As the morning wore on, the competitors for the Trials began gathering in the village square. The air buzzed with anticipation. Most of the competitors were older boys and girls from the larger clans, their confidence palpable as they joked and jostled with one another.
Eron Kaelis kept his hood low as he approached, his presence going largely unnoticed at first. But whispers began to ripple through the crowd as eyes turned to him. He could feel the weight of their stares, their disdain biting into him as clearly as their hushed words.
The Trials were a cornerstone of Duskwraith traditions—feared and revered in equal measure. Every year, stories circulated of competitors who had failed spectacularly—or worse, disappeared entirely in the depths of the Twilight Bastion.
For some, the Trials were an honor, a chance to prove their worth and rise in rank. For others, they were little more than a death sentence.
Among the crowd, Eron stood apart, his sharp gray eyes watching from beneath his hood. The space between him and Lyra felt like a fragile barrier, one that even her fiery temper and unwavering support couldn't fully protect.
The Arrival of Eldrin Vey
"That's Eldrin Vey," someone muttered, pointing to the tall, wiry elder stepping onto the pedestal in the square.
Eldrin Vey was one of the senior stewards of the Duskwraiths, infamous for his ruthlessness in upholding the Trials' standards. His stark silver-streaked hair gave him the air of someone who had seen—and survived—things most could not imagine.
"He's the one who oversees the eliminations," whispered a villager.
"Eliminations? You mean failures," someone corrected.
"No, I mean eliminations."
The word hung heavy in the air, sending a shiver through Eron's spine. He glanced at Lyra, who stood stiffly beside him, her lips pressed into a thin line. Across the square, other competitors exchanged uneasy glances, their bravado faltering under Eldrin's piercing gaze.
The weight of the Trials wasn't just in the present—it was in the legends they carried.
"You've heard about the group from five years ago, right?" a boy in Abyssal Tides garb whispered to his teammate.
The girl nodded grimly. "The one where only one person came back?"
"Yeah. He wandered out of the Bastion at dawn, holding the scroll but—"
"They said he couldn't speak for a year," another competitor interjected, shuddering.
"I heard his mind was broken," someone added.
"No, no," a taller girl said, glancing nervously toward Eldrin. "He said something before they took him away."
"What did he say?"
"'The shadows aren't what they seem.'"
The phrase lingered like a cold wind.
Eron overheard the exchange and frowned. He didn't believe in ghost stories, but the Bastion's reputation wasn't just hearsay. The forest had its own rules—ones that could turn even the boldest soul into a trembling wreck.
Eldrin's Command
"Silence," Eldrin's voice cut through the murmurs like a blade.
The square fell deathly quiet.
"The Initiation Trials are not for the faint of heart," Eldrin began, his gaze sweeping across the competitors. "These Trials will test your resourcefulness, your ability to adapt, and, most importantly, your teamwork. Strength alone will not suffice."
Several competitors stiffened at the emphasis on teamwork. For many, this was a competition of supremacy between clans, a battle of dominance. The idea of working together sat uneasily with most.
"The first round," Eldrin continued, "will take place in the Twilight Bastion. Hidden within its depths are twelve scrolls. Only twelve of you will advance to the next round."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. There were twenty-five competitors. That meant thirteen would fail immediately.
"Each group," Eldrin said, unrolling a parchment, "has been carefully assigned based on our evaluations of your strengths and weaknesses. These assignments are final. Disputes will not be entertained."
Eron watched as names were called. The clans gathered confidently in their assigned groups:
Pyroclan: Darian stood at the forefront, smirking as his group exchanged nods. Their confidence was palpable.
Abyssal Tides: A quieter but no less formidable group, their members watched the crowd with measured calm. Tyris, a broad-shouldered boy, stood with his arms crossed, his gaze flicking to Eron with faint curiosity.
Gladeborn: Kaela, one of their sharp-eyed competitors, stood slightly apart, her posture unreadable.
Finally, Eldrin called out, "Eron Kaelis."
Eron stepped forward, feeling every stare in the square boring into him.
"Kieran Raleth and Sarina Deyra," Eldrin announced, assigning Eron's teammates.
Eron turned to see his team.
Kieran: A tall, stoic boy with a neutral expression. His movements were precise, suggesting he wasn't easily rattled. Sarina: A sharp-eyed girl who didn't bother hiding her displeasure. She looked at Eron like he was already a liability.
"Great," Eron muttered under his breath.
"Is this some kind of joke?" Sarina said, her voice dripping with disdain. "We're supposed to work with him?"
"Not now," Kieran said simply, his tone flat.
Eron said nothing, pulling his hood tighter.
Into the Bastion
The groups were led to the edge of the Twilight Bastion. The ancient forest loomed ahead, its twisted trees casting long, eerie shadows over the competitors.
The starting horn sounded, echoing through the square.
Eron took a deep breath, his sister's voice echoing in his mind: You've got this.
He stepped into the forest, his team following close behind. The darkness seemed to close in around them, and the hum of the Flowlines beneath the earth grew louder. Somewhere in this labyrinth lay the scrolls.
The first round had begun.