The air in the training coliseum was thick with expectation. Thousands had gathered, pressing shoulder to shoulder against the carved bone walls of the Titan's arena. It was a place of spectacle, where warriors tested their might before the Council and where fates were sealed not by choice but by combat.
Today, it was not a tournament.
Today, it was a trial.
At the center of the arena stood Erynd Kael, chains wrapped loosely around his wrists. The Council claimed it was for "formality," but he knew better. This was not for justice—it was a display. The people needed to see the boy marked by the Primordial Heart, to fear him, or to worship him.
The sigil across his chest glowed faintly under his tunic, pulsing like a hidden drum. He could feel its heartbeat in his own, a rhythm that was not his.
On the far end, iron gates screeched open. From the darkness emerged the Council's chosen executioner.
Valek Draemir.
Once a hero of the Northern Wars, now little more than the Council's enforcer. His armor was blackened steel, etched with veins of crimson light. In his right hand, he carried a glaive longer than Erynd was tall, its blade humming with restrained violence.
Whispers rippled through the crowd. "Valek… the Butcher of Korrin…"
Erynd swallowed hard. He had no illusions—this was no "test." This was a cleansing.
---
From the stands, Kaelen's voice cut through the roar of the crowd.
"Don't let them break you, Erynd!"
Seris, Aelira, Doran, Lyss, and Veyra were there too, their faces tight with anger. But they couldn't interfere. To step into the arena without sanction was death, even for them.
This was Erynd's fight alone.
The Councilor raised his hand. "Let the trial begin."
And the gates slammed shut.
---
Valek moved first. For a man in heavy armor, he was impossibly fast. The glaive sliced through the air in a deadly arc. Erynd barely rolled aside, the blade carving a trench into the bone floor where he'd stood.
The Heart pulsed.
Fight. Claim. Consume.
Erynd's teeth clenched. He had no weapon. No armor. Nothing but his fists and the cursed mark.
Valek struck again, and again. Erynd dodged, the edge of the glaive missing him by breaths. But his body was tiring, his legs burning with every sprint.
"You are nothing without it," Valek's voice boomed behind the helmet. "The Heart makes you. Strip it away, and you're just a child."
Another slash. Erynd stumbled, the glaive grazing his arm. Blood spilled onto the pale floor. The crowd roared.
The sigil blazed against his chest. Heat surged into his veins. His vision blurred red.
Take him. End him. Feed.
"No!" Erynd hissed aloud, clutching at his chest. "I won't be your monster."
Valek lunged for the kill.
And that was when the Heart moved on its own.
---
A wave of force erupted from Erynd's body, invisible yet undeniable. The air shook, the ground cracked, and Valek was thrown back across the arena like a ragdoll, his armor screeching against bone. The crowd screamed as dust billowed.
Erynd gasped for air. His arms glowed faintly, veins lit with molten fire. He hadn't meant to unleash it—but the Heart was awake now, and it was not satisfied.
Valek rose slowly, dragging his glaive upright. His helmet cracked, revealing one burning eye. "So. It is true. The Heart lives."
He charged again.
This time, Erynd didn't dodge.
Their clash shook the arena. Erynd caught the glaive's haft in his bare hands, the force rattling his bones. Sparks flew as his pulse pushed back against the weapon's crimson energy. The sigil on his chest flared, searing hot.
And then… he struck.
A single punch. Fueled not by his own strength, but by the Heart's wrath.
The blow connected with Valek's chestplate. Metal shattered like glass. Valek was hurled across the arena, slamming into the far wall. His glaive snapped in two.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Valek lay sprawled, bloodied but alive. He coughed, a ragged laugh spilling from his lips. "You're not ready for it, boy. But one day… you will be. And then you'll know whether you're heir… or executioner."
His head fell back, unconscious.
---
The Council rose in chaos, voices clashing. Some called for Erynd's execution, others demanded his protection. The crowd, too, was divided—half in awe, half in terror.
But Erynd didn't hear them. He stood trembling in the arena's center, chest heaving, the Heart's whispers clawing at the edges of his mind.
More. Give me more.
He bit his lip until it bled, forcing the whispers back into silence.
Above, Kaelen's voice rose again, fierce and unyielding. "That's enough! He passed your cursed trial! You won't have him!"
The Councilor's gavel struck, calling for order. But already, Erynd knew: whether the Council claimed him or not, whether the people hailed him or feared him—his life was no longer his own.
The Heart had chosen him.
And the world would not let him go.