The hum of the [Bronze City Stele] was faint but persistent, a sound that seemed to reverberate deep within Sylas's bones. He couldn't tear his eyes away from it, even as the hall around him buzzed with tension and speculation. The cube floated serenely, its surface alive with shifting symbols, each one glowing briefly before fading into the next.
"Sylas," Ana whispered, tugging at his sleeve. "What's going on? What is this thing?"
He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. "I don't know. But whatever it is, it's dangerous."
Dangerous felt like an understatement. The sheer presence of the cube filled the room with an oppressive energy, a sensation that Sylas couldn't explain but couldn't ignore. It was as if the cube were alive, aware of everything happening around it—and aware of him.
Nathaniel Brown had returned to a group of sharply dressed individuals at the far end of the hall. Their hushed conversation was impossible to overhear, but their body language told a story of careful calculation. These were people accustomed to control, to power. Sylas doubted they'd left anything to chance.
"What do you think the Trial is?" Ana asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sylas crouched slightly to meet her eye level, keeping his tone low. "I don't know, but it sounds like something we need to avoid."
"We can't avoid it," their father said, his voice grim. He placed a protective hand on Ana's shoulder. "The Browns didn't bring us here for nothing. If this 'Trial' is as important as they say, we're all involved—whether we like it or not."
Sylas frowned. "That doesn't mean we walk into it blind."
Their mother, pale and visibly shaken, added, "I just don't understand why we're here. What do they want with us?"
Sylas wished he had an answer, but before he could speak, a sharp cry drew everyone's attention.
A young man in an expensive suit had approached the Stele, his hand outstretched toward its glowing surface. The moment his fingers brushed the cube, a blinding light erupted from it, and he was thrown backward with a force that sent him crashing into the ground.
Gasps rippled through the room as two guards rushed to his side. The man groaned, clutching his arm, which hung at an unnatural angle.
Nathaniel Brown's voice cut through the commotion, cold and commanding. "Step back from the Stele. It does not tolerate unworthy contact."
The crowd murmured in confusion and fear, but no one else dared to approach the cube.
Sylas felt a chill creep up his spine. The Stele wasn't just some strange artifact—it was something far more dangerous. And whatever the Trial involved, it wasn't going to be a game.
The hours crawled by as the countdown ticked closer to activation. Servants in immaculate uniforms appeared, offering refreshments, but Sylas's family barely touched them. The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to choke on.
Sylas stayed near the edges of the room, watching the other attendees. Most were wealthy elites, their confidence thinly veiling the same unease he felt. But there were others—like his family—who clearly didn't belong. Ordinary people, plucked from their lives for reasons none of them understood.
He caught fragments of conversations: speculation about the Stele's purpose, whispers about past Trials, and hushed fears about what might happen to those who failed.
As the countdown neared three hours, Sylas noticed something strange. The Stele's glow was growing stronger, its hum more insistent. And as he stared at it, he felt… something. A faint pull, like the cube was reaching out to him specifically.
He shook his head, trying to dismiss the feeling. But it didn't go away.
"Sylas," Ana said suddenly, tugging his sleeve again. "Are you okay? You're staring at it."
"I'm fine," he said quickly, though his voice sounded hollow even to himself.
But he wasn't fine. The pull was growing stronger, and with it came a strange sensation—a whispering at the edges of his mind.
As the countdown reached two hours, Nathaniel Brown stepped onto the platform again, silencing the room with a raised hand.
"Time is running short," he announced. "I suggest you all prepare yourselves. The Stele's activation will signal the beginning of the Trial. You will face challenges designed to test your worth. Some of you will succeed. Many of you will fail. But know this—failure is final."
The weight of his words settled over the room like a shroud.
Nathaniel's gaze swept over the crowd. "To those who believe themselves ready, I suggest you take the remaining time to reflect. The Stele chooses, and it does so without mercy. Remember that."
With that, he stepped down, and the crowd erupted into nervous whispers.
Sylas turned to his parents. "We need to figure out what's happening here. If the Trial's as dangerous as it sounds, we can't just wait for it to start."
His father nodded grimly. "Agreed. But how? They haven't told us anything useful."
Sylas glanced back at the Stele, its glow now almost hypnotic. He didn't have a plan, but one thing was clear: if they wanted answers, the cube was the key.
"I'll figure something out," he said, more to himself than to anyone else.
