Tyris staggered, his sword dragging in the dirt. Each breath was a struggle, the sharp pain in his ribs a constant reminder of his helplessness. Around him, the clearing bore the marks of chaos—splintered trees, deep gashes in the earth, and the faint, acrid tang of corrupted Flowline energy still lingering in the air.
His gaze shifted to Mira's body, lying still among the roots of a gnarled tree. Her dagger rested just out of reach of her outstretched hand, its faint glow extinguished. A few feet away, Ryn's lifeless form was slumped against a boulder, his twin blades scattered at odd angles.
They were gone.
Not to the Trials. Not to the Wraithbound. But to him.
Vael Dren's mocking smile flashed in Tyris's mind, his cold, yellow eyes gleaming with amusement.
"This was predictable," Vael had said before walking away, leaving Tyris amidst the carnage. "You weren't ready for the truth, Tyris. Let's see if the Bastion will finish what I started."
The Wraithbound growled, pulling Tyris back to the present. The beast crouched low, its jagged black armor gleaming faintly in the dim light. Red veins of corrupted Flowline energy pulsed across its massive frame, feeding its every movement.
Tyris gripped his sword tighter, though his arms felt like lead.
"You should've taken me too," he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling.
The Wraithbound's claws scraped against the ground, and then it lunged.
Tyris threw himself to the side, barely avoiding the creature's massive claws. He hit the ground hard, pain shooting through his ribs. His vision blurred as he forced himself to his feet, his sword raised defensively.
The Wraithbound roared, its red eyes narrowing as it studied him. It moved with purpose, its hulking form circling slowly, waiting for an opening.
Think, Tyris told himself. Mira would've known what to do.
Her voice echoed in his mind, vivid and clear:
"Energy always flows somewhere," she had said once during training, crouched over a glowing Flowline. "If you can follow the current, you can change its path. Disrupt it, and you disrupt everything."
Tyris's eyes flicked to the ground, where the Flowlines pulsed unevenly. The creature's connection to the corrupted energy was clear—it fed on the Flowlines, moving in rhythm with their erratic surges.
The Wraithbound lunged again, its claws slashing downward. Tyris raised his sword to block, but the force of the blow sent him stumbling back. His knees buckled, and he hit the ground, his sword skidding out of reach.
"No," he rasped, dragging himself toward the blade.
The Wraithbound growled low, stepping closer. Its movements were deliberate, its glowing eyes filled with malice.
Tyris's hand brushed against the edge of a glowing Flowline. The energy beneath it was unstable, its rhythm jagged and unpredictable. He pressed his palm against it, his fingers trembling.
"Come on," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Just give me something."
The Wraithbound lunged, its massive frame bearing down on him.
With a burst of effort, Tyris forced the Flowline's energy into alignment. A surge of light shot upward, slamming into the Wraithbound's chest. The beast staggered back, its roar shaking the air as cracks spread across its jagged armor.
Tyris seized the opportunity, grabbing his sword and driving it into the creature's exposed chest.
The Wraithbound convulsed, its body writhing as the Flowline energy surged through it. For a moment, its red eyes locked onto Tyris, burning with something almost... intelligent.
Then, with a final, shuddering roar, the creature dissolved into black smoke.
Tyris collapsed to his knees, his chest heaving.
The clearing was silent now, save for the faint hum of the Flowlines. Tyris forced himself to his feet, every step a battle against his failing body. His sword dragged behind him as he stumbled toward Mira and Ryn.
Mira's face was pale, her green eyes open but empty. Her outstretched hand seemed to reach for something she would never hold again.
Ryn was slumped against the boulder, his body twisted unnaturally. His grin, once so full of mischief, was gone.
Tyris knelt beside them, his shoulders shaking.
"You believed in me," he whispered, his voice breaking. "You followed me into this nightmare because you trusted I'd bring you out."
The Flowlines pulsed faintly beneath his knees, their glow uneven and weak.
"Mira," he said, turning to her lifeless form. "You always said I thought too much. That I didn't trust my instincts enough."
His hand tightened into a fist.
"And Ryn," he continued, his voice trembling. "You never stopped moving. Never let anything slow you down. And now..."
He closed his eyes, the weight of his failure crashing over him.
"I'll finish this," he said, forcing the words out. "I'll make it through this hell. For both of you."
But his body had reached its limit. The world spun around him, and he collapsed beside Mira, the darkness pulling him under.
The village square buzzed with energy as the villagers crowded around the dais.
Kaela Vren stood tall at the center, her scroll held firmly beneath her arm. Her green eyes were sharp, her leather armor marked with scars from the Trials. She remained quiet, her expression calm but distant, letting her presence speak for itself.
Beside her, Thorne Relak basked in the attention, his fiery red hair catching the sunlight. He held his scroll high above his head, a wide grin plastered across his face.
"Two scrolls in four hours!" Thorne boomed, his voice filled with smug triumph. "Come on, Loryn! Let's hear it for the champions!"
Some villagers gawked in awe, but others exchanged doubtful glances.
"That's impossible," someone muttered from the back.
"They must've cheated," another said, their tone sharp.
Thorne turned toward Kaela, his grin widening. "Well, aren't you going to say something to your adoring fans?"
Kaela shot him a brief, cool glance. "You talk enough for both of us."
Thorne let out a loud laugh, unbothered. "Hey, it's called balance. You should try it sometime."
"How did they do it so fast?" a man asked, shaking his head.
