Twelve hours before dawn, Velora slipped from her tower's sanctum to the Obsidian Hall, crimson runes along her arms still aglow. After binding the final ley-line strand in her Observatorium, she swept down the spiral staircase and rode the south elevator straight to the Hall in under an hour. All through the night, Conclave envoys moved through Dragon's Teeth—unfurling wards, lighting Aether braziers, draping gilded banners—so that by first light the polished obsidian arena would stand ready.
Behind the Rusted Wheel Tavern, Jonah and Liora crouched in the mist, broken crates at their backs. Jonah tapped twice on the agreed side-arch—Marult's runner code—and within heartbeats a hooded courier emerged, pressed a sealed scroll into his hand, then vanished into shadow. Under the lantern's flicker, Jonah broke the seal. Black-ink letters spelled the decree: ten Aether points for Magistrate Salveron's tribute—two points per dispel of thorn-vine binding, one per Invocation, half-point per second of Channeling, no resets until dusk. Velora's envoy-runers had warned: "News of Velora's no-interference decree crackled through Marult's network—any hunter who defied it risked loss of patronage, even exile." Kaelen tucked the contract into his tunic, molten core hammering in his chest. Ten points remained.
They slipped through rain-slicked alleys toward the canal warehouse. Liora paused at the doorway and whispered a soft recovery chant. Her lantern's gem glowed soft green as the runestone drew ambient Aether, restoring the half-point she'd spent. Jonah's knife gleamed at his hip; Kaelen's senses prowled every echo.
Two guards in battered breastplates slouched at the entrance, swords more decoration than weapon. Kaelen melded into shadow; Jonah and Liora fanned out beside him. At Jonah's nod, Kaelen struck with an Iron Punch that shattered the first guard's ribs in a spray of dark blood. The man collapsed, breath gone. Jonah darted inside, blade flashing to open the second guard's throat. No scream—only the wet thud of life extinguished.
Inside, Magistrate Salveron crouched on a splintered barrel, tribute sacks at his knees. Four enforcers knelt around him, boots ensnared in writhing thorn-vines as their chant thrummed through the boards. Liora stepped forward. "Now," she whispered, tracing a dispel rune. Golden threads slithered from her lantern, severing vines at their roots; sap hissed where it struck. The enforcers lurched free just as Kaelen vanished—Tiger's Step—and reappeared behind the nearest thug. His claws carved through rune-leather into flesh; the man crumpled. A second lunged with a pike; Kaelen's Ground Smash buckled knees and cracked boards. The third thrust; Kaelen's Claw Deflection snapped bone. The fourth roared in fury, only to fall beneath a precise Claw Finisher. None struck fatally until that last, nonlethal blow, honoring Velora's pact to disable until the final trial.
He sheathed his claws, then bound Salveron's ankles with a silent rune. "Tell no one where you heard of me," he warned. By nightfall, Salveron's ankle-runes would deliver him to Conclave healing wards—prison and mercy in equal measure. Kaelen lifted the heavy coin pouch from the barrel; it thudded at Jonah's feet. "Ten points spent," Jonah murmured as Liora's lantern pulsed once to confirm.
They emerged into dawn's gray haze, canal mist curling at their boots. Couriers dashed through side streets to broadcast Ironclaw's ruthless efficiency—and controlled mercy. The vaulted arches of the Obsidian Arena loomed ahead, four raised platforms forming the Gauntlet's circle. Carved above the doors was the Bonecrusher creed: "Only those who master strength, wit, instinct, and final ruthlessness may claim a champion's right." Masked courtiers lined obsidian rails, gold coins stacked as they whispered wagers.
A crimson sigil flared on Kaelen's gauntlet as Velora's clerk channeled her endowment; warmth spread through his arm and he felt ten renewed Aether points surge into his core.
First came the Test of Strength—Korvak the Ironhide charged with flanged hammer when the horn blasted. Kaelen met the blow with a bone-forged forearm and countered with a crushing Iron Punch to Korvak's flank, then Ground Smash buckled the giant's knees. Korvak fell to one knee, conscious but broken. Strength—proven.
By tradition, the second platform forced the champion to face two equals at once: Seris the Arbiter and Malven the Runecaster. Seris lashed an Aether whip while Malven inscribed fiery glyphs. Kaelen vanished—Tiger's Step—appearing between them. He snapped Seris's whip with Claw Deflection, then cracked Malven's cheekbone with an Iron Punch before locking Seris's arm in a Fist Lock Throw. Both collapsed, dazed but alive. Wit—outmatched.
The third platform, Test of Instinct, waited under flickering braziers. Ulric the Howler leapt with fang-like claws bared. Kaelen unleashed Silent Roar—a tremor only beasts could feel—sending Ulric sprawling into shackles of Binding Runes. As the beast thrashed, Kaelen delivered a measured Claw Slash to his flank, then stepped back, leaving him bound yet breathing. Instinct—unerring.
The final platform was the pit of Poisoned Ruthlessness: green-tinged toxin steamed from vents as Tyrea the Venombinder danced with twin venom-drippers. Kaelen dispelled her thorn ward with a swift Aether Cleave, caught her dagger in a bone-hard grip—Claw Deflection shattering steel—and punched her diaphragm with an Iron Punch before finishing with a precise Claw Finisher to the throat. Blood spurted, sizzling on the toxic floor as Tyrea crumpled lifeless. Ruthlessness—final and absolute.
A hush settled. Velora descended the steps, her runes blazing. "The Bonecrusher of Pride has conquered the Gauntlet—alive, merciful, and unbroken," she proclaimed. A herald knelt and unfurled a scroll sealed in blood-red wax, laying it at Kaelen's feet: his writ of summons to the Sovereign's Council. A murmur rippled through the masked lords—some bowed in grudging respect, others scowled at the Tier-I butcher's sudden elevation.
Jonah's whoop split the silence; Liora's lantern flared gold. Kaelen stepped down from the platforms, each footfall echoing a drumbeat heralding savage fights, poisoned politics, and betrayals yet to come.