The moon was a pale shard above the spires of the Sovereign Court when the summons came. Kael was led beneath the palace by a procession of masked guards, their silver halberds gleaming in torchlight. The air grew colder with every step, stone corridors sinking into silence that smelled of rust, damp, and old blood.
Lyra, Darric, and Isryn followed as far as they were permitted. When the gates of black iron came into view, two wardens barred their way.
"You cannot pass," one intoned, his voice a muffled echo behind his mask.
Lyra stepped forward, her hand trembling near the hilt of her dagger. "Then I will speak here, where your masters can still hear." Her voice cracked with fire. "If he falls, know this—Kael Rivenhart will not fall alone. Your Court will bleed for it."
The wardens said nothing, only crossing their halberds tighter.
Kael looked back at her. For the first time that day, the storm in his crimson eyes softened.
"Hold your strength, Lyra. If I don't return, it will be your fire that keeps the path alive."
She bit down her words, hard, and let him go.
The gates yawned open, heavy and ancient, swallowing Kael into the earth.
The Hollow Pit was no arena. It was a cavern, carved not by men but by something older. The walls bled with veins of black crystal, their surfaces pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. Chains rattled above, their ends lost in darkness. And in the center of the pit, a circle of scorched stone waited.
Kael stepped into it.
From the balcony above, nobles filled the shadows like carrion birds, their jeweled masks glittering in the torchlight. Whispers slithered through the cavern. Some eager for blood, others for spectacle.
The High Regent's voice carried like thunder.
"Kael Rivenhart! By decree of the Sovereign Court, you will face the Trial of the Hollow Pit. Survive, and your words may yet weigh something. Fail, and your death will serve as warning to all who would rise beyond their station."
The stone beneath Kael trembled.
At first, it was only a whisper of sound—chains grinding, the cavern groaning. Then, with a scream of rust and steel, a vast iron gate beneath the crystal veins split open.
Something crawled out.
It was no beast of flesh, but a construct of bone and shadow. A towering knight, its armor stitched from corpses, its blade the length of a tree. Empty sockets burned with pale fire. Each step cracked the stone, chains dragging behind it like funeral bells.
Gasps rippled from the balconies.
Kael's fingers tightened on his hilt. His red aura stirred, faint but sharp, searing against the cavern's gloom.
"So this is your truth," he whispered. "A monster made of the dead."
The construct raised its sword. The sound was a thunderclap, echoing across the pit.
Kael's crimson eyes narrowed. He steadied his breath.
"I'll show them what it means to fight the living."
And as the monster lunged, Kael's blade left its sheath in a blaze of black lightning.