Dawn arrived not with sunlight, but with the grim, gray glow of the Veil pressing against Havenfall's immense energy shield. Kaelen stood at the same gate he had entered through, but everything was different. He was different.
He wore a set of sturdy, dark traveler's clothes and boots provided by Valeria's quartermaster. They felt alien against his skin, too new, too clean for what was to come. At his hip hung a simple, unadorned knife—his only weapon. Commander Valeria stood beside him, her armor gleaming dully in the low light. Her expression was granite.
"Your objective will be revealed the moment you cross the perimeter," she said, her voice low and devoid of warmth. "The System does not believe in preparation. It believes in instinct. Rely on yours. Remember your training. Control the energy, do not let it control you."
She looked at him, and for a fleeting second, he thought he saw something else in her eyes—not concern, but a calculating assessment. "The Trial is individual. No one can help you. But remember, survival is the only parameter for success. How you achieve it is your own choice."
The massive gates began to grind open, much slower this time, revealing a narrow view of the twisted, mist-shrouded landscape beyond. The air that washed in was cold and tasted of ozone and decay.
A sudden commotion broke out behind them. A messenger, looking harried, sprinted up to Valeria and saluted sharply. "Commander! Urgent dispatch from the Western Wall sector. A Breach-level incursion. Command requires your immediate presence for tactical analysis."
Valeria's jaw tightened. She shot a look at Kaelen, then at the opening gate. A conflict of duties warred on her face. The city's defense always came first.
"Go," she barked at the messenger. She turned back to Kaelen, her decision made. "You know your orders. Proceed. I will monitor your progress from the command center when I am able." It was a dismissal. She was already turning away, her focus shifting to the new crisis.
Her abrupt departure left him feeling unmoored. He was alone.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Kaelen stepped across the threshold. The moment his boot touched the contaminated earth outside the wall, cold, geometric runes flashed before his eyes.
{Trial of Ascension Initiated: F-Rank to E-Rank}
{Objective: Retrieve a Fragment of the Sunken Star. Location pinged on your mental map.}
{Time Limit: 6 Hours}
{Warning: The Anchor is active. Hostile attention is guaranteed.}
A pulse of information seared into his mind—a psychic image of his surroundings with a single, blinking point of light in the distance, perhaps a two-hour trek into the wilds. The "Sunken Star" sounded like a relic, something valuable. Something others might also want.
The gate began to grind shut behind him, sealing him out. The hum of Havenfall's shield faded, replaced by the oppressive, silent whisper of the Veil. He was exposed.
He had taken only three steps into the twisted brush when a figure melted out from behind a petrified tree trunk.
It was not a monster.
It was a man, lean and wiry, with a scarred face and hungry eyes. He wore patched-together leather armor and held a notched sword that had seen much use. Another man, larger and silent, stepped out on his flank, hefting a heavy maul.
"Well, look what the Citadel coughed up," the first man sneered, his voice a low rasp. "A little F-Rank initiate on his first Trial. How precious."
Kaelen's hand went to his knife, his heart hammering. Scavengers. Raiders. Humans who lived in the wilds, preying on the weak and each other.
"The System gave you a objective, didn't it, boy?" the leader said, taking a step closer. "Something shiny to find. Why don't you tell us what it is? Save us the trouble of tracking you. We might even let you live."
They knew. They knew how the Trials worked. They hunted initiates.
Kaelen said nothing, his mind racing. He could try to fight. Two against one, and they were experienced, armed. He might get a shard into one, but the other would kill him. He could run. But his Curse would draw Nightmares. He was trapped.
The leader's smirk widened. "No? Suit yourself. We'll just follow the Anchor's pull. You're like a dinner bell, kid."
It was then that a third voice cut through the mist, smooth as silk and laced with amusement. "I believe the young man is otherwise engaged."
Isolde emerged from the shadows as if she had been woven from them herself. She wore dark, practical traveling leathers that did nothing to hide her striking figure. Her wine-dark hair was tied back, and she held a elegant, narrow-bladed dagger casually at her side.
The two raiders spun around, their bravado faltering. They recognized her, not by name, but by the aura of deadly power that rolled off her.
"This doesn't concern you, witch," the leader snarled, though he took a step back.
"On the contrary," Isolde said, her smile sharp. "Everything that happens in these woods concerns me. Now, you have a choice. You can leave now and tell your friends that Isolde de Lys is taking personal interest in this initiate's Trial. Or you can become a lesson I will personally deliver to them."
The use of her name was a hammer blow. The color drained from the leader's face. He looked from her to Kaelen, calculating the suicidal odds.
With a foul curse, he spat on the ground. "This isn't over." He jerked his head at his partner, and the two of them melted back into the mist, disappearing as quickly as they had come.
Isolde watched them go, then turned her captivating smile on Kaelen. "It seems the Commander is… preoccupied. It appears you have chosen my guidance after all, little key. Whether you meant to or not." She gestured with her dagger toward the blinking point in his mind. "Shall we? Your first lesson in practical power begins now. The lesson is this: sometimes, the right word is the deadliest weapon of all."
Kaelen stood frozen, relief and terror warring within him. He had made no conscious choice, yet the choice had been made for him. His Trial had begun, and he was no longer alone. He had acquired a patron. And her price was yet to be revealed.