Two days passed.
The cut on my arm turned into a scar.
Boots echo off the floor in the barracks. Flickering bulbs overhead. Metal beds lined like coffins. Weapons racked like prayer offerings. This place is a machine—grinding the weak into dust, polishing the dangerous until they shine.
It's been twenty-three days since I stepped into Vaelrin.
Since I crossed through the capital gates , wrapped in shadows and silence, breathing in the stench of rusted power and scorched ambition.I buried who I was, last living blood of the Vireya Clan—and became just another nameless contender in the Eclipse Trials.
Twenty-three days since I stopped being a survivor.
Vaelrin's air still tastes like ash and metal. Like memories. The city is a rot-choked blend of ancient ruins wrapped in wires, of sacred stone temples now crowned with surveillance spires. I sleep beneath it all, in a barracks too cold and too loud, surrounded by killers pretending to be warriors.
They think this is about glory.
They think it ends in victory.
It doesn't.
It ends when the Council of Blades lies broken beneath my feet.
I drop onto the edge of my cot and fish out the scrap of paper I keep tucked beneath the frame.
The edges are torn. Creased. Nearly disintegrating.
I'd crumpled it the moment I saw it, fingernails digging into the ink until it bled. But I never threw it away.
Because this was the spark.
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I flatten it now, smoothing it across my thigh.
The text is smudged. But I know every word.
⚔ THE ECLIPSE TRIALS — OFFICIAL COUNCIL ANNOUNCEMENT ⚔
By decree of the Council of Blades, the Eclipse Trials will commence under the light of the fifth twin-moon cycle.
All combatants who pass will be offered:
Access to the Vaulted Tier
Apprenticeship beneath a High Blade
Potential ascension to Council Rank
"Only the worthy survive. Only the strongest ascend."
— High Blade Vorran
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The Trials aren't just bloodsport. They're recruitment. Conditioning. The Council uses them to handpick the next generation of killers and loyalists.
And I'm going to use them
But
Only three have ever reached the Core in the last two decades.
Two now work for the Council.
The third disappeared.
Some say he went mad. Others say he died.
I plan to find out.
And the first trial. First Cut — Prove your blade. Prove you can survive. No mercy, no rules. I did.
That too even with Kael.
I rise from the cot and stretch out my arms. My muscles ache. My shoulder still stiff from the last fight, and the cut on my arm hasn't fully closed. But I've had worse. The pain keeps me grounded. Focused.
In the reflection of the cracked mirror bolted to the wall, I catch sight of myself again.
Touching the pendant hidden beneath my tunic. It's all I have left of Vireya.
A sun eclipsed by a moon.
Our symbol.
Our prophecy.
Our death sentence.
A low mechanical hum stirs the floor beneath my boots. Then—
Boom.
A steel panel behind me slams open with a hiss. No voice. No explanation. Just an iron hallway breathing cold air like a warning.
Above the archway, glowing letters flare into life:
"SECOND STORM — INITIATE"
They don't give you time to prepare. And this comes anytime, anywhere.
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I grab my gear—blade strapped to my back and dagger to my thigh , leather wraps still wet from sweat and rain—and step forward into the wind tunnel of Trial Hall Two.
The door slams shut behind me.
And from somewhere beyond the fog, I hear it.
Footsteps.
Another combatants.
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I keep my head down as I move through the corridor to the trials, shoulders tense beneath the weight of my gear. The walls here are lined with old clan sigils—cracked, blackened from decades of war—now nothing more than decoration in this graveyard of legacies.
Ahead, I see him.
Kael Riven.
He stands with one of the Council commanders, their backs turned to me, voices low. Too low. But I catch just enough—"More than appears... dangerous blood."
My pulse spikes.
He's facing the commander like he belongs there.
Of course he belongs.
He doesn't see me at first.
Good.
I step past them without a word, fists curled, jaw clenched. Rage thrums beneath my skin, hot and wild. I should've known. The way he held back in our fight.
I'm three steps past when I hear it.
"Nyra."
His voice cuts the air. Clean. Certain.
I stop. The hallway's silence thickens like storm air before lightning.
I turn, slowly.
He is already walking toward me, the commander gone—vanished like mist, or maybe lurking in shadows. Kael's dark coat is still unbuttoned, dirt smeared along the hem.
But his storm-gray eyes?
Still unreadable.
"Found your name," he says. "Nyra...Vale"
I narrow my eyes, stepping in close, nose to nose. "What now? You going to run back to your masters and whisper it in their ears.....Council dog?"
Something flickers in his expression. Not hurt. Not guilt.
Something like restraint.
"Nyra."
"You're not anything to me," I spit. "Except another blade they've trained to kill on command."
His jaw tightens.
I lean in closer, enough for him to feel the heat in my words. " And I know enough to smell a leash when I see one."
He didn't answer.
Didn't move.
A red siren flares down the hall. A mechanical hiss follows. The Second Storm is ready.
"Don't follow me," I say, turning away.
"I won't," he replies steadily. "But I'll be watching."
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