As the countdown continued, Sylas couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out—not just for the Trial, but for something far bigger.Chapter 3: The Whispering Cube
The hum of the [Bronze City Stele] was faint but persistent, a sound that seemed to reverberate deep within Sylas's bones. He couldn't tear his eyes away from it, even as the hall around him buzzed with tension and speculation. The cube floated serenely, its surface alive with shifting symbols, each one glowing briefly before fading into the next.
"Sylas," Ana whispered, tugging at his sleeve. "What's going on? What is this thing?"
He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. "I don't know. But whatever it is, it's dangerous."
Dangerous felt like an understatement. The sheer presence of the cube filled the room with an oppressive energy, a sensation that Sylas couldn't explain but couldn't ignore. It was as if the cube were alive, aware of everything happening around it—and aware of him.
Nathaniel Brown had returned to a group of sharply dressed individuals at the far end of the hall. Their hushed conversation was impossible to overhear, but their body language told a story of careful calculation. These were people accustomed to control, to power. Sylas doubted they'd left anything to chance.
"What do you think the Trial is?" Ana asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sylas crouched slightly to meet her eye level, keeping his tone low. "I don't know, but it sounds like something we need to avoid."
"We can't avoid it," their father said, his voice grim. He placed a protective hand on Ana's shoulder. "The Browns didn't bring us here for nothing. If this 'Trial' is as important as they say, we're all involved—whether we like it or not."
Sylas frowned. "That doesn't mean we walk into it blind."
Their mother, pale and visibly shaken, added, "I just don't understand why we're here. What do they want with us?"
Sylas wished he had an answer, but before he could speak, a sharp cry drew everyone's attention.
A young man in an expensive suit had approached the Stele, his hand outstretched toward its glowing surface. The moment his fingers brushed the cube, a blinding light erupted from it, and he was thrown backward with a force that sent him crashing into the ground.
Gasps rippled through the room as two guards rushed to his side. The man groaned, clutching his arm, which hung at an unnatural angle.
Nathaniel Brown's voice cut through the commotion, cold and commanding. "Step back from the Stele. It does not tolerate unworthy contact."
The crowd murmured in confusion and fear, but no one else dared to approach the cube.
Sylas felt a chill creep up his spine. The Stele wasn't just some strange artifact—it was something far more dangerous. And whatever the Trial involved, it wasn't going to be a game.
The hours crawled by as the countdown ticked closer to activation. Servants in immaculate uniforms appeared, offering refreshments, but Sylas's family barely touched them. The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to choke on.
Sylas stayed near the edges of the room, watching the other attendees. Most were wealthy elites, their confidence thinly veiling the same unease he felt. But there were others—like his family—who clearly didn't belong. Ordinary people, plucked from their lives for reasons none of them understood.
He caught fragments of conversations: speculation about the Stele's purpose, whispers about past Trials, and hushed fears about what might happen to those who failed.
As the countdown neared three hours, Sylas noticed something strange. The Stele's glow was growing stronger, its hum more insistent. And as he stared at it, he felt… something. A faint pull, like the cube was reaching out to him specifically.
He shook his head, trying to dismiss the feeling. But it didn't go away.
"Sylas," Ana said suddenly, tugging his sleeve again. "Are you okay? You're staring at it."
"I'm fine," he said quickly, though his voice sounded hollow even to himself.
But he wasn't fine. The pull was growing stronger, and with it came a strange sensation—a whispering at the edges of his mind.
As the countdown reached two hours, Nathaniel Brown stepped onto the platform again, silencing the room with a raised hand.
"Time is running short," he announced. "I suggest you all prepare yourselves. The Stele's activation will signal the beginning of the Trial. You will face challenges designed to test your worth. Some of you will succeed. Many of you will fail. But know this—failure is final."
The weight of his words settled over the room like a shroud.
Nathaniel's gaze swept over the crowd. "To those who believe themselves ready, I suggest you take the remaining time to reflect. The Stele chooses, and it does so without mercy. Remember that."
With that, he stepped down, and the crowd erupted into nervous whispers.
Sylas turned to his parents. "We need to figure out what's happening here. If the Trial's as dangerous as it sounds, we can't just wait for it to start."
His father nodded grimly. "Agreed. But how? They haven't told us anything useful."
Sylas glanced back at the Stele, its glow now almost hypnotic. He didn't have a plan, but one thing was clear: if they wanted answers, the cube was the key.
"I'll figure something out," he said, more to himself than to anyone else.
As the countdown continued, Sylas couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out—not just for the Trial, but for something far bigger.