking the arena.
His presence smothered all conversation. Silence swept the colosseum like a falling guillotine.
"Contenders of the Empire," the Emperor spoke, his voice carried by magic across the grounds. "Today marks the beginning of your judgment. A test not of lineage, nor rhetoric, but of might, merit, and the right to rule."
His gaze swept the assembly. It lingered only briefly on Aden Vasco, the lone figure at the back.
"Many of you arrive with retinues, alliances, and boasts. That will not save you. This test is war—simulated, yes, but brutal. It is not designed for fairness. It is designed for survival."
A subtle stir moved through the court. Several contenders straightened, others exchanged glances. Lady Veris smiled.
She stepped forward, elegant and composed, her voice projecting clear and confident.
"Your Majesty, with permission—may the contenders pledge temporary allegiance for the test? Strategy thrives in unity."
The Emperor's lips twitched. "It is permitted."
Like a lightning strike, the courtyard shifted. Knights and nobles surged to their pre-forged alliances. Banners were raised.
Names were shouted. In mere moments, factions crystallized—like wolves snapping into hunting packs.
Except for one.
Aden stood untouched.
He watched as even the minor houses—those who once might have approached—slunk toward Veris or her orbiting powers. Whispers turned to full-blown desertion.
"Did you think they'd fight for you?" Veris called sweetly from across the courtyard. "At the end of the day, everyone chooses the stronger side."
A few contenders chuckled.
Aden said nothing. His gaze remained still. Like stone.
"She's boxed you in," Egmund mused. "Isolation, political mockery… This is how nobles kill without drawing blades."
Aden rolled his neck once, cracking the tension. "Then I won't wait for their blades."
He turned toward the Emperor. "Do I begin the test alone?"
Julius Chrono raised a brow, mildly amused. "Should no one answer your cause before the final horn is sounded… yes."
Murmurs rippled like fire among the nobles.
"Alone?"
"He'll be slaughtered."
"Arrogant fool."
And then—horns blared.
A moment passed. Then another.
Still, no one approached Aden.
The Emperor's hand inched toward the armrest of his obsidian throne. "Then it seems—"
A thunderclap split the sky.
The arena rumbled.
From the northern gates came a sound like the march of titans—metal striking stone, hooves hammering the earth, the low hum of war chants carried by the wind. The crowd turned as one.
Dust roiled in a rising storm.
Then—boom—the gates burst open, not by hand, but by raw force. Iron hinges shrieked, and the gates flew inward as if flung by a monsterous force.
Seven riders emerged from the white-out of sand and fury.
Two led the charge—Black Knights, their armor darker than midnight, trimmed in blood-scarlet, helms shaped like snarling beasts. They rode black destriers foaming at the bit, eyes glowing faintly crimson from alchemical runes burned into their hides.
Behind them came five high-tier Vasco knights, formation tight, cloaks flaring behind them like wings of shadow.
The noise died.
Even the Emperor leaned forward.
The lead Black Knight drew his blade—not to threaten, but to salute—and brought his warhorse to a sudden halt inches from the center dais. Dust exploded outward in a perfect ring. With mechanical precision, he dismounted, removed his helm—
"Ian Vasco, reporting for duty," he said, voice sharp as steel. "By order of the Bastion of Blades, We answer the call of the Black Flame's Heir."
He dropped to one knee.
The other six followed, kneeling in perfect synchronicity. Seven spears stabbed the ground before them like an oath etched in earth.
Aden stepped forward.
He said nothing. But the light caught his eyes—and something stirred behind them. The court felt it.
Lady Veris's smirk faltered.
Egmund's laughter echoed in Aden's skull, a delighted, savage thunder.
"Now this," he said, "is my kind of battle."