Ryn finally arrived at the outer door of the citadel, its massive stone frame etched with sigils that pulsed faintly in the dim light. Standing before him was an old guard, weathered and alert, leaning on a long spear with arms crossed.
"I was told to climb here," Ryn said cautiously, "by the old man at the plaza. He said I should wait at the citadel while I wait for the warp gate to open."
The guard's amber eyes assessed him, sharp and piercing. "This gate does not open for everyone," he said. "There is a fee for entry."
Ryn reached into his satchel. "Do you accept any old type of currency?" he asked.
The guard shook his head. "No. You have nothing, I assume?"
Ryn hesitated, then held up a small digital token. "Do you accept this? It's digital currency, an emergency fund."
The guard's eyes narrowed. "No. No gems, no other valuables?"
Ryn shook his head. "Nothing."
The guard studied him for a long moment. Then, almost casually, he said, "How about this. We spar. You can enter if you win against me."
Ryn blinked, surprised. "Spar?"
"Yes. Show me your skill. If you can best me even once, you may enter."
They squared off in the courtyard, stone walls towering around them. The first exchange was cautious. The guard lunged with the spear, testing Ryn's reflexes. Ryn dodged, rolled, and countered with a low sweep, narrowly missing the guard's leg. The guard advanced with precise strikes, forcing Ryn back. Each clash echoed off the stone walls, reverberating through the courtyard.
Ryn noticed the subtle shift in the shadows and the faint pulse of light along the walls, sensing something almost imperceptible watching him. EP-Psi had followed him into the citadel, unseen in micro-sensors embedded in the stone, silently observing every move. The AI cataloged strikes, parries, feints, and footwork, learning patterns, and noting strengths and weaknesses.
The spar grew faster and more intense. Ryn's strikes landed harder, forcing the guard to stumble and regain balance quickly. He ducked under the spear's tip, rolled across the courtyard floor, and brought his short blade in a precise swipe. The guard countered, but Ryn adapted quickly, reading subtle tics in his opponent's movements.
The guard's attacks became sharper, more measured, trying to anticipate Ryn's responses. Ryn shifted, feinting left then striking right, forcing the guard toward the stone wall. The guard grunted, eyes widening as Ryn's speed and agility almost unseated him.
Sweat ran down Ryn's face. Muscles burned. His breathing came in sharp bursts, but he pressed on, blocking, dodging, and striking in rhythm with the faint hum running beneath the courtyard floor, the hidden presence of EP-Psi recording and adjusting to every movement. The AI did not intervene, only observed and learned.
Finally, just as Ryn's blade grazed the guard's chestplate, a calm, commanding voice echoed from above. "Enough."
The courtyard fell silent. The old man of the citadel appeared in the top chamber, amber eyes calm and commanding. "You may enter."
The guard bowed respectfully and opened the massive doors. Ryn exhaled sharply, muscles trembling, adrenaline still coursing. He had passed the test.
Inside, the citadel was vast, empty, and silent, lined with rows of ancient armors and weapons along the walls. The air smelled of aged stone, faint incense, and a trace of cold metal.
Ryn climbed the wide stairs to the upper chambers, guided by the faint glow of bioluminescent cracks in the walls. The top chamber was illuminated by soft natural light spilling from high windows. At a worn wooden desk sat the old man, amber eyes observing him quietly.
"I was meant to travel to Neroth," Ryn began, hesitating as he offered his identification card. "But the gate. It brought me here instead."
The old man raised his hand, palm open, silently stopping Ryn. "No need," he said softly. "I see who you are already. Thalos Morvayne. The line still travels far, though some echoes are lost to time."
Ryn swallowed, slightly unsure how much to say. "I don't understand why the gate did this. Was it a glitch? Or someone else?"
The old man's lips curved faintly. "Perhaps the gate is faulty. Perhaps it is guided. Perhaps someone or something wants you elsewhere. But that is not your concern yet."
Ryn hesitated. Then another thought pressed at him. "Is there another way to travel to Neroth? From this planet. Maybe with ships?"
The old man leaned back, folding his hands. "If you boarded a standard vessel, it would take a hundred years or more to reach Neroth. Even with the best drives, the distance is too vast. Only ships with their own warp gates could shorten the journey. But this world has no such craft. It is a backwater planet, long forgotten by the greater currents of the stars."
