The river camp glowed with low fires when the horn sounded again. Candidates gathered under a canvas awning where the cliffs cast a long shadow. The guard captain stood beside a stone map marked with a single, winding line into the earth.
"Trial Three: Torchlight Cavern." His voice carried over the hush. "You'll enter in pairs of Keeper-and-team, spaced by time. No open flames past the gate—only bond-light from your Arclings or the lamps we issue. Your task: reach the Echo Chamber at the center and ring the iron bell. The caverns are narrow, wet, and home to blind Arclings that hunt by sound. Step soft. Think first."
He held up a metal lamp with a glass hood. "You may take one lamp. If you drop it, you walk in darkness."
Jett squeezed the strap on his pack. Sparkpup pressed against his boot, a low lightning purr in its chest. Clawfin perched on a beam above, feathers dim and watchful. The new seal at Jett's belt—Flamebeak—pulsed with slow heat.
Kael waited near the back, Nightfang a dark shape at his side. He noticed Jett and tipped his chin with a small, unreadable smile.
"Jett Ember," called the captain. "You're third in."
Jett stepped forward to take a lamp. Its weight felt real and simple in his hand—solid, like an anchor. He looked down at Sparkpup and up at Clawfin.
"We stay close. Quiet feet," he murmured.
Sparkpup's sparks dimmed to a soft hum. Clawfin gave a silent beat of its wings.
The line moved. One candidate vanished into the cave mouth. Then another. A bell sounded once, far inside—distant and thin.
"Go," the captain said.
Jett took a breath and stepped into the dark.
Into the Drip and Stone
The cavern swallowed sound. Water dripped slow from the ceiling. The floor sloped down and away, slick with film. The lamp threw a tight circle of light around Jett's boots and Sparkpup's paws. Shadows bent the tunnel into shapes that looked like crouching things and then melted when he blinked.
"Clawfin, above us," Jett whispered.
The bird lifted off and hovered just inside the light, a silent silver shadow.
They moved in a slow rhythm: step, breathe, drip, step. The air cooled the sweat on Jett's neck. Far off, something scraped stone.
"Left fork or right?" he breathed at the first split. The left smelled of old air and salt. The right, of wet clay.
Sparkpup sniffed and pointed its nose left. Clawfin drifted that way as if pulled.
"Left it is."
The tunnel narrowed. Jett turned sideways to pass a pinch point, his pack scraping, lamp pressed against his chest. Sparkpup squeezed through and waited, tail a dim flicker. Clawfin folded its wings tight and slid by with a whisper.
They came to a shallow pool. The lamp showed small ripples. Something moved beneath—slender, many, like pale rope.
Jett crouched and lowered the lamp. Glowworms—Spirit type. Harmless unless stepped on, then they sparked panic light that drew hunters.
"Easy," Jett breathed. "Place your feet."
Sparkpup tiptoed across on dry stones with neat care. Jett matched it, heel to toe, heel to toe. Clawfin skimmed the surface, casting a thin wind to steady the lamp's flame.
A soft hiss drifted from the dark. The ripples sped.
Jett froze. The lamp flame trembled.
From the far side, a wide, flat head rose from the pool—Miremask, a Tide-type ambusher with a round mouth and ringed gills. It blinked cloudy eyes and eased toward the light.
"Back," Jett whispered. "No splashes."
The Miremask slid closer, drawn to the heat. Sparkpup's fur prickled.
"If we bolt, we'll slip," Jett thought. "If we fight, the pool wakes up."
He chose. "Clawfin—Gale Glide. Make a low path."
The bird beat its wings once, softly. Wind flattened the water surface into a smooth sheet. The ripples calmed. The Miremask tilted, confused. Jett moved—three light steps, then a long one. Sparkpup matched, a small ghost at his heel.
They reached dry stone. The wind eased. The pool broke into ripples again. Jett exhaled slow. "Good work," he breathed. "That was clean."
Sparkpup's tail flickered brighter, proud and quiet.