"They're from the Pyroclan and Gladeborn," a woman replied, awe creeping into her voice. "They've got elite training. You think they fight like the rest of us?"
"Elite or not, no one's that fast," another countered. "They either got help, or..."
"Or the Bastion let them through," someone whispered. The mention of the Bastion itself sent a ripple of unease through the villagers.
"What if it's the Flowlines acting up?" an older man said. "I heard someone saying they've been unstable lately. If the Bastion is reacting to that..."
"You think they skipped the dangers?" another asked, their voice tinged with disbelief.
"Or maybe they faced something no one else could've survived," the older man replied grimly.
Thorne slapped his scroll against his thigh, his grin unwavering. "Jealousy doesn't look good on you, Loryn!" he called out, loud and brash. "Skill and guts—that's all it takes! Maybe next time, someone else will keep up with us!"
Lyra's Worry
At the edge of the square, Lyra sat on a low stone wall, her hands gripping the fabric of her tunic. Her hazel eyes darted between the dais and the distant treeline of the Bastion.
"They're back already," she said softly, her voice trembling. "And Eron's still out there."
"He's fine," Mina said beside her, offering a reassuring smile. "You know Eron—he's already halfway to a scroll. He's just not one to make a big show of it, unlike him." She nodded toward Thorne.
"But what if something went wrong?" Lyra asked, her voice cracking. "What if he's hurt?"
"Lyra, stop," Mina said gently but firmly. "Eron always comes back. He's smarter than anyone else out there. He's probably taking his time to make sure nothing goes wrong."
Standing nearby, Rylan leaned against a wooden post, his arms crossed. His sharp eyes scanned the villagers, but his attention flicked to a group of younger men talking in hushed voices near the square's edge.
"What's wrong?" Lyra asked, noticing his distant expression.
Rylan didn't answer immediately. His eyes narrowed as he listened to the men's conversation.
"I heard someone mention a name," Rylan said finally, his voice low. "Vael Dren."
Lyra blinked. "Who's that?"
Mina frowned. "It's just a story. A cautionary tale about Flowline corruption."
"Is it?" Rylan replied, his voice skeptical. "The way they're talking... it sounds like more than a legend. One of them said Vael was seen near the Bastion before the Trials started."
Lyra's stomach twisted. "But that doesn't make sense. Why would someone like that be here?"
Mina shrugged, trying to sound dismissive. "It's just rumors. People say all kinds of things when they're scared."
Rylan didn't look convinced. "Rumors usually start somewhere. If Vael's real, and if he's in the Bastion..." He trailed off, his gaze shifting toward the forest.
Lyra's fists clenched. "What would someone like that want with the Trials?"
"I don't know," Rylan admitted, his voice grim. "But if it's true, it means the Bastion isn't just dangerous—it's worse than we imagined."
Tension Lingers
The crowd in the square began to disperse, but the air remained heavy with unanswered questions.
Thorne glanced at Kaela, his grin faltering as she walked away without another word. "Tough crowd," he muttered, shaking his head.
At the edge of the square, Lyra stood suddenly, her hands trembling.
"They don't care," she said, her voice shaking. "They don't care about anyone else still out there. About Eron."
Mina stepped closer, her voice soft but steady. "Eron's fine, Lyra. You've got to trust him. He always comes back."
Lyra stared at the Bastion, the dark forest line casting long shadows over the village.
"Then why does it feel like something's gone wrong?" she whispered.
Rylan remained quiet, his gaze lingering on the treeline, the whispers of Vael Dren echoing in his mind.
Eron's Team: The Whisper
Far from the village, Eron's team moved cautiously through the Bastion. The shadows around them seemed alive, shifting unnaturally as the faint hum of the Flowlines grew louder.
Eron led the way, his sharp eyes scanning the ground, but it was Kieran who stopped first. His hand shot up in a quick signal, his body going rigid.
"Wait," Kieran said, his voice low. He tilted his head slightly, as though listening to something the others couldn't hear.
Sarina raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"
"Shh," Kieran hissed, his gaze narrowing. "There's a sound. Ahead."
Eron stopped, his gaze flicking to Kieran, studying him. He didn't fully understand Kieran's heightened senses, but he had seen them in action before. Whatever Kieran was hearing, it was real enough to freeze him in place.
Sarina frowned, her voice hushed but sharp. "What sound? I don't hear anything."
"You wouldn't," Kieran replied, his tone distracted. "It's faint, like a cry or... a groan."
Sarina tightened her grip on her dagger, her expression hardening. "And you're sure it's not the Bastion playing tricks?"
Kieran's jaw clenched. "I know what I heard." He glanced at Eron. "It's coming from ahead. Maybe two hundred paces, no more."
Eron gave a slight nod, his tone unreadable. "Then let's see what it is."
As they stepped forward, the sound became clearer to the others. A raw, broken cry echoed through the shadows. It wasn't a word or a plea, but something primal—pain, or perhaps desperation.
Kieran's voice was grim. "That didn't sound like someone who wants to be found."
Sarina's amber eyes scanned the surrounding darkness, her blade at the ready. "Or someone who's alive."
Eron's gaze shifted to the ground, taking in the faint glow of the Flowlines beneath their feet. His voice was steady but edged. "Either way, we're going to find out."
The group pressed on, the shadows growing thicker as the Flowlines beneath them pulsed faster, as if the Bastion itself were alive, watching their every move.