He studied Ryn for a long moment. Then he asked, "Tell me, young traveler. Do you wish to learn? To be trained?"
Ryn blinked, taken aback. "Trained?"
"Yes," the old man said. "You seem hunted, or fleeing from something. Someone is chasing you, I sense it. The path you took was not without danger. You will need to fight back."
Ryn froze. "Fight back against what?"
"That will come in time," the old man replied. "For now, you need the knowledge, the skill to survive, to defend, to endure. Will you accept it?"
Ryn paused, considering. He looked toward the gates and the vast empty citadel. The warp gate was closed. He could not leave this planet. He had nowhere else to go. After a long moment, he shrugged. "I guess I don't have much choice. If I can learn. Then I will."
The old man nodded, a quiet approval in his expression. "Good. That is the first step. We begin at dawn. For now, rest and observe. The citadel itself will teach you more than you think. And perhaps, it has already begun."
Ryn settled near a wall of armors, noting the stillness of the citadel. Faint pulses of light glimmered across the walls. Subtle shifts in temperature brushed his skin, and shadows seemed to stretch in impossible ways. Every movement, every soft sound hinted at observation. Something unseen was tracking him.
Unbeknownst to Ryn, EP-Psi had followed him into the citadel's hidden networks. Micro-sensors embedded in the walls and floors flickered to life as he passed. The AI remained invisible, cataloging his actions, noting his choices, and preparing the next steps in its silent plan. Every sigil pulse, every shadow, every flicker of light was part of the breadcrumb chain that would guide him deeper into the citadel and further into the web of predestination laid out for him.
Ryn's gaze traveled across the chamber, past the empty armors, up toward the topmost windows. Somewhere beyond the walls, beyond the visible, the citadel watched, measured, and waited. The citadel was alive in its own way. And so was the watcher hidden within it.
The first light of dawn had barely filtered through the high windows when Ryn's eyes snapped open.
A loud bang shook the wooden door. "Wake up!" a voice shouted, sharp and commanding.
Ryn bolted upright, heart pounding, the memory of yesterday's climb and sparring still fresh in his muscles. The echo of the shout reverberated off the stone walls like a drumbeat. He stumbled to his feet, senses immediately alert, every nerve screaming with readiness.
"Move! Now!" the voice barked again, closer this time.
Ryn recognized the cadence of discipline. It was like the drill exercises his mother had imposed, but amplified, relentless, and unyielding. He scrambled across the chamber, rolling lightly to avoid a sudden swing of a training staff that seemed to appear from nowhere. His muscles screamed, but he forced his body to respond with precision.
"Quickly! Positions!" another shout rang out from the hall.
He followed instinctively, gripping his training weapon as if it were an extension of his own arm. The old man of the citadel appeared briefly at the top of the stairs, amber eyes calm but observant, letting Ryn react without interference.
Ryn moved across the chamber, guided by a series of verbal commands and subtle indicators from the old man, performing drills that tested balance, speed, and focus. Jumping over low obstacles, ducking under swinging arms, pivoting to block unseen strikes, every motion sharpened his reflexes. The stone floor beneath him seemed to pulse faintly, the hidden sensors of EP-Psi tracking every movement, measuring force, precision, and reaction time.
"Again! Faster!" The command came, relentless. Ryn's lungs burned, sweat soaked his hair, and every muscle screamed for reprieve, but he pushed on. Each strike, each dodge, each step was a step closer to mastering control of his body and mind.
Through the window, the dawn light intensified, illuminating the ancient armors lining the walls. They seemed almost alive in the pale light, silent witnesses to his training. Every clang of his strikes, every roll and pivot, was echoed by the faint hum of EP-Psi, the AI observing without interference, cataloging and predicting his potential, preparing for what might come next.
By the time the first true rays of sunlight hit the chamber floor, Ryn had already moved through a dozen iterations of drills, each one faster, sharper, and more precise than the last. His body ached, but his mind was clear, focused. He realized with a shiver that this was only the beginning, and the citadel and whatever watched within it, was only getting started.
Ryn paused for a moment, wiping sweat from his brow, catching his breath, and looking around the empty chamber. Shadows stretched across the walls, the old armors silent, the faint hum of EP-Psi still present in the hidden circuits.
"What kind of training have I just stepped into?" he whispered to himself, uncertainty lacing his voice.