Night in Ironreach fell like a weight.
The sky, once bruised and pale, had blackened to coal. Wind scraped across the peaks, tugging at the old stone walls that encircled the training grounds. Somewhere distant, far beyond the border ridges, the sound of a beast howling echoed faintly—long and drawn, like something dying slowly.
Adem Brown lay awake on his straw-stuffed bedding, eyes open, the sounds of the barracks shifting quietly around him. Some of the children were already asleep. Others fidgeted, still raw from the day's pain.
Toren whispered across the dark.
"You think he watches us while we sleep?"
Adem turned his head. "Garen?"
"No. The one from the mountains. The one they don't talk about."
Adem frowned. "That's not real."
Toren grinned in the dark. "Everything's real if you say it when it's cold enough."
"Go to sleep."
But Adem didn't sleep either.
His arms ached. His blisters had opened during sparring and dried stiff against his palms. The pain was constant now, but familiar. He didn't mind it so much. It reminded him he was still moving forward.
Tomorrow, it would begin again.
---
The second day arrived with no fanfare—only the sharp bark of Garen's voice cutting through the early dawn mist.
"Outside. Now."
They assembled quickly in the courtyard. The fog hadn't yet lifted, thick like old soup. It hung low, clinging to skin and cloth, muffling sound. Everything felt too quiet.
Garen stood at the edge of the sparring field, arms crossed behind his back. He looked at none of them.
"You will run the ridge trail. Full circle. Seven kilometers. Do not stop. Do not fall behind."
Toren groaned. Lira narrowed her eyes, already stretching. Adem tightened the belt around his waist.
"The path is marked. If you see something off the trail—ignore it. If you hear something—run faster."
That was all he said before he turned and began walking. The children followed, confusion giving way to the rhythm of their feet on cold earth.
---
The trail snaked through the lower peaks like a coiled rope. Narrow paths bordered cliffs that dropped into mist-choked ravines. The air grew thinner as they climbed, and the wind carried strange scents—burnt sap, wet stone, iron.
Adem kept pace with Lira and Toren near the front. Behind them, Harlan thundered forward, occasionally pushing past slower kids with a grunt. No one spoke much. The air didn't invite it.
Halfway through, the trail veered close to the **corruption fringe**—a dead forest where the trees grew twisted, their bark blackened and split open like old wounds. No barrier stood between them and the woods. Only a line of rusted iron stakes driven into the ground long ago.
Adem glanced toward it once. Just once.
A tree moved.
Not swayed. Not bent. Moved.
As if it had taken a breath.
He looked away, throat tight.
Lira noticed. "Don't look. That's how it gets in."
"In?" Toren said, panting. "What, your nose?"
Lira didn't laugh. "Your mind."
The group pushed onward. At the top of the ridge, the wind was strong enough to knock the small ones off balance. They clung to the rock or each other. The trail narrowed to a bridge of flat stone barely two feet wide. Below was nothing but mist and wind.
Adem crossed slowly, each footstep deliberate. When he reached the other side, he realized three children hadn't made it across yet.
One was crying.
"Keep moving!" Garen's voice cut from ahead.
Eventually, they reached a plateau, where the trail widened and flattened out. The sky had begun to clear. The clan's distant banners were just visible on the southern horizon, fluttering like torn silk.
Garen stood atop a small stone formation, arms folded.
"Rest."
The children collapsed around him. Adem sat on a flat rock, breathing heavily. His legs burned. His chest hurt. But there was pride there, buried under the pain.
Toren collapsed next to him. "I think I left a lung somewhere on that bridge."
Lira sat cross-legged nearby, her face unreadable. She had run the trail as if she'd done it before.
Adem glanced toward the fringe again. Now that the mist was lifting, he could see further into the warped forest. The trees had no leaves. Some looked as though they'd been twisted into spirals. One even grew upside-down, roots clawing the air like fingers.
"What happened to this place?" he asked quietly.
Lira answered, voice low. "They say a long time ago, something fell from the sky. Broke the land. Broke the rules."
"Rules?"
"Of life. Of power. Of death."
Adem stared at her. "You believe that?"
She didn't answer.
---
When they returned to the training grounds, they were given food—boiled roots, dried meat, hard bread. It tasted like dust, but no one complained.
That evening, Garen called for **night drills**.
"You thought power sleeps? You thought the dark was safety?"
They practiced blindfolded, navigating obstacle courses by feel and memory. Some crashed into stone pillars. Others slipped into freezing trenches dug into the dirt. Every mistake earned silence. Every success earned nothing.
Adem's world narrowed to sound and instinct. The soft thud of feet on dirt. The faint echo of cloth brushing stone. The whisper of wind through banners.
By midnight, most of them were shaking. Garen dismissed them without praise. Without even looking at them.
"Tomorrow, your trial begins."
No one knew what that meant.
---
That night, sleep came late.
Adem dreamed.
In the dream, the sky was red. Not a soft sunset red—but raw, seething, pulsing. The clouds peeled back like skin, revealing something vast and watching. Something with no face, no form—only presence.
He stood alone in a valley of dust and bones. The ground was carved with symbols he couldn't read. They glowed faintly when he stepped near them, as if responding to his breath.
Something whispered to him from the far side of the valley.
A voice with no shape.
A thought without words.
When he turned to look, his legs turned to stone.
Then he woke.
---
The next day, they were assembled at the edge of the **Echo Hollow**, a vast basin of cracked stone where sound never echoed back. It was a place older than the clan. Even the elders did not speak of what lay beneath it.
"This is your first trial," Garen said.
He held up a small clay orb, etched with silver runes.
"You will each enter the Hollow. Alone. You will walk to the center. Place the orb. Walk back. Do not run. Do not speak. Do not stray from the marked path."
One of the younger kids raised a hand. "What if we see something?"
"Then ignore it."
The boy looked like he wanted to cry.
"You will go in order of rank," Garen continued. "Lira. First."
She nodded once and stepped forward. Garen placed the orb in her hands.
"Return within the hour."
She said nothing and entered the Hollow.
Adem sat in silence with the others, watching as Lira's figure vanished into the fog-laced basin. The ground there was cracked and stained dark in places. No grass grew. No birds flew overhead.
One hour passed.
Then another.
Just as Garen was about to speak, Lira returned—silent, walking with even steps, eyes wide but focused. She sat down without a word.
"Harlan," Garen called next.
One by one, the children entered. Some came back shivering. Others wide-eyed. One refused to speak for the rest of the day. Two failed to return at all.
When Adem's name was called, the world seemed to grow very still.
He took the orb. It was heavier than it looked. Cold, too.
"Do not stray," Garen said softly.
Adem nodded and stepped into the Hollow.
---
The wind stopped the moment he crossed the ridge.
The world became soundless.
Even his footsteps made no echo.
The path was a spiral of pale stone, etched with faint carvings that pulsed gently when he passed. He kept his eyes on the trail.
Something moved in the fog ahead.
He kept walking.
A figure stood at the center, back turned—too tall to be a child, too thin to be Garen.
Adem blinked, and it was gone.
He reached the center, knelt, and placed the orb.
When he stood, something whispered behind him.
It said his name.
He did not turn.
He walked back, each step deliberate. His hands trembled, but he did not let them see.
---
When he returned, Garen gave a slight nod. "You kept to the path. That is enough."
Adem didn't respond. He sat beside Toren, who looked pale.
"You heard it too?" Toren whispered.
Adem didn't answer.
He wasn't sure if what he'd heard was meant for anyone else.