Martis followed the boy in white robes down the gleaming marble corridor, the faint echo of their steps the only sound in the vast space. The air was still, heavy with a divine weight that made his chest tighten. He wrestled with his thoughts, questions tumbling over themselves like an unending avalanche.
The boy walked ahead with an almost unearthly grace, his golden eyes fixed on some unseen destination. Martis's curiosity finally got the better of him.
"Hey," he called out, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. "What's your name?"
The boy stopped and turned to face him. His face, pale and serene, betrayed no emotion, but the faintest flicker of amusement lit his golden eyes. "Caellan," he said softly. "I am your guide… for now."
Martis frowned at the cryptic answer. "For now?" he pressed.
Caellan's expression didn't change. "I will show you what you need to know, help you take your first steps. Beyond that, the path is yours to walk—or stumble—alone."
Martis swallowed hard, his throat dry. The weight of those words settled uneasily on him, but before he could think of a reply, Caellan turned and resumed walking. With little choice, Martis followed, trying to steady the storm of nerves in his chest.
They stopped before a towering bronze door, its surface etched with intricate, shifting patterns that glimmered faintly in the dim light. Caellan placed a slender hand on the door, and it opened without a sound, revealing a chamber that seemed plucked from the dreams of kings.
Golden columns spiraled toward an impossibly high ceiling painted with swirling constellations. The floor was an expanse of white marble, polished to a mirror-like sheen. At the room's center stood a pedestal, its surface radiating a soft, pulsing light.
"This," Caellan said, gesturing toward the pedestal, "is where the rules of the Celestial Trial will reveal themselves to you."
Martis hesitated, his heart pounding. "The Celestial Trial?"
Caellan nodded solemnly. "The game of gods. It is why you are here."
Martis stepped forward, his legs feeling unsteady beneath him. As he neared the pedestal, the light from it grew brighter, and a deep, resonant voice filled the air.
"Welcome, mortal, to the Celestial Trial."
The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, reverberating in his chest. The pedestal began to shift, the light it emitted twisting and reshaping itself into a glowing orb.
"In this trial," the voice continued, "you will compete against others chosen by the divine. Strength, cunning, influence—all will be tested. There is but one rule: bring the most glory to your god, by any means necessary. Win… and you shall become a legend. Fail… and you will fade into obscurity."
As the words settled over him, the orb pulsed brighter, and images began to swirl within it. Martis leaned forward, his breath catching as he saw fleeting glimpses of past trials.
The first image showed a warrior clad in obsidian armor, standing atop a mountain of bodies, his sword dripping with blood. Behind him, the crimson sky burned as a city fell in flames.
The scene shifted, showing a sorceress weaving magic that bent the very fabric of reality, her enemies crumbling into ash as she rose above them, victorious.
Another image flashed—a rogue, hooded and faceless, whispering to a council of kings. By the time he vanished from sight, wars erupted across their lands.
Martis couldn't tear his eyes away, equal parts horrified and mesmerized by the sheer brutality, ingenuity, and ambition on display.
"These are the paths you may walk," the voice intoned. "Victory requires more than strength of arm. You must shape the world to your will, bending hearts, minds, and souls to your cause. Remember, the gods watch… and they judge."
Martis staggered back as the orb's light faded, its images burned into his mind. He turned to Caellan, his throat tight. "All of that… those people… they were just like me?"
"Once," Caellan said softly. "They were chosen, just as you have been. Some triumphed. Many fell. The Trial does not offer mercy, Martis."
Before Martis could respond, the pedestal began to shimmer again, and a new object began to take shape. A weapon.
It materialized slowly, its form shifting and rippling as though it were alive. When it finally solidified, Martis found himself staring at a blade unlike any he had ever seen. Its silver surface glowed faintly, the edge curling and flowing like liquid metal. The hilt, wrapped in dark leather, seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat.
"This…" he began, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Your weapon," Caellan said simply. "It reflects your heart—your true self."
Martis hesitated, then reached out. The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, a surge of warmth spread through him. The blade felt weightless yet solid, as though it were a natural extension of his arm.
"Come," Caellan said, his voice breaking through Martis's reverie. "There is more to see."
They left the chamber, emerging into a grand hall where hundreds of others stood gathered. The air was thick with tension, and Martis felt the weight of countless eyes on him.
His gaze swept over the crowd, taking in the diverse faces of the competitors—some radiating calm confidence, others brimming with nervous energy. Then, among them, he saw a face that made his breath catch.
"Ren?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
It was him—his childhood friend. But Ren was different now. His stance was strong, his presence commanding. Martis's heart ached at the sight of him, a flood of memories rushing to the surface.
Before he could take a step toward Ren, a voice rang out.
"Participants, prepare yourselves. The Trial begins now."
A pulse of energy surged through the hall, and the ground beneath Martis dissolved. He plummeted into an endless void, the wind roaring in his ears.
The world below rushed toward him, and for a terrifying moment, he was certain he would crash into the earth. But just as the ground seemed inevitable, strong arms caught him.
"Really, Martis?" a familiar, teasing voice drawled.
He looked up to see Rias's ember eyes glinting with amusement, her fiery red hair dancing in the wind. She smirked, holding him effortlessly.
"If this is how you plan to survive, you're going to need me a lot more than I thought," she said, her tone equal parts mockery and challenge.
Martis opened his mouth to respond, but the words died in his throat. All he could do was stare at her, the full force of her presence leaving him stunned.
Rias let out a low chuckle, her grip tightening slightly. "Don't get too comfortable, mortal. I won't always be there to catch you."
And with that, she set him on solid ground, her smirk widening as she turned away.