The Whispering Hall
The tunnel opened into a low room where stone teeth hung from the ceiling. Drips fell in steady beats like a quiet drum. The lamp caught tiny white shapes clinging to the rock—Echomites, thumb-sized bat-lizards with ears like leaves.
Jett stilled. One Echomite twitched. Another turned its head. The room seemed to hold its breath.
"Sound hunters," Jett thought. He pointed down. Sparkpup sank on its belly. Clawfin tucked its wings and rested on Jett's shoulder, as light as a scarf.
He slid the lamp hood shut a little, dimming the light. Shapes softened. He took soft steps in the wet dust along the wall. A boot pebble skittered.
An Echomite squeaked. Then another. A ripple ran across the ceiling—dozens waking at once.
"Too loud," Jett thought, pulse climbing. "We need a cover sound that doesn't scream 'prey.'"
He remembered Mira's calm voice: Use your ground. Use your head.
He lifted two fingers. "Clawfin, Hush Wing," he breathed.
The bird gave a tiny shake and set a steady air current through the hall. It made the drips sound like soft rain and the pebbles like more rain. Echomites settled again, ears folding.
Jett smiled in the dark. "Nice."
They made it through the hall to a narrow chute. The slope fell steeply into black, the sound of a deeper drip beyond.
"Down we go," Jett said. He looped his rope around a stone horn, tested it, then eased himself over, lamp hooked to his belt.
Sparkpup put paws on the wall and followed, claws finding tiny holds. Clawfin rode the air.
Halfway down, the rope twitched in Jett's hands.
He looked up.
A thin, gray shape slid over the edge where the rope wrapped the horn. A Threadrat—Metal type, with wire whiskers and snipping teeth—sniffed the rope. Its eyes gleamed.
"Don't," Jett whispered.
The rat bit.
The rope jerked.
Jett dropped.
"Clawfin!" he snapped. "Wind Catch!"
Air hit him from below like a soft wall. He slammed into it instead of stone, the impact hard but not breaking. He rolled to a crouch as Sparkpup landed beside him, yelping once and then standing.
Above, the Threadrat scuttled away, dragging strands of cut rope like trophies.
Jett rubbed his shoulder and let out a shaky laugh. "That could have been worse."
Sparkpup bumped his shin with its nose. The lamp was scuffed but intact.
"Let's keep moving," Jett said. "We're close."
The Blind Pack
The next passage curved into a long, low tunnel striped with pale mineral lines. Jett heard it before the lamp showed it—soft pads on stone, many at once, all in rhythm.
The light found them: six small, pale hounds with folded ears and closed eyes—Blindhounds, Spirit/Stone type. Their noses twitched. Their heads tilted as one. They spread out, forming a crescent.
"Don't run," Jett thought, forcing his breath slow. "Think."
He knelt and touched the floor. It thrummed, a faint hum, like a plucked string. The Blindhounds moved when the hum changed. They hunted by tremor.
"Sparkpup," he whispered, "can you give me very soft steps?"
The pup set each paw like a feather, sparks set to a faint glow.
"Clawfin, faint breeze—steady, not gusts."
Wind slipped along the ground, smoothing little noises.
Jett took a soft step left. The Blindhounds' heads turned, then drifted one pace off, fooled by the breeze. Another step. Another drift.
It worked—until the lamp hissed and popped.
A tiny flame jumped inside the glass. The sound cracked across the tunnel.
The Blindhounds froze. Then they lunged.
"Now!" Jett shouted. "Sparkpup—Zap Pop, spread wide! Clawfin—Gale Burst!"
Sparkpup exploded a ring of snap-light, not at a single point but across the floor in small pops—tiny stings that made the hounds flinch and stop. Clawfin blasted a low sheet of air, knocking their paws sideways. The pack tumbled like dropped sacks, more surprised than hurt.
"Through!" Jett called, running light-footed between them. Sparkpup darted at his heel; Clawfin skimmed overhead.
