The fall is fast—blinding, deafening. Then the crash. We land on a shifting steel disc surrounded by rotating turbines and moving walls. Sparks burst. Everything grinds and shrieks like the Trial itself wants to chew us up.
I duck a swinging gear, roll forward. Valeen lands beside me, daggers flashing—did she smuggle those in? Of course she did. She moves like smoke, already diving into the chaos.
Jace lets out a yell, yanking Liora away from a piston as it slams down where her head was. "Eyes up, Frostbite!"
Tariq deflects a blade-armed drone with a shield of compacted sand—how did he bring that dust in? But then again, the clans train in worse conditions.
Kael appears at my side, hands empty, stance perfect. We fall into rhythm instinctively. Back to back. He shouts once—"Left!"—and I duck as a spinning disk cuts past.
I springboard off a gear, twisting midair, and slam both feet into a drone's core. It sparks out, twitching. Kael catches me when I land. For a moment, just one breath, I feel it again. That pull.
Then it's gone. More drones descend.
Another drop.
The floor shifts beneath our feet—hexagonal platforms suspended over what looks like nothing but black mist and open air. Some platforms hover. Some spin. Others groan as they rise or sink with every step we take.
Above us, coils of artificial lightning surge through suspended storm-tech spires. The entire ceiling is a dome of raw energy—flashes of electric blue slicing the dark like divine punishment.
To the west, a wall of compressed wind turbines creates hurricane-force blasts that could knock you off your feet if you're not anchored. To the east, a timed flame grid spews columns of fire in unpredictable patterns.
And in the center?
A shattered bridge of energy segments. Half-invisible, unstable, and suspended over the mist. It's the only path to the safe zone.
Or so we think.
I dart forward, scanning for footholds, calculating timing. Behind me, "Don't step on the red-lit ones," Rei shouts. "Those collapse after four seconds. Yellow ones electrify on intervals. Trust nothing that glows!"
"Charming," Jace mutters beside her, spinning his pistols in a lazy flourish as he kicks off a falling platform and lands near me. "I do love a good high-voltage death trap in the morning."
"Shut up, Jace!" Rei yells, but her tone is too sharp to be real anger. She's focused. Like the storm speaks her language.
Then it hits us. The first pulse.
A deep mechanical thrum echoes across the dome—and all hell breaks loose.
A platform explodes to my right. Another jolts upward with such force the contender on it is flung, screaming, into the abyss. A scream. Then silence.
One down.
A blast of superheated wind knocks Rei flat. I grab her collar and haul her back before the flame grid sweeps across where she fell. The tips of my hair singe. The air smells like ozone and burning leather.
Kael appears out of nowhere—he always does—his coat flaring behind him. Sparks fly. His expression is calm. Too calm.
He looks at me.
We move together.
Not by plan.
By instinct.
Kael reaches the edge of the fragmented energy path. I follow a beat behind. He throws a grappling hook across a broken segment, anchors it into a steel column, and swings with fluid ease.
Where the hell did he get that hook?
"Now!" he shouts.
I run. Leap. Grab the rope.
He catches me midair, one arm locking around my waist as the platform beneath me vanishes into the mist.
"You should somehow take any kind of weapon," he mutters.
"I follow rules," I growl.
"Sure you do."
We land hard, roll apart, and don't look at each other. We don't need to.
Behind us, Jace and Rei push forward.
The four of us reach the midpoint.
Another drop. Another level.
Here, it's glass. Mirrors. Every wall. Every surface. All of us reflected a thousand ways. Our moves. Our mistakes. Our weaknesses.
And something else—our doubles.
I face a mirror. My reflection grins with blood on its teeth. She lunges out. She fights like me. She thinks like me.
Across the chamber, I see Rei fighting three versions of herself—his cybernetic implants glitching under the pressure. Liora is sobbing. Her reflection keeps whispering her sister's name. She lost her in the Northern Collapse. She told me once, during a sleepless night in the barracks.
Kael fights his reflection like a ghost. It doesn't taunt. It judges. And for once, I see him hesitate. He lands a blow—and flinches. Like hurting his mirror-self is hurting someone else.
I smash mine. Hard. Again. Until the glass rains like tears.
But the Trial's not done.
Now- last drop
The arena breaks in half.
A warning klaxon howls.
A vertical chasm rips open through the center—massive grinding gears rotating beneath. A mechanical maw.
No platforms.
No bridges.
Just air.
And one aerial ring system spinning slowly above it.
To reach the safe zone, we'll have to swing.
Jace curses. "You've got to be kidding me—"
"I'll go first," I say.
"No," Kael says. "I will."
We both move at the same time.
Our arms brush as we grab the steel bar overhead. The first jump is a blur—wind rushing past us as we vault into nothingness. My boots slam against the next ring. Kael's beside me, eyes narrowed.
We keep swinging, one ring to the next. One slip, one hesitation, and we fall.
Below us, someone does. I remember her—green hair, Clan Solari. Fast with twin daggers. She screams as her grip breaks, then vanishes into the pit.
Rei looks sick.
But she keeps going.
So do I.
So does Kael.
The storm rages. Thunder cracks. The wind hammers us like fists. Lightning arcs just feet away.
I reach the final platform. The safe zone.
Kael's right behind me. He touches down, breathless, hands bloodied.
Rei limps in seconds later, supported by Jace. They're burned, battered—but alive.
Only a dozen others make it through.
The storm dies.
The lights flicker. An intercom crackles.
"Congratulations, survivors- 37."
Kael breathes out hard beside me. Jace drops to one knee, wincing as Rei slaps a bandage patch to his arm. Blood smears the platform beneath us, still warm.
"Prepare yourselves. The next phase begins soon."
A pause.
The air feels heavier. Like even the static is holding its breath.
"Phase Three: The Third Veil."
A ripple of tension moves through the remaining fighters.
"A combat trial. It exposes the soul beneath the steel."
Another pause.
"The date of commencement will be announced. Until then... heal, reflect, endure."
The intercom clicks off.
And in the silence it leaves behind, I know this:
The worst storms aren't made of thunder. They're made of choices.
And the Third Veil?
It's going to break us.
Or reveal exactly what we are.
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