The training grounds were unlike anything Daryn had imagined. Set atop a cliff that overlooked the city, the arena was carved from obsidian and moonstone, its surface etched with constellations that shimmered faintly even in daylight. Statues of past champions lined the perimeter—some noble, some monstrous. All had once stood where he now stood.
Lyra led him to the center, where a circle of white sand marked the dueling ring.
"You'll train here," she said. "Until the Trial begins.
Daryn glanced around. Other figures moved through the grounds—some sparring, some meditating, some simply watching him. Their eyes held curiosity, and something colder.
"Are they all champions?" he asked.
Lyra nodded. "Chosen by gods. Each one carries a piece of divine will. You'll learn to carry yours."
Daryn looked down at his hands. They were calloused from years of protecting his sister, but this was different. This was war in the name of gods.
"I don't even know what I'm supposed to be," he muttered.
Lyra stepped closer. "You are Selene's. That means you fight with grace, not rage. You move like shadow, strike like light. And you listen—to the silence, to the stars, to her voice."
He blinked. "Her voice?"
"She speaks through dreams. Through moonlight. Through you."
—
The first days were brutal. Kaelen, a champion of Ares, took charge of his physical training. The warrior was all muscle and fury, his blade never far from his hand.
"You're soft," Kaelen growled after their first sparring match. "Selene chose you for mystery, not muscle. But mystery won't keep you alive."
Daryn wiped blood from his lip. "I didn't ask to be chosen."
Kaelen snorted. "None of us did. But you're here. So fight like you mean it."
They trained from dawn to dusk—sword forms, evasive maneuvers, pressure points. Daryn's body ached, but his resolve hardened. He wasn't the strongest, but he was quick. Precise. And he learned fast.
At night, Lyra taught him the ways of lunar magic.
"Selene's power is subtle," she explained, drawing symbols in the sand. "It bends time, cloaks movement, heals wounds. But it demands balance. You cannot take without giving."
Daryn sat cross-legged, watching the moon rise. He felt its pull—gentle, insistent.
"Why does she care so much?" he asked. "Why me?"
Lyra hesitated. "There are things you don't remember. Things she's tried to protect you from. But the Trial will reveal them. It always does."
One night, the moon was full and blinding. Daryn stood alone in the arena, practicing the forms Lyra had taught him. His blade moved like water, his steps silent.
Then the moonlight thickened.
A voice whispered: Daryn.
He froze. The air shimmered. A figure appeared—tall, cloaked in silver, her face hidden.
"You are mine," the voice said. "You are my light in the dark."
Daryn's heart pounded. "Who are you?"
The figure stepped forward. Her eyes glowed like stars.
"I am Selene. And you are my son."
The world tilted. Daryn fell to his knees.
"I don't remember," he whispered.
"You will," she said. "But first, you must survive."
The light faded. The arena was empty again.
Daryn didn't speak of the vision. But something changed. His movements grew sharper. His magic steadier. The other champions began to watch him with new eyes—not as an outsider, but as a threat.
And deep inside, a question burned: If Selene is my mother… what happened to my sister?
...