A Blindhound snapped at Jett's boot. Sparkpup turned, teeth crackling. Bolt Bite nicked the hound's collar of mineral, not enough to harm—just enough to warn. The hound yelped and stumbled back.
They cleared the pack and slid into a side cleft. Breaths came hard. The hounds regrouped behind, sniffing, confused.
Jett leaned his head against cool stone. "You two are brilliant," he whispered. "Truly."
Sparkpup panted, eyes hot with pride. Clawfin preened a wing, calm returning.
The tunnel ahead widened. The air changed—less stale, more open. Jett smelled iron.
"The Echo Chamber," he said.
The Bell and the Dark
They stepped into a round room as wide as a house. The ceiling rose to a point; every drip that fell inside made a soft, perfect chime. In the center, a waist-high stand held a small iron bell and a short rope tied beneath it. Dust lay around it in a ring.
Jett's lamp flame wagged. His skin prickled.
"Too open," he thought. "Too easy."
He walked to the bell on soft feet, Sparkpup on his left, Clawfin on his right. He reached out and set two fingers on the rope.
Something moved in the dust ring—a circle of faint lines, as if traced by a slow finger.
"Wait," Jett breathed.
The dust trembled. The circle lifted like a curtain. Stone—not dust at all—slid up to form a ridge around the bell. The floor cracked in a perfect ring. From it rose a thin, wide, disk-like creature with a mouth in its center and eyes set far apart along its rim.
"Ringjaw." Jett swallowed. "Stone/Spirit. It guards the bell."
The Ringjaw slid over the ground with a scraping song. Jett felt the tone press against his ribs.
"Don't let it sing you still," he told himself. "Move."
"Clawfin—Gale Slice, aim for eye-rim! Sparkpup—circle left, Quick Pounce then off!"
Clawfin's wind knifed the air, clipping a pebbled eye. The Ringjaw flinched and the tone wobbled. Sparkpup dashed in, bounced off the rubbery edge, and kept moving.
The Ringjaw's mouth bent into a frown. It slammed itself flat and a sound rolled out—low and heavy. Jett's knees softened at once, like his bones forgot their job.
"Hold!" he gasped. "Clawfin, Hush Wing—cancel the tone!"
Wind swirled around his ears like a soft shell. The heavy sound dulled. Jett's legs steadied.
"Sparkpup—charge up, but keep it tight," he said. "No wild bursts. Find the beat."
Sparkpup bristled, electricity crawling in a steady ring, not flaring. It paced with the Ringjaw, matching the speed of its slide. The electricity brightened when the Ringjaw pushed, dimmed when it drew back—Jett felt the rhythm in his own teeth.
"Now—Howl Charge—but ride the tone!"
Sparkpup threw back its head and howled, not loud, but tuned. The notes met the Ringjaw's hum and slipped between it. The pup dashed and struck—a soft, perfect hit that sent a shock through instead of against the stone.
Cracks spidered across the Ringjaw's rim. It reared and turned its mouth toward Jett.
A sudden cold hiss cut the air.
Jett looked up—shadows spilled from the passage behind.
Kael stepped from the dark, Nightfang at his side, both shapes lit by Jett's lamp. Kael's eyes glinted. "You found it first."
"Trial's one team at a time," Jett said, keeping his voice steady. "Back off."
Kael's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Relax. I'm not stealing your bell. I'm here for the same reason you are—to survive."
The Ringjaw hissed, eye-rim narrowing.
"Talk later," Jett snapped. "Move now!"
Kael lifted a hand. "Nightfang—**Shadow Blink—**behind!"
The wolf vanished into its own shade and flashed out on the Ringjaw's far side, snapping at a second eye-rim, not to harm but to distract.
Jett saw the line. "Sparkpup—Bolt Bite, then off—Clawfin, Wind Hook to pull it open!"
Sparkpup leapt—teeth flashed—ZAP. It sprang away before the mouth could close. Clawfin hooked wind into the Ringjaw's crack and pried. The stone plate split wider with a pained groan.
