The world narrowed to the shadow of the halberd.
It came down with the force of a falling mountain, and Rondan barely rolled aside before the blade split the black stone where he had stood. Sparks danced from the impact, followed by a deep, resonant hum from the obelisks surrounding the plaza.
The Gatekeeper didn't give him time to breathe. A sweeping arc of steel sliced through the air, driving him back step by step. The ground itself seemed to resist him, every movement heavy, as if the air had turned to molten lead.
He's forcing me into his rhythm… Rondan thought, teeth clenched.
Another strike came—a thrust aimed for his chest. Rondan twisted aside and brought his sword up, steel meeting steel. The clash sent a shock through his arms, numbing them instantly.
The Gatekeeper's voice rumbled like distant thunder.
"The mark chooses. The mark demands. Prove your worth… or be erased."
At those words, the rune on Rondan's arm flared—no longer faint, but burning with crimson light. Pain shot through him, searing, yet within it pulsed something else… strength.
The next time the halberd came down, he caught it with his blade and held it. His boots scraped against the black stone, but he didn't yield.
With a surge of will, Rondan twisted, forcing the weapon aside and stepping in close. His sword slashed across the Gatekeeper's armor, leaving a glowing scar that hissed with energy.
The giant stepped back—not in retreat, but in acknowledgment.
"So… you are chosen."
The plaza rumbled. The obelisks flared. The Gatekeeper lifted his halberd, its crimson light now matching the mark on Rondan's arm.
Leina's voice echoed from somewhere in the shadows. "Careful… if he uses the Second Form, you won't survive it."
The Gatekeeper lowered into a stance, his presence doubling in weight.
The true trial was only beginning.