The staircase climbed higher, each step echoing like the toll of a funeral bell. The chamber of reflections faded behind them, but the weight of it clung to Carlos's chest. The crystal's cold power still thrummed inside him, a reminder that the Citadel's trials weren't finished.
The air grew hotter as they ascended. The stone walls glowed faintly, veins of molten light pulsing through them like arteries. The whispers that had followed them since entering the tower fell silent, replaced by a low, rhythmic rumble—like the breathing of some enormous beast.
At last, the staircase ended at a massive iron gate. It was scorched black, its surface covered in deep claw marks. As Carlos stepped forward, the Helm's letters flared across his vision:
Second Trial: The Gauntlet. Survive the passage, or perish within.
The gate groaned open on its own, the sound shrill and ancient. Beyond stretched a corridor of impossible length, vanishing into fire-lit haze. The walls were lined with jagged stone, and the floor was cracked and uneven.
Rina's daggers twirled nervously in her hands. "This already looks like a death trap."
"Because it is," Thalor rumbled, his shield lifting instinctively.
Carlos took a breath, then stepped through. "Stay close. Whatever this place throws at us, we face it together."
The moment all five entered, the gate slammed shut with a finality that shook the corridor. The ground shuddered—and the Gauntlet awoke.
The first trap struck without warning. The floor split apart, entire slabs of stone dropping into a pit that yawned beneath them. Lava surged upward, the heat blistering their skin. Carlos barely leapt to solid ground in time, hauling Maren with him as she stumbled. Behind them, Lys rolled forward just as a falling tile crumbled to ash beneath her boots.
"Keep moving!" Carlos shouted.
They ran, the corridor reshaping itself as they went. Stone walls shifted, sliding across one another with grinding thunder. Pathways narrowed to razor-thin ledges above rivers of fire, then widened again into caverns filled with swinging blades of obsidian.
Rina darted ahead, her agility saving her from blades that nearly severed her in half. "I knew it! I knew this tower hates us!"
Thalor absorbed the brunt of a spiked wall that shot from the side, his shield sparking with the impact. He roared with effort, holding the barrier long enough for the others to squeeze past.
Arrows of molten light erupted from slits in the walls, streaking down the corridor like falling stars. Lys spun, loosing arrows of her own that intercepted some of the bolts midair, buying them precious seconds. Still, one grazed her arm, searing flesh. She hissed through her teeth but didn't falter.
The Gauntlet didn't stop.
Stone hands burst from the floor, clawing at their legs, pulling at their boots. Carlos slashed through them, the Blade of Ascension singing with white fire. Each severed hand turned to dust, but for every one he cut down, two more emerged.
Maren planted her staff and shouted a word that shook the corridor. A wave of light exploded outward, dissolving the stone hands in a blinding flash. She collapsed to her knees, drained, but Carlos caught her and pulled her back to her feet.
"Not yet," he told her. "We're not done."
They pressed on, sweat soaking their clothes, lungs burning from the heat. Every step felt like defiance against a world determined to kill them. The corridor twisted, spiraled, inverted—gravity itself seemed to shift at the tower's whim. At one point, they were forced to sprint across a wall as if it were the floor, lava churning below them.
Finally, after what felt like hours but could only have been minutes, the corridor opened into a vast chamber.
They collapsed to the ground, gasping for air, the silence almost unbearable after the constant roar of traps. The floor here was black glass, perfectly smooth, and in its center rose a dais of molten stone. Upon it floated another crystal—this one larger, glowing with crimson fire.
Carlos staggered forward. The Helm flared once more:
You have endured the Gauntlet. The Flame of Endurance is yours.
The crystal drifted toward him, searing heat radiating from it. When it touched his chest, pain lanced through his body, as if fire were rewriting his veins. He screamed, but did not fall. When the heat faded, strength remained—harder, heavier, forged by flame.
The crystal vanished into him, joining the cold echo of the first trial. Carlos fell to one knee, chest heaving.
Thalor placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "You took its burden for us all."
Carlos shook his head. "Not just me. We all survived it."
But even as he spoke, the floor trembled. Across the chamber, new doors began to rise—five of them, each marked with a different rune.
Maren's voice trembled. "Five doors… five paths."
The Helm's words seared into Carlos's mind:
The Citadel does not test groups. It tests souls. Choose your path. Walk it alone.
The silence that followed was heavier than any roar of the Colossi.
For the first time since entering the Helm's realms, Carlos realized the tower wasn't just testing their strength.
It wanted to break them apart.