The victory felt hollow.
Rondan walked back into the torch-lit tunnels, his breathing heavy, his hands trembling—not from exhaustion, but from the burning pulse of the mark on his arm.
Leina was waiting, her silver eyes sharp. "You felt it, didn't you? The whisper."
He didn't answer. The memory of that voice—cold, alien, and yet familiar—still echoed in his mind.
"Rondan," she pressed, "the trials aren't just fights. They're… awakenings. Every mark-bearer who survives one step comes closer to them."
Before he could ask who they were, the sound of a deep gong rolled through the corridors. The stone floor beneath his boots vibrated.
Leina's expression darkened. "The Second Gate. It's too soon."
Two masked guards appeared, their armor etched with the same ancient runes. "Rondan of the Northern Plains," one of them declared, "the next trial awaits."
He followed them, the path winding deeper underground. The air grew colder, the walls narrowing until they opened into a vast, circular chamber lit only by faint, floating lanterns.
In the center stood a door—if it could be called that. It was a towering slab of black stone, carved with spiraling runes that seemed to twist and writhe when looked at too long.
The guards stepped back. The runes began to glow crimson. The air thickened.
A low hum filled the chamber, and then the door opened.
From the darkness beyond, something emerged—a creature unlike anything he had seen. It had the shape of a man, but its body was made of living shadow, its edges dissolving into smoke. Two burning eyes locked onto him, and his mark seared in response.
The voice in his head returned. Second Gate… let the shadow see itself.
The creature lunged. Its arms split into tendrils, slashing in impossible arcs. Rondan barely dodged, his boots skidding on the slick stone floor. Each strike that missed him left deep black scars on the ground, as if reality itself had been burned away.
He tried to strike back, but his blade passed through the shadow's body like mist.
The mark burned hotter, and suddenly he saw it—faint light pulsing within the shadow's chest, like a heart trapped in darkness.
He leapt forward, feinting left before driving his sword straight into the light. A scream tore through the chamber, the shadow collapsing inward before shattering into shards of black glass that dissolved into the air.
The runes on the black door dimmed, and silence fell.
From the darkness beyond the gate, something whispered—not to him, but to the mark.
Two gates opened. The third will demand more than blood.
Leina's voice came from behind him, breathless. "If you open the third… there's no turning back."