The battlefield refused to stay still. Fragments of realities crashed into one another, folding into a chaotic labyrinth of shifting terrain. One heartbeat, Kaelen stood knee-deep in ash. The next, he was hurled into the ruins of a drowned city, waves crashing over broken spires of metal and bone.
Lightning split the sky, striking Seris Dhal's armor, yet the commander advanced without hesitation. His glaive carved arcs of gravity through the air, ripping skyscrapers from their foundations and flinging them like spears.
Kaelen rolled across shattered glass, his chest burning with exertion. The trial had stripped away the rules of war—no reinforcements, no retreat, only the raw will to endure. His blade hummed in defiance as he charged, sparks igniting when steel met gravity once more. The collision tore a canyon through the drowned city, water spiraling into a whirlpool of thunder and flame.
"Your resistance is pathetic," Seris growled, his voice echoing with amplifier static. "You don't protect her—you delay the inevitable. The Seed will burn her out, and then it will come to me."
Kaelen spat blood into the storm, eyes blazing. "You'll have to cut me apart first."
Their weapons clashed again, detonations rolling across the shifting battlefield.
Above them, on the floating platform of black flame, Lyra Solenne fought a war of her own. The Seed's energy poured through her veins, every heartbeat carrying whispers that weren't hers. Voices begged, demanded, promised—each one pulling her toward surrender.
Her knees buckled, hands trembling against the radiant glow spilling from her chest. She could feel herself tearing apart, thread by thread.
"Listen to me," Althira Venn said, circling like a viper. "The Seed isn't a gift—it's a curse. It wants a vessel it can hollow out. Let me end this before it devours you."
Her blade whispered from its sheath, its edge shimmering with a ghostly silver light.
"I won't—" Lyra tried to speak, but her voice fractured under the strain. The Seed pulsed violently, and for a second, Althira's words almost made sense.
That was when the world ignited.
Kaelith the Flamebound erupted from the molten sea below, his body a grotesque forge of muscle and lava-metal. He swung a burning hammer the size of a dropship, smashing it into the platform. Shockwaves rolled across the void as molten cracks spidered beneath Lyra's feet.
"Mine!" Kaelith bellowed, flames vomiting from his jaw. "The Seed was promised to the Flamebound! She is mine!"
Lyra staggered backward, caught between Althira's lethal calm and Kaelith's volcanic fury.
The celestial Architect jury watched in silence, their colossal forms etched against the stars, faceless and eternal. With each clash, their runes brightened—recording, weighing, judging.
Kaelen could feel Lyra's terror even through the storm. The Seed's resonance threaded their souls together, and her pain was his pain. With a final surge, he wrenched Seris's glaive aside and slammed his blade into the commander's chestplate, sparks blazing.
But Seris only smiled through the impact. "You're strong, Kaelen. But strength isn't enough."
He drove a knee into Kaelen's ribs, sending him sprawling across the ruins.
Kaelen coughed blood, his body screaming in protest. Yet through the haze, he locked eyes with Lyra across the collapsing battlefield. She was on her knees, barely holding the Seed at bay, surrounded by predators circling closer.
And in that moment, something primal burned in him. The battlefield wasn't just a trial. It was a trap. Every faction, every warlord, every phantom challenger—the Architects had summoned them to one arena, to tear each other apart until only one claim remained.
The trial wasn't about proving worth.
It was about survival in the face of annihilation.
Kaelen rose, blade sparking with renewed fury. "If they want war—then I'll give them hell."