Chapter 36 – Trial of the First Gatekeeper
The crypt-temple hummed with ancient power as Jean stepped into the trial circle, Radiant Fang in her hand. The spirit of Vaerin Luther, First Gatekeeper and once Martin Luther's most trusted general, raised his spectral blade.
"No tricks," he said. "No divine blessings. No guardian beasts. Only you, your steel, and your will."
Jean gave a slow nod. "I accept."
With a boom like thunder trapped in stone, the trial circle sealed. A dome of translucent gold enveloped them, silencing the outside world. Silvia, Cassien, Kael, and Whitney could only watch.
Vaerin struck first.
He moved like lightning—not the brute force of her siblings or the raw fury of Sylas, but with the flawless grace of a master honed by endless battle. Jean barely blocked his first blow. Her feet skidded on the stone, the shock traveling up her arms.
"You bear the light," Vaerin said between strikes. "But light alone does not command swords. What will you sacrifice, Jean Luther?"
Jean didn't answer. She focused—slipping into the breathing rhythm taught at the Academy, the one her mother used to practice under moonlight. She met his next slash head-on, redirecting it, countering with a flurry of her own.
Vaerin smiled. "Better. But still soft."
He intensified.
Each clash sent sparks flying. Jean's aura flared brighter, but she dared not use Celeste's power. Not here. Not now. This was her trial.
"You're not fighting for yourself," Vaerin hissed. "You fight for ghosts. For the love of dead parents. For the approval of a Clan that will never love you."
Jean stumbled—but not from the blade. From the words.
Vaerin pressed the advantage. "Martin Luther? He didn't win because he was the strongest. He won because he cut away everything that made him human."
He slashed downward.
Jean blocked, but her knees buckled. Her sword vibrated with the force.
"Will you do the same?" he roared. "Will you throw away mercy, love, joy? Will you kill your own to stand alone like he did?"
Jean pushed up slowly. Her blade glowed.
"No."
Vaerin hesitated.
"I won't become Martin Luther," Jean said, voice trembling. "I'll become something more. I'll keep my mercy. I'll fight for the living. And I'll never stop remembering the dead."
Her aura surged—pure, golden light erupting from her core—not Celeste's blessing, but her own will.
She slashed.
Radiant Fang cleaved through Vaerin's sword.
The spirit staggered, then laughed—a deep, thunderous laugh that echoed through the crypt.
"Well said, child of light."
He dropped to one knee. "Then you may pass. You are not Martin Luther. But you carry what he could not."
The trial circle shattered.
Jean stood, panting.
Whitney padded forward and licked her hand. Cassien clapped once. Kael let out a low whistle.
Silvia only smiled—proud and distant.
Vaerin faded into mist.
And the crypt opened once more, revealing a deeper stair—toward the heart of the Veillands.
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