The days that followed were grueling. Each morning began with Jala's harsh training, pushing Raze and the other initiates to their limits with endurance drills and advanced techniques. The Iron Vein pulsed through Raze's veins like a heartbeat, each lesson sharpening his control, each practice hardening his resolve.
But as he grew stronger, so did the hostility around him. Word of his skill spread, and he could feel the shift in the initiates' demeanor—the way they watched him, the conversations that fell silent when he passed. Mira's words echoed in his mind: Ambition attracts attention. And some won't let you rise without a fight.
Today, as the morning mist cleared, Raze was summoned to a more secluded part of the training grounds. Jala had sent for him alone, without the other initiates, which was unusual. The training hall was empty except for her and a second figure—a tall man with dark hair and an air of authority that radiated through the room.
"Raze Drakan," Jala greeted him, her tone colder than usual. "This is Master Varian. He oversees the training of initiates in advanced Vein techniques."
Raze inclined his head, recognizing the respect implied in her words. Varian was not just another instructor; his reputation among the sect was formidable, spoken of in whispers as both a master of the Iron Vein and a ruthless enforcer of the sect's standards.
Varian studied Raze with an intense, calculating gaze, his Vein mark—a dark, metallic hue—glowing faintly along his arm. "You've made quite the impression in a short time, Drakan," he said, his voice as sharp as a blade. "But strength is only half the measure of a Veinborn. Discipline, loyalty… these are qualities that sustain power."
Raze met his gaze without wavering. "Strength is what brought me here. Discipline will keep me here. As for loyalty… I'll give that when it's earned."
A faint smile flickered at the corner of Varian's mouth, though his eyes remained cold. "A dangerous attitude, but perhaps not surprising." He glanced at Jala. "I've been hearing reports that you're progressing faster than expected, that you've mastered the Iron Crush after only a few attempts. Impressive, if true."
"It's true," Jala confirmed, though her tone held a note of caution. "But he's… unorthodox in his approach."
Raze watched the exchange with a growing sense of tension, sensing there was more beneath the surface. Varian's arrival wasn't a compliment; it was an investigation. They wanted to see if he was a threat, if his ambition would ultimately undermine their control.
Varian regarded Raze once more, his expression unreadable. "If you wish to continue down this path, Drakan, you'll need to be tested. A true Iron Veinborn proves his worth not only in training, but in combat."
Raze's interest sharpened. "Against who?"
Varian's smile returned, cold and calculating. "We call it the Iron Trial—a duel between initiates who have shown… potential. It separates the weak from the strong, the disciplined from the reckless. Only those who pass are permitted to learn the higher techniques."
Jala's eyes flickered with something that might have been concern, but she said nothing. Raze didn't need her approval. He felt the Iron Vein pulse within him, eager, restless.
"When?" he asked, his voice steady.
Varian's smile widened. "Tomorrow at dawn. And your opponent will be… Liam Castor."
Raze felt a spark of satisfaction at the name. Liam—the boy who had taunted him, who had scorned his power. This was the opportunity he'd been waiting for, a chance to make it clear to every initiate and master in the sect that he was not to be underestimated.
"Understood," he said simply, his voice cold.
Varian nodded, apparently satisfied. "Good. Remember, Drakan, the Iron Vein demands absolute control. Fail, and it will be your undoing."
With that, Varian turned and left, his footsteps echoing through the empty hall. Jala remained behind, her gaze fixed on Raze with a hint of wariness.
"You have no idea what you're walking into," she said quietly, once Varian was gone. "The Iron Trial isn't just a test of skill. It's a test of loyalty, a way for the sect to assess who can be trusted. And you've made… enemies."
Raze shrugged, unfazed. "I didn't come here to be liked. I came here to learn, to take what I need."
"Just be careful," Jala said, a rare edge of caution in her voice. "Liam has allies in the sect, ones who won't take kindly to seeing him lose. They might come after you, even if you win."
A flicker of dark satisfaction crossed Raze's face. "Then let them. I'll be ready."
She shook her head, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. "You're either very brave, Drakan, or very foolish. We'll see which soon enough."
With a nod, she left him alone in the hall, leaving Raze to prepare. As he stood there, he felt a thrill run through him. The Iron Trial was exactly what he wanted—a chance to prove himself, to solidify his place in the sect. This was no ordinary sparring match. This was his first true challenge, a test that would make or break him.
The Iron Trial
The following morning, Raze stepped into the arena, the cold air filled with the tense murmurs of onlookers. The other initiates had gathered to witness the duel, their expressions a mix of curiosity and anticipation. He ignored them, his focus entirely on the figure standing across from him—Liam, his face twisted with contempt.
Liam rolled his shoulders, his Stone Vein mark glowing a deep, earthen green. "Finally, a chance to put you in your place, Drakan," he sneered. "You think you're some kind of prodigy? Just another outsider with delusions of power."
Raze met his gaze, unflinching. "Say whatever you want. Words won't protect you."
Jala raised her staff, signaling for silence. "This is the Iron Trial. A test of strength, skill, and control. The victor will earn the right to continue their training in advanced techniques. The loser…" She paused, her gaze hardening. "…will learn the cost of failure."
She stepped back, lowering her staff. "Begin."
Liam moved first, his Vein power surging as he charged forward, his fists wrapped in the hardened energy of the Stone Vein. Raze braced himself, feeling the Iron Vein pulse in response, sharpening his focus, hardening his stance.
Liam swung with brutal force, his fist aimed at Raze's chest. Raze sidestepped, deflecting the blow, and struck back with a swift, focused punch. The impact reverberated through his arm, a testament to the power of the Iron Vein, and Liam staggered back, his eyes flashing with anger.
They circled each other, each waiting for the other to make a move. Raze could feel the energy coursing through him, his control absolute, his focus unbreakable. This was what he had trained for, what he had endured for.
Liam lunged again, his strikes faster, more desperate, but Raze was ready. He let the Iron Vein guide his movements, each strike precise, each dodge calculated. He could see Liam's frustration mounting, his attacks growing sloppy, uncoordinated.
Finally, Raze saw his opening. He gathered the energy of the Iron Vein, letting it pool in his right arm, and released it in a single, devastating blow.
The impact sent Liam crashing to the ground, gasping for breath, his face twisted in pain. The arena fell silent, the onlookers watching in stunned silence as Raze stood over his fallen opponent, his expression cold and unyielding.
Jala stepped forward, raising her staff. "Raze Drakan is the victor."
A murmur spread through the crowd, a mix of awe and wariness. Raze knew that he had made his mark, that he had shown them his strength. But he also knew that this was only the beginning.
As he left the arena, he felt the eyes of the initiates on him, the whispers that followed. He had proven himself, but he had also attracted attention—dangerous attention.
But Raze welcomed it. He was here to rise, to seize power, and he would face any challenge that came his way.
And soon, they would all understand just how far he was willing to go.