"Finish!" Jett called. "**Zap Pop—three hits—**now!"
Sparkpup fired three small, precise pops into the crack. On the third, the Ringjaw sagged. Its tone broke into a whisper. It slumped flat, mouth easing shut.
Jett stood panting, heart pushing at his ribs. Kael lowered his hand, Nightfang slipping back to his flank.
The chamber felt suddenly huge and quiet.
"Thanks," Jett said, eyes on the fallen guardian. The word tasted odd but right.
Kael rolled a shoulder. "Don't get used to it."
Jett stepped to the bell and wrapped his fingers around the rope.
He pulled.
The iron bell rang—clear and true. The note ran around the chamber and back again, bright as water on stone.
Somewhere down the tunnels, a horn answered. Trial mark made.
The New Spark
They waited while the Ringjaw eased back into its dust ring, unhurt now that the bell had been struck. The floor closed over it with a soft sigh.
"Go," Kael said. "Your turn to clear out first."
Jett nodded and started for the exit passage. Sparkpup stayed close. Clawfin floated at his shoulder. At the mouth of the tunnel, the lamp's light thinned.
The flame dipped. The glass flashed black.
The lamp went out.
Dark slammed in, thick as cloth.
Jett stopped dead. He felt Sparkpup's fur under his palm and heard Clawfin's light wing-shiver. His heartbeat got loud.
"Don't panic," he told himself. "Light is a tool. You have more than one."
"Sparkpup," he said softly, "can you… show me the way?"
The pup's chest rose and fell. It pressed its head to Jett's knee.
He closed his eyes in the dark and reached along the bond—the tight, warm line between them. He followed it into Sparkpup's core, where a small star hummed.
"Not a burst," he thought. "A beam. Not loud. Clear."
"Try this," he whispered. "Arc Lantern."
For a breath, nothing.
Then Sparkpup's mark brightened. A thin, steady ray of pale blue-white light flowed from the bolt on its forehead, fanned into a soft cone, and settled in front of Jett's boots—not harsh like lightning, not hot like fire—just clean, calm light.
Clawfin clicked softly in surprise. Even Nightfang, behind them, gave a quiet huff.
Jett's throat tightened. "Good. So good." He rubbed Sparkpup's head, voice rough. "New move. Ours."
"Name suits it," Kael said from the dark. "Arc Lantern. Clever. Don't trip."
Jett smiled despite himself. "Try to keep up."
He lifted the dead lamp in one hand and walked by the pup's soft light. The cone was narrow, but the darkness fell back from it like mist from a rock. The path home revealed itself—wet steps, low ceilings, a left bend with a drip that clicked like a clock.
They passed the Blindhounds. Sparkpup dimmed the Lantern to a thread. They didn't stir.
They crossed the Glowworm pool. Clawfin's wind smoothed the surface once more. The Miremask slept.
They squeezed through the pinch and stepped into the night air.
The stars felt huge. The wind carried the cool of the river and the faint smoke of camp. When the horn at the gate sounded again, closer now, Jett laughed—relief and pride at once.
"Trial Three passed," the guard captain said when they reached the canvas. He saw the dead lamp and Sparkpup's still-glowing forehead. "And you unlocked a bond-light move. That's worth a second mark."
He pressed a small blue pin into Jett's palm—a drop shape. "Light of your own. Keep it burning."
Jett pinned it to his strap and knelt to hug Sparkpup, who yipped and wagged, the Lantern dimming to a shy glow. Clawfin settled on the beam above and tucked its head, smug and neat.
Kael walked past with Nightfang, a shadow on a leash of air. He didn't look at Jett, but as he passed he said, low, "Don't fall behind. The next trial won't be kind."
Jett stood and watched the cave mouth go quiet again. He felt the weight of the new pin and the steady hum of three bonds. The night felt less dark than before.
"Tomorrow," he told his team, "we face Trial Four."
Sparkpup gave a soft flash, like a nod. Clawfin's feathers whispered. Above them, the stars kept their far, patient watch.