The portal deposited them on a verdant hillside, the air tinged with the fresh scent of pine and wildflowers. Above them, the sky was an ethereal shade of gold, streaked with hints of purple as if it were caught in a perpetual dawn.
In the distance stood a massive citadel, its black stone glistening under the surreal light. Its spires rose like jagged claws, and faint whispers of power seemed to emanate from its towering walls.
"Okay," Lyra said, brushing dust off her cloak. "What's the over-under on that place being friendly?"
"Not great," Arlen replied, his eyes narrowing as he took in the imposing structure. "But friendly doesn't seem to be on the menu anywhere we go."
Selene tapped her staff, casting a spell to clean her robes. "It feels ancient. Whatever's in there could be older than the shard itself."
Calla unslung her crossbow, checking the mechanisms. "Then we shouldn't waste time. If the shard brought us here, it must be for a reason."
Arlen grinned, adjusting his sword belt. "Finally, someone who gets it. Let's go find out what fate—or whatever—is throwing at us next."
As they made their way toward the citadel, the group passed through a forest thick with trees whose leaves shimmered like polished gold. Despite the beauty, a tension hung in the air, as if the land itself was watching them.
"This place is too quiet," Lyra muttered, her daggers drawn.
Arlen shot her a smirk. "Afraid of a few trees, Lyra?"
She rolled her eyes. "No, but I've seen enough ambushes to know when something's off."
Her instincts proved correct. Moments later, shadows moved among the trees, and a figure stepped out, cloaked in black and armed with a wickedly curved blade.
"You trespass on sacred ground," the figure said, their voice distorted by a metallic mask. "Leave now, or face the wrath of the Keepers."
Arlen stepped forward, his sword drawn but held casually at his side. "Yeah, about that. We've got something that says we belong here."
He held up the shard, which glowed faintly in response.
The masked figure hesitated, the glow reflecting off their blade. "The Shard of Ascension..." They lowered their weapon slightly but didn't step aside. "Prove you are worthy, or die where you stand."
Before anyone could react, the Keeper lunged at Arlen, their blade a blur of motion. He barely managed to parry the attack, the force of the blow sending vibrations up his arm.
"Well, they're not holding back," he muttered, stepping into the fray.
Lyra and Calla joined in, flanking the Keeper and attacking from either side. Selene hung back, chanting a spell that sent bolts of light crashing into the trees, illuminating hidden figures—other Keepers emerging from the shadows.
"This just keeps getting better," Calla grumbled, firing a bolt at one of the newcomers.
The battle raged, the group struggling to keep up with the Keepers' speed and precision. Each Keeper moved with uncanny agility, their strikes calculated and unrelenting.
Arlen, however, seemed to thrive under the pressure. His grin widened as he matched their movements, his sword glowing with energy from the shard.
"You're good," he said, deflecting a blow aimed at his chest. "But I'm better."
With a sudden burst of speed, he spun and struck, his blade slicing through the Keeper's defenses. The figure staggered back, clutching their wound.
The glow of the shard intensified, and the remaining Keepers paused, their weapons lowered. The wounded one dropped to one knee, their mask cracking to reveal sharp, inhuman features.
"You... are chosen," they said, their voice softer now. "But that does not mean you are ready."
Arlen sheathed his sword, tilting his head. "Care to elaborate?"
The Keeper gestured toward the citadel. "The Shard of Ascension marks you, but the power within the spire will test your resolve. Many have tried; all have failed. The citadel allows only the worthy to proceed."
"Sounds like a challenge," Arlen said with a cocky grin.
"It's not a game," the Keeper snapped, their tone fierce. "The spire holds trials that will break your body, mind, and spirit. If you are unworthy, it will consume you."
Calla stepped forward, her gaze sharp. "And if he is worthy?"
The Keeper's expression darkened. "Then he will gain what he seeks—but at a cost. Power never comes freely."
The group continued toward the citadel, the Keeper's warning weighing heavily on their minds. As they approached the massive gates, they noticed intricate carvings depicting battles between gods and mortals, each panel a story of ambition, betrayal, and sacrifice.
"Cheery place," Lyra said, running her fingers along one of the carvings.
Selene traced a different panel, her brow furrowed. "These aren't just stories. They're warnings."
"Yeah, well," Arlen said, stepping up to the gates, "I've never been good at taking warnings seriously."
He placed his hand on the gate, and the shard flared to life. The carvings glowed, and the massive doors creaked open, revealing a dark, spiraling staircase descending into the earth.
Calla glanced at the others. "Last chance to turn back."
"Not a chance," Arlen said, leading the way down.
The air grew colder as they descended, and the staircase seemed endless. Finally, they reached a chamber bathed in a soft, blue light. In the center of the room floated an orb of swirling energy, its surface rippling like water.
"This is it," Selene whispered. "The first trial."
A voice echoed through the chamber, deep and resonant.
"Step forward, chosen one. Face the truth within, or be lost to the void."
Arlen turned to the others, his grin slightly less confident than before. "Sounds ominous. Let's do it."
He stepped toward the orb, and the moment his fingers touched its surface, the world around him vanished.
Arlen found himself standing alone in a void of shifting colors. A figure emerged from the haze, cloaked in shadow but unmistakably familiar.
It was him—an older, battle-worn version of himself, his eyes hard and his expression cold.
"You think you're ready?" the figure said, his voice dripping with disdain. "You don't even know what you're fighting for."
Arlen clenched his fists. "I know enough. And I'll figure out the rest as I go."
The shadow-Arlen laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. "Then prove it. Prove you have what it takes to wield the power you seek."
The void shifted, and Arlen found himself surrounded by enemies—each one a version of someone he'd betrayed, hurt, or failed in his quest for power.
His shadow-self raised a blade. "This is only the beginning."