The sun broke through the fog like a blade. Birds cried overhead, their shadows cutting across the forest floor. Ash from the earlier battle still clung to the grass. Calliope crouched by the nearest bandit corpse, examining the markings etched into its skin.
"They weren't ordinary marauders," she murmured. "Look—see these black vein lines? They were corrupted. Spirit poisoning from a failed ritual, maybe…"
Kyrillos cleaned his bloodstained knuckles against his robe, eyes sharp. "They had no discipline. Just rage."
Calliope gave him a side glance. "That's how most people fight when they're afraid."
He smirked faintly. "That's how people die."
She chuckled despite herself. "You're arrogant."
"I've earned it."
She stood, brushing dirt from her cloak. "We need to reach the village before dusk. Spirits grow restless at night. And you—"
"I can handle myself."
She raised an eyebrow. "Right. Mr. I-Fought-Gods."
---
*The Journey to Lysara*
As they hiked down the winding mountain path toward *Lysara Village*, Calliope continued filling Kyrillos in. The world of Thalor was divided into spiritual territories, each ruled by a sect or warlord. Most people could never awaken a Spirit Gene, and those who did often died trying to master it.
Kyrillos listened but his mind wandered.
He could still feel it—like a smoldering ember in his soul. The *Erebos Gene*. It hadn't fully awakened, but it pulsed at the edge of his consciousness, whispering… waiting.
Calliope noticed his silence. "You spacing out on me?"
"No. Thinking."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're hiding something."
He shrugged. "Aren't we all?"
---
*The Flameborn Trial*
By the time they reached Lysara, the sun was dipping low. The village wasn't much—stone huts, spirit totems, and a giant tree in the center carved with runes. Villagers bowed slightly as they passed; most avoided eye contact with Kyrillos.
"He gives off weird energy," one child whispered.
"He's not from here," an elder muttered. "Mark my words. He's touched by fire."
Calliope led Kyrillos straight to the training shrine.
Inside stood a tall man with copper skin, battle scars, and a silver eye—*Leonidas*.
Kyrillos paused, heart beating faster.
In Olympus, Leonidas had been his commander, his mentor. Here… the same name, the same presence—but clearly a different life.
Leonidas glanced up from sharpening a blade. "This him?"
"Yep," Calliope said. "Woke up in the Scorched Vale. Took down three marauders."
Leonidas walked up and looked Kyrillos dead in the eye. "Your stance is too proud for a farmer. Your hands are too scarred for a traveler. And your eyes… they've seen war."
Kyrillos didn't flinch. "You could say that."
Leonidas grunted. "If you want to stay, you earn it. Flameborn Trial. Tomorrow at dawn."
---
*Nightfall Visions*
That night, Kyrillos sat alone beneath the spirit tree. The sky shimmered with unfamiliar constellations, but he traced the stars out of habit.
A whisper brushed his ear.
*"Power... seeks pain."*
He turned—no one.
The *Erebos Gene* pulsed again. Not violently—but with hunger.
He gritted his teeth. "Not yet. I'll unlock you when I'm ready."
But deep inside, he feared it would awaken before that.
---
*Dawn of Trial*
The next morning, half the village gathered around the *Trial Pit*—a sacred arena carved into the earth. Old stone runes lined the walls, glowing softly.
Calliope stood with her arms crossed. "You sure you're ready?"
Kyrillos rolled his shoulders. "Was born ready. Then died. Then got ready again."
She smirked. "Smartass."
Leonidas stepped into the pit, raising a ceremonial horn. "By the spirits of flame and earth, we call forth the ancient rite. Let this outsider prove his strength."
The crowd murmured. Some mocked. Others watched with wary curiosity.
Kyrillos entered the pit. The ground trembled.
With a deafening roar, a *Stoneclaw Boar* erupted from the far gate—massive, tusks like iron, eyes glowing red.
Calliope's face went pale. "They gave him a Rank-3 beast?! That's suicide!"
Leonidas only said, "Let's see if he lives up to that pride."
---
*The Fight*
The beast charged, shaking the pit with its fury. Kyrillos stood perfectly still.
Then—he moved.
With one deep breath, he rolled forward, narrowly dodging a tusk, his fingers sparking. He spun and landed a flaming strike to the beast's flank—but the fire sputtered. Its hide was too thick.
The boar turned, roaring, and rammed him. He flew backward, crashing into the stone wall. Blood filled his mouth.
The villagers gasped. Some turned away.
Calliope clenched her fists. "Get up…"
---
*The Flame Awakens*
Kyrillos staggered to his feet. Pain burned through him—but something else stirred. Deep in his chest, the *Erebos Gene* pulsed, louder now.
*"Use me."*
"No," he growled. "Not yet."
He raised his hands. "Fine. Let's see what *I* can do."
His aura flared—wild, orange, untamed. Not divine, but primal.
He charged again, sliding beneath the beast's legs, then leapt onto its back. His palm slammed against the boar's spine.
*"Flame Implosion!"*
A pulse erupted from his core. The beast screamed, staggered, and finally collapsed, twitching, steam rising from its body.
Silence.
Then, cheers. Even Leonidas nodded.
---
*Acceptance and Shadows*
That evening, the village elders granted him "honorary novice" status.
Calliope slapped his shoulder. "You didn't die. Nice."
Leonidas approached. "You've got raw power. But you're reckless. That spirit inside you—it's dangerous.